A Journey Through Light
Before I had ever picked up a camera, I was already in love with sunrises and sunsets. Living in Malta, surrounded by the Mediterranean Sea, was impossible not to be. The colours are always a kind of quiet magic — shifting from yellow to orange, then to red, blue, and sometimes to a soft, moody grey.
The cliffs look extraordinary when the first light of dawn touches them. Even though I often prefer to shoot before the sun rises or just after it sets, those moments of early light always fascinate me. They teach me how light behaves, how it reveals and hides itself, and how it’s capable of transforming that familiar setting.
When I finally started photography, I immediately knew I wanted to capture landscapes and seascapes. Standing alone on a beach, listening to the rush of the sea, feeling the varied wind, and simply breathing, all made me feel something that I had never expected to – a kind of meditation. A stillness. A connection. It was, and still is, as though the act of photographing isn’t just about the scene in front of me but also about finding a deeper calm within myself.
As my passion for this genre grew, I slowly built up the gear I needed — a solid tripod, good filters, and the main essentials for long exposures. Once I felt ready, I went for my first real shoot at Għajn Tuffieħa, Qarraba, in Malta. It’s a classic sunset location; however, on the day I went to capture the sunset, the sky was completely cloudy. I didn’t give up. Instead, I immediately knew this scene was meant to be made in black and white. I captured it, and I was genuinely happy with the result. It felt like a small victory — I recall my thoughts as being in the lines of ‘light doesn’t have to be perfect, to be meaningful’.
From then on, Malta became my home training ground. Selmun at sunrise, with its soft colours and quiet stillness. The Valletta skyline glowing in the early morning light. Fomm ir-Riħ — a magnificent remote and demanding cliff-like coastline — with a descent that tests your legs and an ascent that tests your patience, especially when darkness starts to fall. Still, the reward always makes the effort worthwhile.
I explored various locations around Malta in pursuit of fine-art photography, as in the Sliema Seafront for its seascapes – chasing minimalism in the movement of water; Għar Lapsi with its rugged southwestern coastline; the open waters around The Blue Grotto in Wied iż‑Żurrieq – where the sea shifts from deep blue to turquoise within seconds; and last but not least, Delimara, with its massive white rocks and its dramatic shapes that have been carved by time.
Marsaskala became another favourite for sunrise and fine‑art shots. Ta’ Qassisu in Mellieħa — a natural window in the sea — a beautiful spot but hectic to reach. Slugs Bay, yet another place that demands a huge effort, but once you’re there, the view makes you forget every hard step of the climb down and the climb back up.
These places have shaped me. They have taught me patience, persistence, and respect for landscape. Every location has shown me its own rhythm, its own light, its own story — and that the journey to reach it is often very much a part of the photograph itself.
A group of us — all photography enthusiasts with different tastes, from street to landscape — decided to plan a trip to Sicily. We wanted a journey that would satisfy everyone, and that meant moving from place to place every single day. It was hectic, but that was part of the adventure.
Our first stop was Enna. The entire area was wrapped in thick mist, so dense that you barely saw a few metres ahead of you. Instead of being discouraged, we embraced the moment. The mist turned the landscape into something mysterious and atmospheric – no doubt, we made the most of it.
Next came Petralia Soprana and Petralia Sottana, both beautiful places with incredible scenery. From there, we headed to the Madonie region — another highlight, with stunning views — a great stay and unforgettable food. Sicily has a way of feeding both the stomach and the soul!
One of the places we were most excited to visit was the Nebrodi Forest. On our first attempt, we went alone and didn’t reach the exact spot we were aiming for. Still, the location we found was beautiful, and we captured what we could. The next day, we booked a guided trip with our hosts – this time we reached the right place. The forest was magical — quiet, ancient, and full of character.
By the end of the trip, we were all exhausted but happy. Sicily had given us mists, forests, mountains, villages, and endless opportunities to chase light in its many forms. It was a journey that taught me to adapt, explore, and appreciate the unexpected.
Another travel venture was when my wife and I planned a trip to the northeastern part of England to visit my father. I told her that I absolutely had to photograph some land/seascapes in the fine‑art genre whilst we were there. I already knew the places I had wanted to visit — I had seen them before, long before photography became such an important part of my life. This time, however, I was going with a purpose.
Holy Island (Lindisfarne) was at the top of my list. I checked the tide charts carefully – you can only cross by car when the tide is out; otherwise, the road disappears under water. When the moment came, we drove across, and I captured some beautiful scenes there. Next was St Mary’s Lighthouse in Whitley Bay — another place where the light was somewhat different - softer and moodier. After this trip, I knew I wanted more. England had unlocked something inside of me.
A few months later, while talking with friends, we decided to plan a photography trip to Dorset. It was 2019, and we went in March. Corfe Castle was our first stop, followed by Durdle Door, Kimmeridge Bay, Swanage, Wistman Woods, Old Harry Rocks, Wiltshire, Pulpit Rock, and Wareham. We arrived at Bristol Airport late at night, picked up the rental car, and headed straight to the Airbnb. We barely slept two hours — arrived around 2 a.m. and left again at 4 a.m. to catch sunrise at Corfe Castle. We hoped for mist, but it didn’t happen. We still managed to get some great shots.
We returned to Corfe Castle five times, always hoping for that magical mist, but it never happened. It didn’t matter. The experience, the effort, the early mornings — they were all part of the journey. The following days we explored the other locations, each one offering something different, something beautiful. By the end of the trip, we were totally exhausted but fulfilled.
Back in Malta, we were so happy with the experience that we immediately planned another trip — this time to Dungeness in Kent. We wanted to photograph the abandoned boats left to decay on the shingle. When we arrived, we were a bit disappointed - there were far fewer boats than we had seen online. We didn’t give up and made the most of it - we had a full plan B! We visited Hastings, Deal Pier, Viking Bay, Botany Bay, and more. Another successful trip, with great captures in the bag.
England taught me something different from Malta. The light there is softer, moodier, and more unpredictable. It forced me to adapt, be patient, and embrace whatever the weather gave me. It was a place where I learnt that photography isn’t only about chasing perfect conditions — it’s also about finding beauty in whatever light you are presented with.
Looking back at all these places — Malta, Sicily, and England — I realise that every trip, every early morning, every climb, every moment of waiting for the right light has shaped the way I see the world. What started as a simple admiration for sunrise and sunset slowly turned into a deeper connection with the landscape, the sea, and the quiet moments that lay in between.
What I can now say is that Malta gave me my foundation, Sicily taught me to embrace the unexpected, whilst England showed me how to work with mood, patience, and the weather conditions. Each place offered its own challenges, its own rhythms, and its own special light. Through all of this, photography has become more than just a hobby. It is a way of slowing down, of breathing, of finding stillness in a world that appears to be moving too fast.
This journey through light is still ongoing. Every location I now visit adds something new to the way I shoot and the way I feel behind the camera. Every time I return home to Malta, I see the familiar cliffs and sea with a renewed vision — shaped by the places I’ve been to, and remain inspired for the places I have yet to discover.
In the end, it’s not just about the photographs. It’s about the moments, the experiences, and the quiet connections created that take form between myself, the landscape and seascape, and the light that guides me.
