Confiscation in Aden

This was one of those moments when something inside you withers away and dies. I was only just starting to toy with the idea of being a photographer, eighteen years of age and in the middle of a year off before going to Art College. I was on my way to Madagascar with a friend, Jessica, to spend a month travelling and experimenting with my camera. We flew via Moscow with Aeroflot and touched down in Aden, in what was then South Yemen – or the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen – to refuel.

As we landed there were aeroplane carcasses along the runway and the beautiful airport building appeared to have bullet holes in the glass. We entered the main part of the airport to wait for the plane to be made ready. I had my camera with me and started taking photographs. That is until I felt a tap on my shoulder and a heavily armed soldier beckoned for me to give him my camera. Needless to say I stopped what I was doing and did as I was told. Meekly.

The next hour was spent in agony. Had my career as a photographer stopped before it had even started? Would I have the courage to approach the guards and ask for my camera back? Would they have opened the back and exposed the film? Would I be able to enjoy my time in Madagascar without my camera? Knowing what an idiot I had been?

As we were herded back onto the plane I was taught an early lesson that even machine gun wielding guards in a Middle Eastern, bullet strewn airport are human beings. The same guard approached me again and handed my camera back, undamaged and unexposed, with a twinkle in his eye.

Latest

Swarm

It was as simple as ‘get to the top of Finland and turn left’.  At least that is

Blink and you’ll miss it

Iceland. Never has the essence of a country so closely resembled the way in which I see the

Under the Stars in Madagascar

There are times when writing about memories from as far back as my eighteenth year feels wrong. How

Viewpoints

The Rooftop Collective exhibition edition VI Tempus Fugit. So they say. Here we are again, another Rooftop Collective

Memories

In Sweden without a camera

There have been many, many times over the last seven or eight years when I have been unable

Bridge over the River Yamuna

India 20-03-11: We crossed a bridge. It was a railway bridge, with a small walkway to the side

Alter Egos in the Dunes

I have often wondered what it was in particular that attracted me to photography. What it was that

Ablutions on the Giant’s Causeway

Sometimes you have to squeeze a trip into whatever time you have available. And if all you have

Randomly Selected

Interview with Amateur Photographer Magazine

Feature in Saturday 9 June 2012 issue: There’s no denying it. You can pretend it’s not important, you

Josef Koudelka

Koudelka is possibly the single greatest influence on me as a photographer. I was shown his work by

West of the Sun – Essay by Jim Shannon

Written by Jim Shannon for the introduction to ‘West of the Sun’: Great art has always been about

Rambert’s Ghost dance at Saddler’s Wells Theatre

It really is a fault of mine, and something I have been trying to rectify over the years