I’ve said before that I bought this house because of the light. Because of the old-glass, single-pane, broken down old drafty windows which let in such incredible light, and it’s so true.
I love the way the light dawns into my bedroom in the morning and cuts ribbons across the lace curtains.
And then it picks up the golden pollen on the living room side table; fallen off the euphorbia blossoms over night.
I love that by the evening it comes streaming into the dining room and lights up anything on the dining table.
And I love how the last rays sneak under tables and lamps playing with a bit of wood grain here, a little velvet there.
These are the reasons there are several cameras on hand at all times in this house.
Is there such a thing as being too addicted to the light if you’re a photographer? Couldn’t possible be.