Digital Photography
Chris Levine - The Molecule of Light
Chris Levine presents Molecule of Light as both sculpture and atmosphere, a towering beacon of laser and haze that seemed to dissolve the boundary between the physical and the immaterial. Levine’s work often sits somewhere between meditation and technology, using light not simply to illuminate, but to alter perception itself.
In photographing the work, I was less interested in documenting the installation literally and more interested in responding to the sensation of standing within it. The shifting beams, the haze moving through the harbour air, and the scale of the structure created moments that felt strangely weightless, as though the city itself had briefly slowed down.
Rather than approaching the installation with clinical sharpness, I leaned into softness, movement, and atmosphere. Allowing light to bloom and dissolve across the frame felt closer to the experience of encountering the work in person, fleeting, immersive, and slightly unreal. At times the installation disappeared almost entirely into the night before re-emerging again through smoke and reflection.
What interested me most was the emotional tension inside the piece. Despite its monumental scale, Molecule of Light carries an unusual stillness. The work feels less like an object and more like a pulse moving through the harbour, transforming familiar architecture into something temporary and dreamlike.
Otto Mille
In early 2026 I spent an evening with Otto Mille, this client was a small backyard apiary tucked unexpectedly into the inner suburbs of Sydney. Hidden out the back sat a few hives humming quietly in the last of the afternoon light.
The name Otto Mille comes from Otto, meaning eight, and Mille, meaning a million. Together it refers to the estimated eight million bees that made up their first hive.
For this series they asked for something different. They spoke about how bees are so often photographed clinically, sharp, bright and perfectly lit, as though they belong in a textbook. They wanted the opposite. Something softer. Stranger. Images that felt closer to memory than documentation. Slightly surreal, a little melancholy, and full of the strange intelligence that seems to exist inside a hive.
So I waited for that short window just before sunset, when the light softened and the garden began to fall into shadow. The bees drifted in and out of the frame, catching the last of the light as they moved around the hive. It was enough to give the images a slightly unreal feeling, while still keeping the hive grounded as a living, working place.
These photographs are an attempt to sit with that feeling, to see the bees not simply as insects, but as intricate, emotional creatures inhabiting a world that feels only slightly removed from our own.
Seal Rocks
In 2022 I spent a few days photographing at Seal Rocks, not for a client or a campaign, but as a personal project.
I wanted to photograph the waves differently. Surf photography is often centred around the surfer, but I was more interested in the shape and energy of the water itself.
Most of the images were made in the middle of the day, swimming out with the camera and waiting for the right wave. The light was harsh, the water bright and clear, and each wave changed completely in a matter of seconds.
These photographs are an attempt to capture the different types and stages of a wave. The brief moments where they feel powerful, unpredictable and almost sculptural.
