APS One Shot: Dust to Dust

My preferred genres of photography are photojournalism, social documentary, and street photography—fields where there is little to no post-processing. I’m drawn to capturing a fleeting instant that encapsulates a larger story, highlights a social issue, or reflects the present-day reality of life.

Sometimes it’s as simple as creatively capturing an ordinary moment—something people walk past every day without noticing. Other times, it’s about being ready for that rare, unrepeatable moment that presents itself without warning. When I head out for a shoot, I’m trying to stay open—prepared for the unexpected, and alert to unplanned moments that might unfold before me.

At the heart of my practice is a desire to document the truth of our times. In an era when post-processing can create a false sense of perfection, and AI is increasingly blurring the boundaries of reality, I believe in staying as true to the moment as possible.

More and more, I’ve found myself relying on my phone camera to capture these images. It’s less conspicuous than my DSLR and 18–200mm zoom lens, and far more accepted in public spaces where smartphones are now ubiquitous. Its subtlety allows for a more candid approach—ideal for the kind of unscripted, real-life photography I like.

Since drones have become more accessible, I’ve also embraced drone photography. I’m drawn to the distinctive, top-down, bird’s-eye perspective it offers.

Even with aerial shots, I tend to look for images that carry a photojournalistic or documentary weight—photos that reveal patterns, stories, or social commentary from above.

One subject I’ve returned to frequently is cemeteries. With a drone, the geometric patterns of graves become strikingly visible, especially when long shadows from headstones stretch across the ground depending on the time of day. These visual elements add an unexpected layer of interest and solemn beauty.

This is one of my drone photographs, Dust to Dust, taken in Lightning Ridge, NSW, in September during the equinox. Shot mid-afternoon, the sun was still high, so the shadows were minimal. What stood out to me wasn’t the absence of shade, but the distinct palette of the landscape—deep reds and dusty browns, typical of the Australian outback.

Unlike the lush green cemeteries most are familiar with—manicured lawns, flower beds, small shrubs—Lightning Ridge’s cemetery is raw and sparse.

From above, some graves resembled the town’s signature opal mining mounds, known as mullock—piles of discarded, non-opal-bearing rocks. This visual similarity between burial site and mine waste struck me deeply, echoing themes of impermanence, value, and the remnants we leave behind.