In photography, simplicity often helps to bring calmness and tranquillity from chaos. This idea came to life for me one day in the Namib Desert when I captured "Solitary No. 1," now one of my most popular pieces. But this image is more than just a picture of thorn trees—it symbolises the power of simplicity. It shows how nature, even in its most unpredictable moments, can strip away distractions to reveal serene beauty, even amidst a storm.
It all happened on a day when I scouted the arid landscapes of the Namib Desert, a place renowned for its endless horizons and unforgiving conditions. I searched for abandoned structures to add to my 'Abandoned Collection.' Mid-afternoon, I came across a small, weathered wooden shed, literally standing in the middle of nothing. This was no ordinary shed—it served as a church, school hall, and meeting place for the local community. Its remote location and survival through the relentless desert conditions made it a remarkable find.
I came across a small, weathered wooden shed, literally standing in the middle of nothing.
What captivated me most was the resilience of this humble structure. Despite the punishing environment, it stood tall, a testament to both the human spirit and the mysteries of time. The desert, with its sandstorms and scorching heat, is brutal to man-made structures. Yet, here was this shed, defiant and enduring, ready to host another class, another sermon, or another gathering, its bell still hanging outside the door waiting to be sounded.
After capturing my shot of the shed, I noticed the sky darkening on the horizon, and the wind began to pick up speed. I quickly packed up and started driving back to camp. Within minutes, fierce winds overtook me, and a swirling cloud of dust reduced visibility to nearly zero. I had no choice but to stop the vehicle and wait out the storm. Sitting in my Land Rover, I glimpsed something unexpected through the window—the storm had simplified the scene before me.
The dust had swept away all the visual clutter, turning the landscape into a soft, muted haze. The rugged textures of the desert, the horizon, and even the direction of light had all vanished. What remained were a few thorn trees, etched in white, as though sketched with a soft pencil. The illusion came and went as the gusts of wind drove the dust in all directions. It was as if the storm had wiped away the visual noise, leaving only the essential elements of the scene. At that moment, I realised I had something special—if only I could capture it.
What remained were a few thorn trees etched in white.
I set up my tripod inside the Land Rover with all the windows shut. A friend had once joked that you could see three things from space: the Grand Canyon, the Great Wall of China, and the gaps in a Land Rover Defender’s doors! Fortunately, the seals held better than he joked. Knowing I’d eventually have to open the window for a clearer shot, I turned the vehicle to face sideways so the side windows on the one side were downwind and tried composing through the glass.
The trees came and went with the gusts while the Land Rover shook furiously. It was clear I would have to open the window sooner or later. I set the lens to manual focus, preset the hyper-focal distance to ensure the trees would be sharp, and carefully adjusted the exposure settings. Anticipating the dust would fill the car when I opened the window, I wrapped a scarf around my head. As soon as I dropped the window, the Land Rover filled with dust, turning it into a miniature terrarium. Despite the chaos, I managed to fire off a few frames. Each one looked like a white blanket on the back of the camera, and I wasn’t sure if I’d captured anything usable. The vehicle was shaking so badly that I was concerned the shot might not be sharp. But on the positive side, in the swirling dust, the trees—now isolated—took on an otherworldly quality. The image seemed to defy the chaos, portraying a sense of peace amidst the turmoil. I was ecstatic!
That day, I captured two photographs for my collection: one of the old shed in absolute tranquility, without a breath of wind or a cloud in the sky, and another of the landscape engulfed in a storm. The stark contrast between these two images, taken just an hour apart, made for a rare and exceptional yield.
Both "Abandoned No. 20" and "Solitary No. 1" have since resonated with the public, becoming two of my most popular works. "Solitary No. 1" is currently on display at our gallery in Napier, in the Overberg. If you’re in Cape Town, I encourage you to visit and see it in person—do let me know your thoughts.
In photography, we often chase the dramatic: the perfect light, sweeping landscapes, or complex compositions. But sometimes, the simplest scenes have the most profound impact. In "Solitary No. 1", the storm became an unlikely tool, transforming potential chaos into a moment of quiet beauty. The power of simplicity is something I frequently return to in my work, and this photograph is a testament to how, when distractions are stripped away—either by chance or intention—the unseen essence of a moment is revealed.
The story behind this image reminds me to embrace the unexpected, find beauty in simplicity, and let go of the need for perfection. Often, what we’re searching for appears in ways we never anticipate. But if you don’t seek, you will never find. Sometimes, all it takes is a storm to uncover something truly special, both in photography as well as life.
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