During Covid I lived in Hanoi (2020-2022), Vietnam. Like many around the world we found ourselves under a long and very strict lockdown. We were only allowed out of our apartment to meet food deliveries at a guarded gate 50 metres from our doorstep. I can’t recall how long we lived like this, what I do remember is an intense yearning to be in nature, away from the unforgiving concrete of the city and the encroaching walls of our apartment.

When, at long last, the restrictions eased, we fled to the mountains of northwest Vietnam. Arriving in the lush green landscape, I was overwhelmed; it was a feeling like coming home and reconnecting with loved ones. In response, I began to photograph all that was nurturing me; a waterfall, koi fish, moss covered rocks, leaves, trees, dirt and the sky. Nature. I wanted something to keep, something to take home with me.

But when I returned to my studio and transferred the files, they were all damaged. Digital glitches scratched strips from my images, leaving unnaturally perfect scars.  As I studied the images, I began to see that the marks revealed my presence in the images. Suddenly, I was confronted by the revelation that these scars mirrored my impact as a tourist and photographer, damaging these beautiful places. A contradiction that can’t be reconciled, damaging the very thing I sought to embrace. The concrete city I had just fled was once also a place of pristine rivers and valleys, now gone under the weight of human activity. And my flight into the arms of nature was a thread-like finger of the city itself, reaching out to take hold with its deathly grip.

Winner, 2024 Australian Photography Award