If Everybody Had an Ocean

Living in Glasgow means being close to the coast—a short train ride away are towns like Ayrshire and Largs, places where the sea feels near, and the pace of life slows. It’s the kind of journey where you put on Day Tripper while watching the trees retreat through the window.

When the sun is out, the direct sunlight blends with the reflections off the sea, creating a unique quality of light—unlike anything you’d find in the city. This special light falls across old men’s faces by the shore, cinema theatres, poles, and sleeping sheep; When it rains or the wind howls, harshness from nature can be felt instantly. Yet the locals have long grown used to it—live on with optimism and resilience. If you asked someone here who, completely lost in daydream to get up and walk, they’ll almost always end up near the sea. Or if you asked Brian Wilson sing about distant, unattainable places, He would gently tell us the wonderful parable of ocean—this imagined kingdom—singing in falsetto the details of its landscapes and the beautiful names of all its things.

A beach bathed in brilliant sunshine, a rose tied to a bench, a Vauxhall Corsa in the parking lot under the sunset, a camper van hidden in a corner, and the path to the beach covered with small daisies— Like Brian, I used photography to turn these moments into an object that I can weigh, an object that is a blend of memory, dream and reality, a world I believe in—one where everybody has an ocean.