Black and white is not the absence of colour, but the presence of essence.

There are moments when the creative process, after months of being interior, silent, and solitary, meets the outer world. Éire i Dubh Agus Bán has crossed that threshold. It began as a personal, almost meditative gesture — walking, observing, writing, photographing — and became something else: a shared experience, a space of listening. This final reflection is not a conclusion, but a pause. A breath. A necessary moment to look back before stepping forward.

The central question that gave birth to the project — “Can black and white landscape photography still move us today?” — remains open, but it now has echoes. Echoes in the words of those who visited the exhibition, who wrote in the guestbook, who paused in front of an image for a long moment, who wrote to me later or left a line on social media. Those echoes have become part of the work itself. Because photography, I’ve learned, does not end with the shutter click. It begins there — and grows in the space between the image and the eye that receives it.

From a technical perspective, this project has allowed me to refine a language of precision and care. The choice of panoramic format, the discipline of using a tripod, the management of exposure through bracketing, and the subtle art of post-production in monochrome all became tools not just for representation, but for revelation. I was not looking for dramatic compositions or postcard beauty, but for a presence — a moment when the land reveals itself, however briefly. And yet, technique alone is not enough. What truly guided this project was a form of listening: to the light, to the silence, to the emotional rhythm of each place.

Creatively, Éire i Dubh Agus Bán confirmed my need for slowness. For being in the landscape rather than capturing it. Each image is the result of time spent, often waiting — for clouds to shift, for wind to quiet, for something to align between inside and outside. This temporal dimension is what black and white expresses best: not a frozen instant, but a suspended time.

The exhibition has been, without doubt, the most meaningful part of the process. Seeing the photographs printed, suspended in space, receiving light, being read and re-read by others — this made the project real. Tangible. Alive. It also taught me about distance: the images no longer belong to me. They belong to those who receive them. And in that shift, something beautiful happens: a work that was born in solitude becomes an encounter.

Where will this lead? I don’t know yet. But I feel the path opening. I envision a limited-edition photobook, where images and texts live side by side. I imagine future exhibitions in alternative, intimate spaces. I want to explore other landscapes, perhaps in Ireland, perhaps elsewhere — always with the same fidelity to quiet, to slowness, to inner resonance.

But above all, I want to continue honoring what this project has taught me: That black and white is not the absence of colour, but the presence of essence. That photography, when done with care, becomes more than a document — it becomes a form of presence. And that presence, when shared, is what makes art alive.

 

This short video gathers the light, movement and silence that shaped this project.
A visual ode to the Irish landscape — click below to watch:

 

Thank you for walking this path with me.

This may be the final reflection — but the journey continues.