I don’t use flash. Not because I’m against it in principle, but because I’ve found something more compelling in the complexity of natural light. It’s not just a preference—it’s a philosophy.

Natural light is unpredictable, nuanced, and often difficult to master. But that’s exactly what draws me to it.

Working with available light forces you to become a student of your environment. You learn to read the sky, to understand how light bounces off surfaces, how it diffuses through clouds, or reflects off a pale wall. You begin to notice how the colour temperature shifts throughout the day—how a cloudy afternoon softens contrast, or how a shaft of light through a window can sculpt a subject’s face with subtlety no flash can replicate.

Technically, natural light demands a different kind of precision. You have to be aware of your ISO limits, your lens’s widest aperture, and how slow you can go with your shutter speed before motion blur becomes a problem.

You learn to embrace high ISO noise as texture rather than a flaw. You adapt—using reflectors, diffusers, or even just a white shirt to bounce light where you need it. It’s a slower process, but it’s also more immersive.

A Photographer’s Relationship with Natural Light

I try to be as unobtrusive as possible when I shoot. Flash draws attention. It interrupts. It changes the behaviour of people in front of the lens. Natural light, on the other hand, lets moments unfold organically. It allows me to disappear into the background and capture something closer to the truth.

I understand the utility of artificial lighting in commercial or studio work, where consistency and control are paramount. But I’ve always been more interested in the expressive potential of light that isn’t controlled. I want to respond to it, not dominate it.

My inspiration came early, watching the work of cinematographer Freddie Francis in The French Lieutenant’s Woman. His use of natural light wasn’t just aesthetic—it was emotional. It shaped the mood, the tension, and the intimacy of each scene. That stayed with me. It made me realise that light isn’t just a technical element—it’s a narrative one.

In my work, I’m constantly chasing that balance: between light and shadow, between clarity and mystery. I don’t want perfection. I want presence. And for me, that presence lives in the natural light that falls across a face, a room, a landscape—unrehearsed, unrepeatable, and deeply human.

I try to bring this approach with me and teach at my workshops. Because I find the beauty of light and understanding will add much more to a photo, and i want to pass my years of experience with light and photography to photographers who want to learn this. It’s truly rewarding when you, literally and in a figurative sense, begin to see the light.