Life in a hospital is easy during the day: you wait for the next IV to finish, for the next result to be delivered, for the next visitor to pop in. But the night always comes and with it, silence. The lights dim down, everyone is quiet and you can hear your own breath. You can hear your own fears. At night, my father told me he would close his eyes, quiet his mind, shut his pain away and imagine he was sleeping at home, on a lazy Sunday morning.
The sea passage between Greece and Turkey - usually referred to by migrants and refugees as the 'death passage'- during a tempest that caused a temporary halt in the arrival of dinghies from the Turkish coast.
This self-portrait, shot in the mirror of my hospital bathroom after my breast conserving surgery to remove a malignant lump, shows me staring at my bruised and sore left breast and nipple, with all the scars my body bears from previous major surgery visibly exposed. This shot would not have happened without my smart phone, which proved to be a vital tool in allowing me to follow the process of my own breast cancer treatment from diagnosis onwards, as if watching from the outside, like a mere observer, rather than the patient enduring the process.
When I take photos I feel instantly connected to the world about me; everything has potential. My eye seeks out the tiny, trivial, and through the lens things get somehow shifted and transformed; made otherworldly. It is deliberate, but also alchemic. I use my phone because I take most of my pictures while I walk with my dog Lucky and there is a spontaneity which I find liberating. I have recently moved, and in a place that feels alien to me, this image reminded me of my family, of my love of trees and made me smile.
In Central Havana, I stumbled across the Campoamor Theatre built in 1921 and now in ruins after a fire in 1949; it never opened its doors to the public again. As I walked through, the familiar melodies of 'Swan Lake' filled the theatre. There, I met Reynaldo, who once worked at the theatre as a lighting technician and sound engineer and after the fire, chose to make this old run-down theatre his home.
A deep sense of fear lingered over our lives after my wife was diagnosed with cancer. This image was taken after her first day of chemotherapy. In the middle of what felt like a very dark time for my wife, she demonstrated a strong sense of hope and positivity. This image represents so much of what I was feeling - Faye at the start of her journey, with a calm sense of hope regardless of the storm surrounding her.
Distorted TV images (caused by wind blowing the antenna) of the first presidential debate epitomise the overbearing and interruptive style of Trump. These images are unique despite being transmitted globally as the resulting pixelated and blurred image was in itself unique to this moment in time and this television. At this stage it was assumed Clinton would win, with these images now showing an unexpected prescience.
A young man looks out at the beach during the anxious wait for the start as he prepares to swim the Coogee Island Challenge - a 2.4km circumnavigation of Wedding Cake Island. Ocean swimming is growing in popularity in Australia and events like this are typical around the country during the summer.
The Argentinian Pampas are a couple of hours driving south from Buenos Aires. It is an area of open spaces, dotted with small villages surrounded by estancias and where animals outnumber men. The Argentinians simply call it "El Campo"
I discovered that this Istanbul mosque was far more central to community life far than I ever imagined. A sanctuary from the city heat, it was both a source of wonder and admiration for visitors, a corner to sleep or pray in for locals, a place for women to study together, a family meeting place, even children played on the velvety carpet and rode bicycles in the courtyard. A lone person walked across in a second of solitude, just a glimpse of the wonder of this place.
This image was taken from my car window, while travelling alongside a moving train. I felt drawn to the people on the train involved in their own journey - I knew nothing about them but felt connected to them. Transport is the connecting link between regions and we spend much of our time in transit. In this space we shed our regional identity and become commuter connected by the mundane routine of travelling.
A dumped fridge early one foggy morning, still containing food, lies discarded beside farmland on a quiet back road of Maitland, New South Wales, Australia.
Illegal kerbside dumping, from refrigerators to mattresses, is becoming more frequent in the area. The locals blame the problem on the perceived high cost of taking rubbish to the city's tip and the lack of kerbside collection in Maitland.