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It was my late father who took me back to South Cornwall – a corner of the country that had meant childhood holidays of striped windbreaks and digging in rocks; learning the names of thrift, skylark, wood sorrel and primrose, a form of poetry for me. Dad had spent years cruising the coastline, and there was a section of the South West Coast Path from Par to Portscatho that I wanted to complete for him.
Those days of hidden creeks, wild ponies and setting suns interrupted by wilder storms grew into a larger photographic project. And somehow I ended up living on the Lizard Peninsula, a lyrical, wild landscape of steep cliffs, hidden coves and the right kind of isolation. I was drawn to the landscape and the way light moves through it. But I was also convinced that I could trade New York for a life here thanks to the rich and vibrant community I found – filmmakers, photographers, potters and people who forge a life connected to the natural environment. ; all make it work, and support each other so much. For two years, I have found a revival of creativity in this place.
I also saw a side of Cornwall that sometimes gets lost in the headlines – especially the little scenes that build around the edges of the most well-known locations. Such as the increasingly artsy Penryn, just north of Falmouth; or Newlyn, an authentic, everyday alternative to Penzance, the northern neighbor it meets. From bustling St Ives the tourists dwindle as you drive south towards Sennen – one of my favorite stretches of coastline anywhere in the world. Cornwall has become my home – and, having never thought I could found a creative career here, I now feel like there’s nowhere I’d rather be.