A photography & travel journal

Notes from places where the light stays low.

Winter coastlines, early trains, cold hands, warm cafés. Updated whenever a roll of film comes back with something worth keeping.

Latest entries

Moonlit winter night over Reinefjorden: snow-covered peaks, calm dark water and a deep blue starry sky — Hamnøy, Lofoten. 35 mm, f/2.8, twenty seconds of moonlight on a borrowed tripod.

14 February 2026

Moonlight on Reinefjorden

The sun never quite made it over the ridge, which turned out to be the point. After dark the moon took over and lit Olstind and the whole fjord in that deep, even blue that film handles better than I do. I stood on the shore with the tripod leg wedged against a rock and shot the same frame eleven times, changing nothing but my mind.

Practical notes: the ferry from Bodø runs twice a day in winter, the bakery in Reine opens at eight, and nobody minds if you stand in the road for a photograph as long as you wave.

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Seven bare larch trees in a row on an untouched snowfield under a pale pink dawn sky — Märchen no Oka, Memanbetsu. Minus nineteen, and the shutter still fired.

9 January 2026

The quiet side of Hokkaido

I took the slow train from Asahikawa with a thermos and no plan beyond getting off where the fields looked widest. That turned out to be Memanbetsu: a row of seven larches, a sky the colour of the inside of a shell, and nobody else for a mile. The snow absorbs sound the way a darkroom absorbs light; you can hear your own film advance from a field away.

Cold-weather notes for anyone trying this: keep the spare rolls inside your coat, wind slowly, and accept that the last three frames of every roll will be of your own feet while you look for the car.

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Narikala fortress and the tiled rooftops of old Tbilisi under a soft sunset sky, the city and mountains behind — Narikala and the old town, Tbilisi. Shot from a stairwell that smelled of bread.

27 October 2025

Three mornings in Tbilisi

Every street ends in a staircase and every staircase ends in someone's balcony. I gave up on the map on the first morning and let the city decide. The sulphur baths are exactly as warm as everyone says; the view from above them is better than any of the postcards sold next to the door.

A shopkeeper on Betlemi Street asked what the camera was. When I said it only took thirty-six pictures a roll, he nodded like that was the correct number.

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Gallery

Six frames from the last two winters.

White lighthouse with its lamp lit on a brown headland at dusk, dark cliffs and the sea behind — Dyrhólaey, Iceland

Snow-covered wooden dock with a row of snowed-in rowboats on a half-frozen lake while snow falls — Boat dock in snow, Clear Lake

Tram with lit windows on a snow-covered loop under a street lamp at night — Night tram, Gdańsk

Raindrops on a cafe window with warm lamps and tables blurred behind the glass — Window seat, first snow

Mount Fuji and layered mountain ridges rising from a sea of clouds at sunrise — Dawn above the clouds, Southern Alps

Black-and-white photograph of a rangefinder camera, a box of film and two candles on a wooden hut table — Hut table, Savoie. Last frame of the roll.

About

Forever January is one person, two cameras and a preference for the months everyone else stays indoors. Most of the photographs are made on film, scanned at the kitchen table and posted here with short notes about where they came from.

There is no newsletter and nothing to buy, although a few prints exist and occasionally find new homes. If you recognise a place and think I have the name wrong, you are probably right.