When House The House We See Becomes a Home
– A Photographer’s View

What stands out to you when you look at a home?

Is it the materials? The angles? The way sunlight moves across a surface as the day passes and the shadows lengthen?

For me, it’s all of that—and so much more. It’s never just one thing. It’s a symphony of textures, forms, light, and of course, feeling. Being an architectural and interiors photographer, I can’t help but see the layers of a home or building. It’s like a switch I can’t turn off. And honestly, I wouldn’t want to.

One of my quiet joys of recent times has been taking myself on what I call an “Architecture Walkabout.” No agenda, no clients, no brief. Just me, my camera, one lens and an open eye. It’s in these moments that I reconnect with the why behind my work.

On one such wander, I came across a home in Clifton Springs that’s stayed with me. It wasn’t flashy or even contemporary for that matter, but it had something… something honest. The way the last of the sun’s rays kissed its warm, sand-hued bricks, how that glow sat against a clear blue sky—it felt like a modernist painting of elements. A combination that I find a little too hard to resist looking away from!

And then there were the little details—the lone conifer in the front yard, standing slightly off-centre like it had grown along with the family history over the years. The twin arches on the façade, a gorgeous nod to a bygone era of Australian architecture. They are perfect, they’re not matching and that was exactly the point. These weren’t just architectural features—they were character traits.

I stood there longer than I probably should have, just… imagining. Wondering what life had been lived inside those walls. How many “first day of school” photos had been taken under that big front arch? How many quiet morning cuppas were had overlooking the bay while the rest of the house kept on sleeping? What milestones had been celebrated here, what routines quietly repeated until they became tradition?

Homes are not just spaces we live in—they become silent witnesses to our lives. They absorb our stories. They soften with our routines, creak with our histories, and carry the essence of the people who call them home. In a way, they become unspoken members of the family.

And this is what draws me to architectural photography. Yes, I’m fascinated by clean lines, by light and structure. But what I truly seek is connection. I want to capture the spirit of a space, of a home—the stillness, the warmth, the lived-in feeling that begins to sprout after the builders leave and life inside its walls begins.

I haven’t been able to shake that wondering—about the lives and the stories behind those closed doors. And I’m kind of curious to start telling these stories, not just through images, but through the voices of the people who live in them.
A series of fireside chats. Short interviews. Heart-opening conversations. Little glimpses into how homes evolve with their people.

What drew them to that house? What renovations came from love—or necessity? Which corner of the home always seems to catch the best light? And what are the stories they feel define their homes?

Because architecture doesn’t stop at the exterior and interior, the fixtures and fittings. The spaces we live with shape us just as we shape them.

So maybe that’s something I’ll explore—an expansion of my work that blends photography with narrative. Capturing both the structure and the character. Telling the stories of not just the buildings, but the lives within them.

If you’ve ever wondered what your own home might look like through that lens—or if you have a space full of stories you’d love to share—get in touch. I’d love to hear from you.

For now, that’s probably enough musings for a Monday evening.

Much love,