One Year On: Reflections on Substack, Photography, and Finding My Way

From modest expectations to unexpected growth: reflections on community, creative growth, and finding strength and healing through the lens on Substack.

Jan 18, 2026

Twelve months ago, I published my first piece on Substack. I had modest expectations. I wanted somewhere to write about my photographs, to share how I see the world, and to explore how being a photographer makes me a better version of myself. If my mum and dad and a few others were interested, that would be enough.

I had no idea the journey I was about to begin.

Journalling was an important part of my creative journey in 2025

Finding My Tribe

Substack has given me far more than a platform for sharing images. It’s allowed me to be more comfortable in my own skin, to lean into who I am and the photographer I want to be.

It’s introduced me to kindred spirits from around the globe. People looking for something different online. Somewhere good people share good stuff. Not just images and short snippets of text laden with hashtags, but words with real depth. A place where you can open your soul as a creative and share who you are and how you see the world.

The response has been immense. It’s both humbling and a complete shock that thousands of you were interested enough in what I shared to follow my journey. This was never about numbers and never will be. But knowing that what I’ve shared resonates with so many has given me the confidence to continue on this path: as a photographer, as a creative, and as a human being.

I thank each and every one of you for the support you’ve shown me.

How My Photography Has Evolved

Twelve months ago, I was shooting in both black and white and colour. Over the course of this year, I’ve transitioned to predominantly black and white. I only reach for colour now when it’s the colour itself that speaks to me in the scene before me.

I’ve also fully embraced the reactive approach I was already following. My mantras have become second nature: If I see it, I shoot it. If it catches my eye, I capture it. Don’t just pass by, even if it’s just using my phone. Pause a moment and make the photograph.

This journey has helped me develop a clearer understanding of what really interests me. I’ve tried various names for it - People and Place, Lived-In Landscapes, Shaped Land - but I keep coming back to human landscapes, for now at least.

I suppose it’s a kind of documentary photography. I’m drawn to the way we shape the world around us, the infrastructure, the architecture, the functional and the forgotten. Telegraph poles and electricity pylons marching across fields. Industrial estates and retail parks. Doorways, alleyways, car parks. The ordinary places we pass through without a second glance.

Nature forms part of this story too, sometimes in harmony, sometimes in contrast. Vegetation reclaiming abandoned spaces, trees framing brutalist concrete, weeds pushing through cracked tarmac. But it’s the human imprint that fascinates me most. The marks we leave. The way our everyday existence writes itself onto the landscape.

These aren’t the scenes that typically make it onto gallery walls or Instagram feeds. But they’re honest. They’re real. And they’re everywhere, if you take the time to look.

Projects Born From This Community

One of the unexpected joys of this year has been how projects have emerged organically from my time here on Substack.

Light Around the Home unexpectedly spilled out from my PhotoWeek posts. What started as casual observations of the everyday light in and around my house became something more intentional. A project in its own right. It’s a perfect example of how paying attention, week after week, can reveal threads worth following.

Then came my first zine, Stuck in America. Thank you to those of you who purchased a physical copy and continue to purchase the digital version. Genuinely. The fact that people wanted to hold something I’d created in their hands still feels surreal.

Now there’s Nocturnal Ely, an ongoing exploration of my home city after dark. The winter months have given me the perfect excuse to wander familiar streets in unfamiliar light, discovering a different character to places I thought I knew.

None of these projects were planned. They emerged through the process of showing up, sharing, and paying attention to what resonated, both with me and with you. The feedback and encouragement I’ve received here has given me the confidence to trust my instincts and follow the creative pathways I discover, even when I’m not entirely sure where they lead.

Photography as Anchor

While Substack and my photography have been highlights of 2025, away from this it’s been an extremely challenging year.

Twelve to eighteen months ago, I made the significant decision to move away from a toxic environment to pastures new. This was not an easy process and life was determined to make me pay a price for this, both literally and emotionally.

And then, in the autumn, the tragic and sudden loss of my beloved brother-in-law Matt came.

Photography has been my constant companion through those darkest days. The crutch I lean on. The partner that walks beside me. The practice that allows my mind to slow down and be present in the moment. The one that quiets the voices and allows me to appreciate the beauty all around me.

Photography and creativity generally can be a force for good. They can be part of the healing process.

I’ve written many times here about how photography has helped my mental health, and the response to these pieces has been overwhelming. Through them, I’ve shared the rawest parts of myself, and the way this has resonated, and the stories others have shared in response, has been both deeply appreciated and profoundly humbling.

Looking Ahead to 2026

So what’s next? Rest assured all the usual content will continue but I’ve been reflecting on how I want this space to evolve:

More collaboration. I want to engage more with other photographers, perhaps a monthly interview series to highlight some of the brilliant work happening across Substack? I want more face-to-face meet-ups too. Online connection is wonderful, but meeting in person is better. And I’m looking forward to continuing existing collaborations and starting new ones in 2026.

Deeper exploration of mental health. Given how much these pieces have resonated, I want to explore the mental health aspect of photography in greater depth. There’s clearly something here that matters to people.

PhotoWeek continues. It’s been good for me, and I hope it’s been good for you too.

New formats. Thank you to everyone who gave feedback on the video I published as a trial alongside my last PhotoWeek of 2025. The response was encouraging enough that I’ve decided to make this a regular thing but with a difference. A monthly series, independent of my other posts, where I talk through my favourite five images from the previous month. It’s a different way of sharing the stories behind the photographs, and I’m looking forward to seeing how it develops.

More zines. I loved the process of creating Stuck in America, the curation, the design, the tactile satisfaction of holding something physical at the end of it. I want to do more of this in 2026. Perhaps as standalone pieces that bring projects to a close, or maybe something more regular that combines my writing and photography in print form. I’m still mulling this over, but I’d love to hear your thoughts if you have any.

A question of pace. I’ll be honest, there were times in 2025 when I struggled, particularly with the longer form pieces each Sunday. In the main, the ideas flowed and the articles came. But there were weeks when I was scrabbling around for ideas, when it all became last minute, when the blank page felt more like an adversary than an invitation.

I considered reducing the frequency. But I’ve decided to continue as before, with a caveat. When the ideas flow, which they seem to be at the moment, I want to share. Should they dry up, or should I need a short break, I’ll be kind to myself and let that happen. No guilt, no apologies.

I’m hopeful that some of the other things I’m keen to explore in 2026, such as the collaborations, video and zines, can step up and help ease the load when needed. A different kind of post is still a post. A different kind of creative output is still showing up.

Beyond that, I’m staying open to whatever emerges. Some of my best pieces this year came from ideas I never anticipated or things that happened to me in the days or even hours before I sat down to write.

Trust the Process

I wrote something in my journal a few weeks ago that keeps coming back to me:

Create for the sheer joy of creating. Capture moments that make your heart sing, catch your eye, or make you pause and retrace your steps. These are the moments worth capturing. They reveal how you see the world and the delights you discover. They may not appeal to everyone, but they are your moments of joy. Embrace them and hold them close, for they are a part of you.

Creativity has the power to ease a troubled mind. Trust the process. Trust your mind to make sense of it all. And above all, trust yourself.

Once again, a massive thanks for the love and support I have felt through this medium in the last twelve months. It has meant the world.

Here’s to 2026 and continuing the creative journey together.