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  • Vila Franca do Campo off season, deserted and lonely, dark and windswept. The sound of an occasional dog bark was heard over the sound of the relentless waves and an old man shuffled along an otherwise empty street.
    GD000612.jpg
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  • Nominated for 11th International B&W Spider Awards<br />
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Shot on Llanddwyn beach as everyone else was leaving - well it was a bitter cold evening, no sunset, no 'obvious' excitement, but I was utterly connected that evening. In the darkness and solitude I became one with the peace, the dusk, the gentleset lapping sounds at the shore, the occassional oystercatcher calling as it skimmed the sea. I photographed gentle events...© Glyn Davies 2012  All rights reserved. No copying or use on any website is either permitted or implied. Action WILL be taken against infringers.
    GD001395.jpg
  • Shot on Llanddwyn beach as everyone else was leaving - well it was a bitter cold evening, no sunset, no 'obvious' excitement, but I was utterly connected that evening. In the darkness and solitude I became one with the peace, the dusk, the gentleset lapping sounds at the shore, the occassional oystercatcher calling as it skimmed the sea. I photographed gentle events.
    GD001397.jpg
  • Shot on Llanddwyn beach as everyone else was leaving - well it was a bitter cold evening, no sunset, no 'obvious' excitement, but I was utterly connected that evening. In the darkness and solitude I became one with the peace, the dusk, the gentleset lapping sounds at the shore, the occassional oystercatcher calling as it skimmed the sea. I photographed gentle events.
    GD001396.jpg
  • Derelict cottage sitting in open farmland near the tine cove of Porth Cwyfan at West Anglesey.
    GD000828.jpg
  • Featureless mountain-tops led down to isolated 'findings' before shrubs, trees and man-made forms started dominating the landscape once more.
    GD001223.jpg
  • Wintry weather in Summer. The air was warm but the strong wind was cold. The pandemic has left popular beaches near deserted. Today just three other couples along the two mile stretch of shoreline. Sad though it is for so many loyal Anglesey visitors, I have to admit that having beaches to yourself, especially as a landscape photographer, is a rare treat, a treat that may never be repeated in my lifeline, so I relish every moment. <br />
<br />
In the emptiness so much else was happening though, all centred around the movement of sea and clouds and the rapid changes of light across shifting surfaces. The intensity of contrast between moody skies and brilliant sparkling wet sand, was just mesmerising, hard to pull away your eyes let alone move your feet.  There is so much to see in such emptiness, but then I think I’ve always felt that; that sometimes the emptiness itself helps to focus the eye on the smallest of changes and differences.
    GD002496.jpg
  • Standing in evening sunlight, a cow turns her head to watch the black storm rolling in across the Irish Sea, unsettled or ambivalent?
    GD001315.jpg
  • Shot on Llanddwyn beach as everyone else was leaving - well it was a bitter cold evening, no sunset, no 'obvious' excitement, but I was utterly connected that evening. In the darkness and solitude I became one with the peace, the dusk, the gentleset lapping sounds at the shore, the occassional oystercatcher calling as it skimmed the sea. I photographed gentle events.<br />
<br />
© Glyn Davies 2012  All rights reserved. No copying or use on any website is either permitted or implied. Action WILL be taken against infringers.
    GD001398.jpg
  • Nominated in 10th (2017) International Colour Awards (Fine Art category) <br />
<br />
Caught in squally weather, bitterly cold, blown about like a leaf in the wind, at the mercy of the elements and the huge expanse of the open sea - no, not a lonely sailing boat but me, clinging to the cliffs to try and get a shot at that magical moment, when man made and ambient light balance, that perfect window of opportunity which lasts just minutes. I love the softness of colours and contrasts in the gale driven sky behind, and the hint of comfort from the haunted lighthouse. I thought this was a joke until tonight, when as I was taking my last frame something pushed past me, really squeezing past my thigh. I honestly thought it was a dog but there was nothing there. Quite spooked.<br />
<br />
South Stack lighthouse, Holy Island, Anglesey, Ynys Môn. c1809 - Electrified in 1938 - Automated in 1984. 440 steps lead from the 200ft cliff top down to the bridge across the gorge below. We can also see here the RSPB Bird watching tower called Ellin's Tower.
    GD001064.jpg
  • On a hillside stinking of goats, and the sound of their bells clinking amidst the clucking of penned hens, we came across this large olive tree, before the hillside dropped to the sea...I was fascinated by the way some olive trees seem to exist quite apart from others. They grow large and strong but are still lonely. I haven't rationalised WHY but this tree became a metaphor for many issues in my life at the moment,not the least being solidity and security of life on the land, whilst endlessly staring at the escape and distance of the ocean. The two are important to me and this tree symbolises being torn between them...Apart from that, it just felt SO Greek :-)
    GD000845.jpg
  • Gorse burning in misty evening sunlight at Cwm Ystradllyn, Snowdonia, North Wales<br />
<br />
As I wandered down off a remote and lonely mountain, I said hello to a farmer on quad bikes who was making his way up the mountainside. I then noticed smoke appearing a little way further down the track. As I rounded the bend I realised he had set fire to gorse bushes, in a controlled burn and was now repeating the process higher up. I was mesmerised by the billowing smoke - crackles of burning twigs the only sound in this silent landscape, and that memory-jogging smell of childhood bonfires in Grandad's garden.
    GD001224.jpg
  • The apparent calm belies real danger in this narrow stretch of water. The multi coloured pebbles and stones have been brought down from nearby mountain ranges by glaciers, and are contstantly swept back and forth by vicious tidal currents in this lonely area. The gentleness of Abermenai point is very deceptive when you consider the number of ships and boats that have been tided in these dangerous currents and wrecked on sand bars in very shallow waters.
    GD000481.jpg
  • In this lonely valley nestles a large but often calm lake. Reeds puncture the glassy smooth surface and there is silence, apart from the occasional bleating of Welsh mountain sheep, or the call of a raven over the hillsides. This woman is so bird-like in stature, so graceful and so slim, that she reminds me of the heron which frequents this place. She delicately points each foot into the lake so as not to overly disturb its surface and even in the act of doing this mimics the beautiful creature. She turns to face the light, her front feeling the gentle warmth of the afternoon sun, as the cold water clasps her legs. She stands motionless, embracing these sensations as I watch her.
    Sensual Immersion
  • This is one of the main roads into Southern Namibia, shortly after leaving the border control on the Orange River. We had passed an isolated garage and a few kms later an agriculturally based township, but then we went around a bend of an escarpment and over a hill, and were faced with this arid but incredible desert landscape. We drove for over an hour on this harsh dirt track, without seeing another car. There were no towns, no hamlets, no roadside stores, not even telegraph or electricity lines. It was barren. No animals to be seen, no birds of any sort and no signs of snakes or scorpions or in fact anything. Stepping outside the car I entered an oven of heat, into the 40ºs and surprising silence. The landscape was vast and I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a huge, empty, lonely space - but I loved it, I enjoyed the vulnerability it created and the recognition that I was really, truly alive - as little else at that moment at least, seemed to be. <br />
<br />
I knew I was going to enjoy this country.
    GD002252.jpg
  • Caught in squally weather, bitterly cold, blown about like a leaf in the wind, at the mercy of the elements and the huge expanse of the open sea - no, not a lonely sailing boat but me, clinging to the cliffs to try and get a shot at that magical moment, when man made and ambient light balance, that perfect window of opportunity which lasts just minutes. I love the softness of colours and contrasts in the gale driven sky behind, and the hint of comfort from the haunted lighthouse. I thought this was a joke until tonight, when as I was taking my last frame something pushed past me, really squeezing past my thigh. I honestly thought it was a dog but there was nothing there. Quite spooked.<br />
<br />
South Stack lighthouse, Holy Island, Anglesey, Ynys Môn. c1809 - Electrified in 1938 - Automated in 1984. 440 steps lead from the 200ft cliff top down to the bridge across the gorge below. We can also see here the RSPB Bird watching tower called Ellin's Tower.
    GD001065.jpg
  • Briefly wonderful bursts of sunlight catch this unusual and very narrow church near Cemlyn. No roads connect to it, surrounded by fields, cattle & sheep usually. This afternoon it epitomised the way I and many others feel, lonely, isolated and only catching rare glimpses of hopeful light.
    GD002578.jpg
  • More surreal moments in the thick fog of late. This was before work on a cold December morning. The Britannia Bridge was one minute complete, the next half missing as the vapour pulsed to and fro across the Afon Menai. A lonely gull leaves the islet of Ynys Gorad Goch, flying into nothingness
    GD002706.jpg
  • Sheltering from the howling gale I found myself fascinated by the snake-like vein in my rock windbreak. When there's not a soul about and the landscape feels empty, I find myself looking more intently at the things closer to me, rather than the bigger views. I've never rationalised why I do this, but I think there's a sense being 'shared' with the immediate environment, that for a brief time when you are there, the features are like those of companions. I honestly talk to inanimate objects sometimes, as if I know them and appreciate them for simply being there, showing themselves to me. <br />
<br />
This isn't just pandemic madness, I've always done this! The landscape often speaks to me, as I do to it.
    GD002604.jpg
  • From below, surrounded by hundreds of sledgers & skiers creating a cacophony of noisy laughs & screams, the summits were in swirling low cloud, never showing themselves. <br />
<br />
As I trudged higher the snow became thicker and the chaos of the crowds diminished. I followed deep snowy footprints & drops of bright red blood from an injured dog, marking the route of previous ascensionists. The snow dumbs sounds; no birds sang, or sheep bleated. I could hear my own heart as the silence & snow deepened more. <br />
<br />
I was surprised nevertheless by the numbers of small parties descending the hill, and I was troubled (as always) that I was being trailed by others, a super fit elderly couple with a tiny day sack, and a backpacking single guy. I stopped for a drink to let them pass and I watched them disappear into the thick fog. Finally, I was alone, and I laboured step by step in deep snow until I arrived at the summit. I could hear occasional walkers chatting in the whiteout, but none appeared alongside me. It was dark up there, and the strengthening wind chilled my fingers through my gloves. I sensed something was happening with the clouds though so persevered in my wait. For about ten minutes the sun made regular bursts through the low cloud, illuminating snow-crusted rock sculptures all around me. It transformed the scene completely & I felt less lonely somehow. <br />
<br />
The horizon darkened and I could see snow clouds approaching. It was getting colder and colder, so I called it a day and retraced my footsteps back down to cloud base. Sleet and then heavy rain pelted me about five minutes from the van. Dozens and dozens of soaked sledging families made a sad retreat off the slopes.  I was delighted with the ten or so images that I made on the summit. I think will make some beautiful prints for the gallery wall.
    GD002565.jpg
  • "In a way, this was ALL about the sea, the waves and movement, the sky played the role of illuminator only. I became transfixed by the recurring rhythms which occur where waves meet shore.<br />
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At first there is the obvious repetition of waves reaching the shore and dumping their energy. Then there is the apparent chaos of individual waves, which never form the same shapes, height or angle. But then, especially when using a slightly slower shutter speed on the camera, it’s possible to clarify just how much underlying consistency of rhythm there is below the choppy surface, influenced by the shape of the beach in relation to the speed and direction of the waves.<br />
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Although large sweeps of watery sheets seem to slide at all angles over the shore, certain strong lines of confluence emerge, where bodies of water meet bodies of water and the energy is consistently channelled in one direction, like standing waves. On what had been a solitary, dreary afternoon of being out just for fresh air, I had become extremely excited by my heightened awareness of rhythm within chaos, and I may now be able to use that to create perspective in everyday life!"
    GD001419.jpg
  • As the weeks passed, the crowds disappeared, and by the last day of Autumn the beach was empty.<br />
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Gentle but cold Northerly winds blew across the vast open sands and the only sounds she could hear were the crashing waves and the shrill call of an Oystercatcher across the sea. <br />
<br />
The water was cold now, and her memories of basking naked with friends in the summer heat seemed an eternity away from her lonely ponder along the shore today …. And yet, her need for the ocean, to feel the sand beneath her feet and the breeze in her hair remained a yearning within her, a place for her soul to feel connected to the planet. She was grinning despite the transition to winter.
    Winter's Coming
  • The rain was relentless, falling in vast sheets across the sombre Welsh hillsides, soaking the landscape and everything upon it. I’d just descended from the gale-blown summits where I’d not seen a soul, but I was more than happy in my wet solitude. I could hear a hidden river tumbling through dark rocks in the valley below.<br />
<br />
The wind drove the rain through the back of my waterproofs as I trudged down the tiny path back to habitation. It was near silent, no calls of birds or bleating of sheep, just the drumming of the downpour on my hood. <br />
<br />
I loved it all. Amidst these huge Welsh mountains that one-minute seemed imposing and soft like a watercolour the next, I felt alive in this huge valley, a tiny, isolated figure moving through an ancient glaciated landscape. These are times and conditions when you feel humbled by the elements and connected to the earth.
    GD002235.jpg
  • On a drearily dull evening, in heavy gales and drizzly weather, we found ourselves in Britain's smallest city, St Davids in Pembrokeshire. A choir was singing beautifully from within the tungsten lit cathedral, whilst outside the mood was sombre, damp and lonely. It was one of those times where it would have been handy to be religious, to join the warm congregation inside, to open your lungs and hear the beauty - yet there was beauty still, in the rustling leaves in the trees, in the perfect curve of the distant hill, of the faint sound of the sea and of the ever reliable advance of dusk
    GD001320.jpg
  • On the eve of another severe lockdown, with my head closing in and the first irregular heartbeats in many months beating in my chest, I raced out to the coast for last minute medication. Since I heard about this mis-targeted lockdown, I’ve been telling myself “it’s just two weeks, it’s just two weeks, you can do it” but I’ve been in panic mode all day. Almost without fail after work, for years, I’ve always had a deep need to escape to the hills or the coast, it’s almost like an addiction because it makes me feel so good, so alive, that there’s a reason I’m on this earth.<br />
.<br />
I think about the little city-men in suits, who seem oblivious to the mental health benefits of people being allowed to continue to get into nature, but who instead blanket legislate without thought about the unnecessary damage they are creating to well-being. Walking on a lonely beach or cliff-top harms no-one. Even at its busiest, Llanddwyn is massive with so much space to avoid others. Instead we are forced to walk the town paths like hamsters on a wheel with 20,000 other trapped souls. Why are they hitting everyone with such severe restrictions, instead of targeting those people & activities that really spread the killer disease?<br />
.<br />
I’m still telling myself that it’s just two weeks and my lovely ITU lady who see the disease at its worst, also tries to calm me down about lockdowns! What an amazing angel, dealing with physically ill patients and a mentally wobbly partner !
    GD002538.jpg
  • On the eve of another severe lockdown, with my head closing in and the first irregular heartbeats in many months beating in my chest, I raced out to the coast for last minute medication. Since I heard about this mis-targeted lockdown, I’ve been telling myself “it’s just two weeks, it’s just two weeks, you can do it” but I’ve been in panic mode all day. Almost without fail after work, for years, I’ve always had a deep need to escape to the hills or the coast, it’s almost like an addiction because it makes me feel so good, so alive, that there’s a reason I’m on this earth.<br />
.<br />
I think about the little city-men in suits, who seem oblivious to the mental health benefits of people being allowed to continue to get into nature, but who instead blanket legislate without thought about the unnecessary damage they are creating to well-being. Walking on a lonely beach or cliff-top harms no-one. Even at its busiest, Llanddwyn is massive with so much space to avoid others. Instead we are forced to walk the town paths like hamsters on a wheel with 20,000 other trapped souls. Why are they hitting everyone with such severe restrictions, instead of targeting those people & activities that really spread the killer disease?<br />
.<br />
I’m still telling myself that it’s just two weeks and my lovely ITU lady who see the disease at its worst, also tries to calm me down about lockdowns! What an amazing angel, dealing with physically ill patients and a mentally wobbly partner !
    GD002539.jpg
  • At high tide this is a vast stretch of wind-chopped sea. Small flocks of oystercatchers and turnstones skim across its surface as they wait for the spoils of low water and terns screech in the open sky before plunging into schools of small fish.<br />
<br />
But now the estuary is empty, just acres of wet sand and silt remain. In the middle of this huge open space a woman lies recumbent in the afternoon sunshine. The last rivulets of brine silently flow past her beautiful wet body, every inch of her skin delicately textured with raised goosebumps. The sunlight and gentle breeze warmed her flesh and her salty skin became smooth.<br />
<br />
That evening on my return journey, the tide was high once again. A lonely curlew gave its distinctive call as it flew inland to nest, and in the darkening gloom of dusk I saw movement out on the water. I focussed hard on the smooth curves amongst the small waves, and I saw a dark tail appear above the surface before the shape disappeared altogether. I can only assume it was a seal.
    Revealed at Low Tide
  • Wind formed shapes in the Llanddwyn sand dunes, with crepuscular rays in the skies behind. <br />
<br />
A lone walk on a beautiful winters day, from Newborough to Abermenai to relook for Beautiful Silent Danger! It would be nice to say it was just the sound of birdsong and trickling water but an enless drone of planes and unadventurous circling microlights shattered an otherwise magical escape.
    GD000573.jpg
  • After an afternoon of clear blue skies and flat light, the sun finally started to descend towards the sea and as it did so it cast a golden light across the cooling landscape.<br />
<br />
The water ran warm over my feet in the gurgling river that raced to the waters edge, but the virginal sand was almost cold to the touch.<br />
<br />
A lone salmon-coloured cloud floated in a featureless sky, creating a sense of vast distance yet everything was perfect in their purpose.
    GD002102.jpg
  • A new moon rises high in the sky as a lone pink cloud floats towards the darkening peaks of the Llyn mountains. I was totally alone, not a soul around, just as I like it and it made the wondrous happenings seem all the more magic to me. I’m always amazed that being so alone can bring such peace and happiness.
    GD002103.jpg
  • Amazingly, after doing a quick walk to Llanddwyn Island this afternoon before Jani started another night shift on a busy Covid ITU ward, I did an absolute blast up Moel Eilio straight after to catch elusive sunshine promised for hours earlier. <br />
<br />
I went from van to peak & back in 1hr 15 and lost 50 litres of perspiration doing so, only to see the huge ball of sunshine drop below the clouds before dropping further behind a massive band of cloud on the horizon! <br />
<br />
It was just wonderful to be alone on the summit as sunset disappeared and a bitter dusk drew around me. I refused to use my headtorch on the way down, revelling instead in my night vision under a half moon
    GD002616.jpg
  • Simple minimalism of a lone figure jumping waves at Porthcurno in South West Cornwall.
    GD001495.jpg
  • Unbelievable dusk burn of sunlight after a dreadful, rain flooded day. These conditions lasted such a short time but in that time I enjoyed such wonderful serenity. It was so quiet that I could hear the sound of the Afon Menai flowing by; I heard a lone Oystercatcher calling across the water but couldn't hear a large flock of gulls lazily winging across the Menai Strait, backdropped by a watercolour tapestry of weather.
    GD002490.jpg
  • Trying to avoid the dozens of snappers rooted on Llanddwyn headland, lenses fixed to the lighthouse, I kept my camera in my bag and just enjoyed the view in other directions. On our way off the island however, I detoured to photograph a pool I’d seen earlier and thankfully was completely alone, until I was noticed that is & suddenly people were literally shooting over my shoulder :-(
    GD002398.jpg
  • Most of my images have featured the individual in relation to their natural environment, but this most recent image contains three nude figures, creating a narrative (or narratives) which should be open to interpretation by different viewers. <br />
<br />
For me as the artist I was fascinated by these naturally occurring caves in huge sea cliffs, caves which really look as though they are dwellings not geological formations. In the early evening sunlight, naked, vulnerable human beings emerge from the caves and revel in the heat of the sunlight and the warmth of the rock of their environment. It was as if I were watching a wildlife programme whilst observing my naked volunteers in this imposing cliff landscape. I like that the rock separates each of the figures, so that they'd be almost unaware of each other, but in the lower caves a man and a woman make a loving connection albeit fragile, whilst in the higher cave a lone female looks towards the light and companionship.
    Scene at the Bare Caves
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Glyn Davies, Professional Photographer and Gallery

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