Forest Kai.

I started taking photographs at fourteen, almost by coincidence. After my father passed away, I was carrying his ashes into the mountains, and I experienced a feeling that I would now describe as the sublime. There was something about the scale of the landscape that was overwhelming and difficult to explain. I started photographing it, and it has been landscape photography from the beginning.

That experience still shapes my relationship with mountains. Photography became a way of expressing something very personal, and over time I became more serious about learning how to communicate that feeling through an image.

It would have to be my trip to Tibet about three years ago. Some of the places were so remote that when I sent my drone up, all I could see were layers and layers of mountains stretching for miles. There was no Wi-Fi, no phone signal, and we were travelling off-road, completely away from everything familiar.

It has to be the Paradise Mountain viewpoint on the last day of the tour. I had seen a photograph of it a long time ago, and I found it difficult to believe that a place like that could actually exist.

The mountains line up so perfectly, and then you have these tropical plants in the foreground. That combination is extraordinary. Seeing it in person after having that image in my mind for so long made it especially memorable. It’s hard to imagine finding that same arrangement anywhere else.

One of the highlights was seeing how Max works as a professional landscape photographer, from the initial planning through to the final edit. I’ve spent so much time learning through my own experimentation that being able to observe that whole process in person was fascinating.

I usually start by walking around and exploring different viewpoints before setting up. I want to understand the space and find a composition that feels right. Once I find it, I’m happy to wait for the light.

I used to keep the framing simple, with relatively little sky or foreground, so the main subject held your attention. But as I’ve evolved and improved, I’ve found that complex compositions can work perfectly for me as well.

I think everything we do, see and watch influences what we make, often subconsciously. I’m especially interested in how people from earlier centuries responded to the same landscapes that move us today. Looking at Albert Bierstadt’s The Matterhorn, painted around 1867, I’m struck by the fact that someone so long ago also recognised something extraordinary in that mountain and felt compelled to express it.

For me, the identity of my work comes from my relationship with the landscape. The remote locations, simple compositions and darker tones work together to express that connection.

I’m still figuring out a consistent visual language. I want the photographs to communicate something personal, and I think that develops through the experiences I bring to them.

My editing developed quite intuitively. In the beginning, I approached it as a personal interpretation of the landscape, experimenting until the image felt close to how I remembered the place. As I became more serious, I would spend hours in Lightroom, trying things and seeing how changes in colour and tone affected the atmosphere.

Getting useful feedback is a big part of it. When you work on your own, it can be difficult to recognise what’s missing or understand what you should work on next. Guidance helps you see things you might otherwise keep overlooking.

I’ve also realised that progress is uneven. You can spend a long time experimenting without feeling that everything is coming together. Finding a consistent style, and the right medium for what you want to express, feels like one of the hardest parts of making any kind of art.

Instagram does influence me a little, because it’s another place where I absorb ideas, knowledge and different ways of seeing. Even casually scrolling exposes you to images that might stay with you.

I tend to share photographs from wherever I’ve been travelling. My recent Peru photographs from the trip with Max and Madee seem to have done particularly well with the algorithm, which has been interesting to see.

I have quite a few projects in mind. Some involve telling stories about my family, and others are more focused on landscapes. I’m interested in developing both sides of my work and finding the right way to express each of them.

For future landscape trips, Patagonia and Saudi Arabia are two places I’d really like to explore. At the moment, there are a lot of possibilities, and I’m still working out which ideas to pursue first.

It’s a difficult question because the technology is advancing so quickly, and as individuals we can feel that we have very little influence over its direction. It reminds me of earlier arguments about photography itself. In the nineteenth century, critics such as Charles Baudelaire questioned whether photography could be considered art. New technologies have a way of making people reconsider what artistic work means.

For me, photography also has a deeply physical side. With film, light acts on an emulsion, an image is developed, and a print can be made in the darkroom. The materials, decisions and time involved are part of the work. I believe that experience of making something physically will continue to matter, whatever AI becomes capable of generating.

At the same time, I worry about what happens to the images we share online, including whether they become material for training AI. It can feel as though our creative work becomes free labour for systems we have little control over. AI may change landscape photography and many other fields, but I don’t believe it can replace the meaning of art as a physical, human practice.

Start with places that make you curious or mean something to you. Give yourself time to explore and pay attention to what you respond to. Those experiences gradually shape the photographs you want to make.

I would also encourage people to experiment and seek useful feedback. Spend time with your images, try different approaches, and ask people who can help you understand what could improve. Finding your own style takes time, and progress won’t always feel consistent. I’m still going through that process myself.