SELECTED WORKS > Fictional Anthropology > Waterworld
WATERWORLD
Waterworld explores the uneasy intersection between environmental collapse, mythology, and human consequence.
Photographed within the mangrove systems, wetlands, shrimp farms, industrial estuaries, and polluted coastal zones of Malaysia and Thailand, the work attempts to construct a visual allegory of a world suspended somewhere between reality and dystopian fiction.
Within these tidal landscapes I became increasingly drawn to forms that appeared ancient, pagan, and almost otherworldly — tangled mangrove root systems resembling creatures or deities, plastic waste lodged within the organic environment like archaeological remnants of a dying civilisation, and waterways that seemed to exist outside of time altogether.
The series reflects upon the consequences of environmental degradation, rising ecological instability, and humanity’s increasingly fragile relationship with the natural world. Yet rather than functioning as straightforward documentation, the images attempt to operate psychologically — suggesting a flooded, lawless realm where the boundaries between nature, myth, and human failure begin to dissolve.
Central to the work is the tension between beauty and contamination. Between organic form and industrial intrusion. Between paradise and ruin.
The shrimp farming industry, coastal pollution, and the destruction of mangrove ecosystems remain important underlying realities within the project, but Waterworld ultimately seeks less to explain than to evoke — offering fragments from a world that feels both contemporary and post-civilisational at the same time.
Waterworld
The Towers of Ethane
There are moments within polluted landscapes where reality begins to resemble science fiction.
Photographed within the stagnant waters of an abandoned shrimp pond, this image initially appeared to me less like a documentary photograph and more like a vision of some toxic extraterrestrial world — a gaseous atmosphere swirling around dark architectural forms disappearing into green chemical haze.
What we are actually looking at are the terminal pipes of an old water pumping system, partially submerged beneath algae-rich water contaminated by organic waste, shrimp feed, bacteria, and chemical residue associated with industrial aquaculture. Yet the ominous three-pronged structures seemed uncannily tower-like to me, resembling distant gothic skyscrapers or the upper reaches of industrial spires vanishing into poisonous cloud.
The title references methane and ethane gases — invisible organic compounds produced through decomposition beneath water and marshland environments. Though colourless and odourless, methane remains one of the most potent greenhouse gases associated with climate instability and environmental degradation.
To my mind, The Towers of Ethane became an allegorical landscape — part industrial ruin, part dystopian mirage — reflecting humanity’s uneasy relationship with consumption, contamination, and the increasingly fragile ecosystems upon which modern civilisation depends.
Photographed within the stagnant waters of an abandoned shrimp pond, this image initially appeared to me less like a documentary photograph and more like a vision of some toxic extraterrestrial world — a gaseous atmosphere swirling around dark architectural forms disappearing into green chemical haze.
What we are actually looking at are the terminal pipes of an old water pumping system, partially submerged beneath algae-rich water contaminated by organic waste, shrimp feed, bacteria, and chemical residue associated with industrial aquaculture. Yet the ominous three-pronged structures seemed uncannily tower-like to me, resembling distant gothic skyscrapers or the upper reaches of industrial spires vanishing into poisonous cloud.
The title references methane and ethane gases — invisible organic compounds produced through decomposition beneath water and marshland environments. Though colourless and odourless, methane remains one of the most potent greenhouse gases associated with climate instability and environmental degradation.
To my mind, The Towers of Ethane became an allegorical landscape — part industrial ruin, part dystopian mirage — reflecting humanity’s uneasy relationship with consumption, contamination, and the increasingly fragile ecosystems upon which modern civilisation depends.
The Blue Abyss
There are moments within mangrove systems where scale and perspective begin to dissolve entirely.
Photographed from above, this small tidal sinkhole appeared less like part of an earthly wetland and more like some strange planetary anomaly — an aquamarine void suspended within an endless field of grey-brown mud and tangled mangrove roots.
What captivated me was the unnatural quality of the colour itself. The luminous blue-green pool seemed almost impossible against the surrounding decay, drawing the eye toward it like a portal or talisman embedded within the landscape.
The title references the notion of gravitational collapse and deep-space phenomena — places where unseen forces quietly pull matter inward toward an unknowable centre. Here, suspended sediment and subtle tidal movement create swirling patterns beneath the water’s surface, suggesting invisible currents and slow rotational movement within the abyss below.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image attempts to blur the line between documentary observation and imagined dystopian landscape — transforming a fragile coastal ecosystem into something simultaneously beautiful, alien, and faintly foreboding.
Photographed from above, this small tidal sinkhole appeared less like part of an earthly wetland and more like some strange planetary anomaly — an aquamarine void suspended within an endless field of grey-brown mud and tangled mangrove roots.
What captivated me was the unnatural quality of the colour itself. The luminous blue-green pool seemed almost impossible against the surrounding decay, drawing the eye toward it like a portal or talisman embedded within the landscape.
The title references the notion of gravitational collapse and deep-space phenomena — places where unseen forces quietly pull matter inward toward an unknowable centre. Here, suspended sediment and subtle tidal movement create swirling patterns beneath the water’s surface, suggesting invisible currents and slow rotational movement within the abyss below.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image attempts to blur the line between documentary observation and imagined dystopian landscape — transforming a fragile coastal ecosystem into something simultaneously beautiful, alien, and faintly foreboding.
Black Mud Taketh Her Away
While drifting slowly by kayak through a narrowing mangrove creek, I came upon a section of exposed root systems embedded within dense black tidal mud.
At first glance it appeared entirely abstract — a tangle of mangrove knee, pencil, and cone roots pressed against the bank. But as I continued to study one particular formation, the image of a human figure emerged with startling clarity.
I saw a young woman wearing a hat, her head bowed, her arms drawn behind her back as though restrained or bound. There was something strangely calm in her posture — not panic, but acceptance. A quiet submission before the advancing wall of black mud gathering behind her.
What fascinated me most was that nothing here had been altered or manipulated. The form existed entirely within the mangrove itself, shaped only by erosion, tide, root growth, and sediment.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image blurs the boundary between natural process and psychological allegory. The mangrove becomes theatre — a place where collapse, adaptation, and surrender quietly reveal themselves within the landscape.
At first glance it appeared entirely abstract — a tangle of mangrove knee, pencil, and cone roots pressed against the bank. But as I continued to study one particular formation, the image of a human figure emerged with startling clarity.
I saw a young woman wearing a hat, her head bowed, her arms drawn behind her back as though restrained or bound. There was something strangely calm in her posture — not panic, but acceptance. A quiet submission before the advancing wall of black mud gathering behind her.
What fascinated me most was that nothing here had been altered or manipulated. The form existed entirely within the mangrove itself, shaped only by erosion, tide, root growth, and sediment.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image blurs the boundary between natural process and psychological allegory. The mangrove becomes theatre — a place where collapse, adaptation, and surrender quietly reveal themselves within the landscape.
Mount Cherusci & Lake Seneca
Observed from above, Mount Cherusci and Lake Seneca resemble an ancient lakeside settlement — a fortified monastery rising above an expansive green delta. The illusion immediately brought to mind the elevated abbeys and island fortifications of medieval Europe, places such as Mont-Saint-Michel suspended between land, water, and myth.
Within the imagined geography of Waterworld, Mount Cherusci stands elevated above the surrounding marshlands like a final outpost against the encroaching tide. Beneath the soft mid-afternoon light, the scene appears strangely tranquil, almost picturesque.
Yet nothing here is what it first appears to be.
What resembles a monastery above a luminous green lake is in fact the decaying stump and root structure of a dead mangrove surrounded by toxic algal bloom within a contaminated shrimp pond landscape. The vivid green coloration is the result of nutrient saturation and chemical discharge associated with intensive aquaculture — an ecological imbalance that slowly suffocates surrounding waterways and mangrove systems.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image attempts to disguise environmental collapse beneath seductive beauty, transforming polluted industrial terrain into imagined geography, lost civilization, and fragile allegory.
Within the imagined geography of Waterworld, Mount Cherusci stands elevated above the surrounding marshlands like a final outpost against the encroaching tide. Beneath the soft mid-afternoon light, the scene appears strangely tranquil, almost picturesque.
Yet nothing here is what it first appears to be.
What resembles a monastery above a luminous green lake is in fact the decaying stump and root structure of a dead mangrove surrounded by toxic algal bloom within a contaminated shrimp pond landscape. The vivid green coloration is the result of nutrient saturation and chemical discharge associated with intensive aquaculture — an ecological imbalance that slowly suffocates surrounding waterways and mangrove systems.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image attempts to disguise environmental collapse beneath seductive beauty, transforming polluted industrial terrain into imagined geography, lost civilization, and fragile allegory.
Black Delta
In this image, it was my intention to trick the eye into believing we are looking down from high altitude over a vast river delta system.
The scene immediately reminded me of aerial views of the Mekong River winding its way toward the South China Sea — convoluted waterways cutting through immense flat expanses of earth and vegetation, glimpsed countless times from aircraft windows between Penang and Saigon.
Here however, the delta appears darker, more ominous. Black tidal runoff carves its way through wet beige sands like some polluted arterial system viewed from the edge of space. What first appears geographical and expansive is in reality something far smaller and far more toxic — contaminated coastal discharge flowing from heavily altered shoreline environments.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image attempts to blur the boundary between landscape and allegory, transforming polluted coastal terrain into imagined cartography — a world simultaneously beautiful, fragile, and quietly apocalyptic.
The scene immediately reminded me of aerial views of the Mekong River winding its way toward the South China Sea — convoluted waterways cutting through immense flat expanses of earth and vegetation, glimpsed countless times from aircraft windows between Penang and Saigon.
Here however, the delta appears darker, more ominous. Black tidal runoff carves its way through wet beige sands like some polluted arterial system viewed from the edge of space. What first appears geographical and expansive is in reality something far smaller and far more toxic — contaminated coastal discharge flowing from heavily altered shoreline environments.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image attempts to blur the boundary between landscape and allegory, transforming polluted coastal terrain into imagined cartography — a world simultaneously beautiful, fragile, and quietly apocalyptic.
Orgon Burial
Photographed within a small Muslim cemetery on the western coastline of Phuket, these simple headstones briefly transformed beneath the low afternoon light into something strangely figurative — silent robed forms gathered together in ritual or mourning.
Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, I came to think of them as “Orgons,” one of the fragmented tribes inhabiting this drowned and unstable world. Their presence appears solemn and ceremonial, as though gathered for burial beside the shifting tidal margins.
What interests me most however is the thin boundary between observation and projection — how ordinary objects, landscape, and light can momentarily assume psychological or narrative form.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image exists somewhere between documentary reality and imagined anthropology.
Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, I came to think of them as “Orgons,” one of the fragmented tribes inhabiting this drowned and unstable world. Their presence appears solemn and ceremonial, as though gathered for burial beside the shifting tidal margins.
What interests me most however is the thin boundary between observation and projection — how ordinary objects, landscape, and light can momentarily assume psychological or narrative form.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image exists somewhere between documentary reality and imagined anthropology.
Mud Dragons
One of the great pleasures of working on the Waterworld series was discovering how random forms within these coastal mangrove and estuarine environments continually revealed themselves as imagined creatures, symbols, or fragments of mythology.
We are all familiar with the experience of seeing faces in clouds or figures in shadows — a phenomenon known as pareidolia, the human tendency to impose meaning and pattern onto randomness. In many ways it is perhaps not so different from how ancient civilizations once connected stars into constellations, finding lions, hunters, and scorpions suspended within the night sky.
Photographed across the mudflats of Ao Po along the northeastern coastline of Phuket Island, these fallen and partially submerged tree branches appeared to me as serpent-like forms rising from the dark tidal sludge — primitive creatures emerging from some drowned primordial world.
Like much of Waterworld, the image exists within that uncertain territory between observation and invention, where landscape, debris, light, and imagination begin to merge into something altogether more mythological.
We are all familiar with the experience of seeing faces in clouds or figures in shadows — a phenomenon known as pareidolia, the human tendency to impose meaning and pattern onto randomness. In many ways it is perhaps not so different from how ancient civilizations once connected stars into constellations, finding lions, hunters, and scorpions suspended within the night sky.
Photographed across the mudflats of Ao Po along the northeastern coastline of Phuket Island, these fallen and partially submerged tree branches appeared to me as serpent-like forms rising from the dark tidal sludge — primitive creatures emerging from some drowned primordial world.
Like much of Waterworld, the image exists within that uncertain territory between observation and invention, where landscape, debris, light, and imagination begin to merge into something altogether more mythological.
Ziplok # 2
Floating just beneath the surface of a polluted tidal channel, this discarded black plastic refuse bag immediately struck me as something strangely sentient — its submerged form bearing an uncanny resemblance to a dark cinematic figure emerging silently from the depths.
Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, I came to think of this apparition as “General Ziplok,” a drifting emissary of toxicity and decay. Like the trillions of plastic fragments now circulating endlessly through the world’s oceans and waterways, his presence feels both invasive and almost immortal.
What interests me however is not simply the object itself, but the uneasy transformation that occurs when pollution begins to assume psychological form — when discarded waste starts to resemble mythology, threat, or memory.
The tragedy of plastic is its terrible durability. Long after the civilizations responsible for producing it disappear, much of it will remain suspended within rivers, estuaries, shorelines, and oceans for centuries to come.
In Waterworld, General Ziplok becomes less a fictional character than a dark allegory for humanity’s own industrial afterlife.
Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, I came to think of this apparition as “General Ziplok,” a drifting emissary of toxicity and decay. Like the trillions of plastic fragments now circulating endlessly through the world’s oceans and waterways, his presence feels both invasive and almost immortal.
What interests me however is not simply the object itself, but the uneasy transformation that occurs when pollution begins to assume psychological form — when discarded waste starts to resemble mythology, threat, or memory.
The tragedy of plastic is its terrible durability. Long after the civilizations responsible for producing it disappear, much of it will remain suspended within rivers, estuaries, shorelines, and oceans for centuries to come.
In Waterworld, General Ziplok becomes less a fictional character than a dark allegory for humanity’s own industrial afterlife.
Tsunami aftermath. Seiche
I photographed this scene along a stretch of mangrove mudflats on the northeastern coastline of Phuket Island, where tidal movement had scattered broken building bricks across the exposed shoreline amongst clusters of mangrove pencil roots.
Standing above the scene, I became increasingly aware that I was no longer looking at bricks at all, but rather what resembled an aerial view of a devastated settlement — fragmented structures half submerged within mud and sediment, not unlike the aftermath imagery broadcast following tsunamis and coastal disasters in places such as Aceh or Japan.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image relies upon a slippage of scale and perception, where ordinary debris begins to assume the appearance of something far larger, darker, and more catastrophic.
There is perhaps an additional irony present here. Mangrove ecosystems — so often cleared for coastal development and aquaculture — are themselves among nature’s most effective barriers against tidal surge and tsunami destruction.
In this sense, the work becomes less a fictional landscape than a reflection on ecological vulnerability, consequence, and the fragile boundary between human intervention and natural defense.
Standing above the scene, I became increasingly aware that I was no longer looking at bricks at all, but rather what resembled an aerial view of a devastated settlement — fragmented structures half submerged within mud and sediment, not unlike the aftermath imagery broadcast following tsunamis and coastal disasters in places such as Aceh or Japan.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image relies upon a slippage of scale and perception, where ordinary debris begins to assume the appearance of something far larger, darker, and more catastrophic.
There is perhaps an additional irony present here. Mangrove ecosystems — so often cleared for coastal development and aquaculture — are themselves among nature’s most effective barriers against tidal surge and tsunami destruction.
In this sense, the work becomes less a fictional landscape than a reflection on ecological vulnerability, consequence, and the fragile boundary between human intervention and natural defense.
The Barbrian Trenches
The title emerged as a play on words while observing this strange section of exposed mangrove terrain — part barbarian, part barbed.
Photographed from above, the dense fields of mangrove pencil roots rising from the ribbed tidal sand immediately reminded me less of a natural ecosystem than of a fortified battlefield. The sharpened root systems resembled punji stakes, caltrops, or primitive defensive barriers embedded within an inhospitable landscape.
There exists within the image a tension between beauty and menace. The warm ochre and yellow tones of the exposed sand contrast against pockets of dark Prussian-blue water and oily residue gathered within the tidal troughs, creating a surface that feels at once painterly and deeply hostile.
Looking across the scene, I was reminded of aerial wartime photographs — landscapes scarred by trenches, obstacles, and attrition. In the imagined mythology of Waterworld, the Barbarian Trenches become another hostile territory through which its inhabitants must navigate carefully, aware that danger often lies concealed beneath surfaces of apparent beauty.
Photographed from above, the dense fields of mangrove pencil roots rising from the ribbed tidal sand immediately reminded me less of a natural ecosystem than of a fortified battlefield. The sharpened root systems resembled punji stakes, caltrops, or primitive defensive barriers embedded within an inhospitable landscape.
There exists within the image a tension between beauty and menace. The warm ochre and yellow tones of the exposed sand contrast against pockets of dark Prussian-blue water and oily residue gathered within the tidal troughs, creating a surface that feels at once painterly and deeply hostile.
Looking across the scene, I was reminded of aerial wartime photographs — landscapes scarred by trenches, obstacles, and attrition. In the imagined mythology of Waterworld, the Barbarian Trenches become another hostile territory through which its inhabitants must navigate carefully, aware that danger often lies concealed beneath surfaces of apparent beauty.
The Badlandia Steppes
The deep impressions visible within the smooth black mud are my own footprints, formed while crossing a shallow section of submerged mangrove flats. The surface itself felt strangely dense and viscous beneath my weight — like walking across warm cream caramel.
When I later turned back toward the scene, I became aware of something far darker unfolding within the landscape. The long, sharpened mangrove pencil roots protruding from the mud immediately recalled punji stakes or primitive defensive barriers, transforming the tidal flats into what resembled a hostile battlefield or forbidden territory.
The footprints themselves began to resemble sinkholes, lairs, or subsurface cavities hidden beneath the slick surface of the mud — traces of movement through an environment that felt simultaneously beautiful and threatening.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image balances attraction against unease. The terrain appears almost painterly in its soft tonal gradations and textures, yet beneath this surface lies the persistent suggestion of instability, entrapment, and danger.
The human presence moving cautiously through the Badlandia Steppes becomes, perhaps, the central metaphor of the work itself.
When I later turned back toward the scene, I became aware of something far darker unfolding within the landscape. The long, sharpened mangrove pencil roots protruding from the mud immediately recalled punji stakes or primitive defensive barriers, transforming the tidal flats into what resembled a hostile battlefield or forbidden territory.
The footprints themselves began to resemble sinkholes, lairs, or subsurface cavities hidden beneath the slick surface of the mud — traces of movement through an environment that felt simultaneously beautiful and threatening.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image balances attraction against unease. The terrain appears almost painterly in its soft tonal gradations and textures, yet beneath this surface lies the persistent suggestion of instability, entrapment, and danger.
The human presence moving cautiously through the Badlandia Steppes becomes, perhaps, the central metaphor of the work itself.
Sinkhole.
Observed from above, this strange circular depression embedded within the mangrove mud appeared less like a natural formation than a wound opening slowly within the landscape itself.
The mustard-coloured sediment surrounding the dark pools of trapped water created an unsettling combination of tones — beautiful at first glance, yet faintly toxic and unstable. The subtle spiral formation within the mud recalled the shape of a shell, vortex, or drainage portal disappearing beneath the surface.
Like much of the Waterworld series, scale becomes uncertain. What is in reality a small tidal impression within a mangrove system begins to resemble something geological or planetary in nature — an aerial survey of collapse.
The image offers no clear narrative, only the suggestion of slow subsidence, erosion, and an environment gradually giving way beneath itself.
The mustard-coloured sediment surrounding the dark pools of trapped water created an unsettling combination of tones — beautiful at first glance, yet faintly toxic and unstable. The subtle spiral formation within the mud recalled the shape of a shell, vortex, or drainage portal disappearing beneath the surface.
Like much of the Waterworld series, scale becomes uncertain. What is in reality a small tidal impression within a mangrove system begins to resemble something geological or planetary in nature — an aerial survey of collapse.
The image offers no clear narrative, only the suggestion of slow subsidence, erosion, and an environment gradually giving way beneath itself.
Plains of Vileness #1
In the industrial port district of Tambon Ratsada, on the eastern flank of Phuket Island, I came across a stagnant stretch of polluted water and mud connected to the Tha Chin creek — an oily black runoff winding slowly through warehouses, mechanic workshops, paint depots, and neglected shoreline.
The surface of this fetid landscape had become coated in dense green algae feeding upon decomposing matter buried within the sludge below. Heat and ammonia rose visibly from the shallow pools.
Standing above it, I became increasingly aware that the scene no longer resembled a polluted drainage basin at all. Instead, it appeared uncannily like an aerial survey of vast terrain viewed from high altitude — immense meadowlands, river valleys, mountain ridges, and lakes stretching toward a distant horizon.
For a moment the illusion felt complete. The landscape carried the strange beauty of something glimpsed from an aircraft window over Vietnam, Thailand, or even the English countryside.
Only gradually did the eye return to the truth of the surface.
This was no pastoral landscape, but a toxic intertidal wasteland formed from industrial runoff, stagnant water, algae blooms, rotting debris, and chemical residue. Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, this poisoned territory became known as The Plains of Vileness — a contaminated realm through which few inhabitants could safely pass.
The surface of this fetid landscape had become coated in dense green algae feeding upon decomposing matter buried within the sludge below. Heat and ammonia rose visibly from the shallow pools.
Standing above it, I became increasingly aware that the scene no longer resembled a polluted drainage basin at all. Instead, it appeared uncannily like an aerial survey of vast terrain viewed from high altitude — immense meadowlands, river valleys, mountain ridges, and lakes stretching toward a distant horizon.
For a moment the illusion felt complete. The landscape carried the strange beauty of something glimpsed from an aircraft window over Vietnam, Thailand, or even the English countryside.
Only gradually did the eye return to the truth of the surface.
This was no pastoral landscape, but a toxic intertidal wasteland formed from industrial runoff, stagnant water, algae blooms, rotting debris, and chemical residue. Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, this poisoned territory became known as The Plains of Vileness — a contaminated realm through which few inhabitants could safely pass.
Plains of Vileness # 2
In the industrial port district of Tambon Ratsada, on the eastern flank of Phuket Island, I came across a stagnant stretch of polluted water and mud connected to the Tha Chin creek — an oily black runoff winding slowly through warehouses, mechanic workshops, paint depots, and neglected shoreline.
The surface of this fetid landscape had become coated in dense green algae feeding upon decomposing matter buried within the sludge below. Heat and ammonia rose visibly from the shallow pools.
Standing above it, I became increasingly aware that the scene no longer resembled a polluted drainage basin at all. Instead, it appeared uncannily like an aerial survey of vast terrain viewed from high altitude — immense meadowlands, river valleys, mountain ridges, and lakes stretching toward a distant horizon.
For a moment the illusion felt complete. The landscape carried the strange beauty of something glimpsed from an aircraft window over Vietnam, Thailand, or even the English countryside.
Only gradually did the eye return to the truth of the surface.
This was no pastoral landscape, but a toxic intertidal wasteland formed from industrial runoff, stagnant water, algae blooms, rotting debris, and chemical residue. Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, this poisoned territory became known as The Plains of Vileness — a contaminated realm through which few inhabitants could safely pass.
The surface of this fetid landscape had become coated in dense green algae feeding upon decomposing matter buried within the sludge below. Heat and ammonia rose visibly from the shallow pools.
Standing above it, I became increasingly aware that the scene no longer resembled a polluted drainage basin at all. Instead, it appeared uncannily like an aerial survey of vast terrain viewed from high altitude — immense meadowlands, river valleys, mountain ridges, and lakes stretching toward a distant horizon.
For a moment the illusion felt complete. The landscape carried the strange beauty of something glimpsed from an aircraft window over Vietnam, Thailand, or even the English countryside.
Only gradually did the eye return to the truth of the surface.
This was no pastoral landscape, but a toxic intertidal wasteland formed from industrial runoff, stagnant water, algae blooms, rotting debris, and chemical residue. Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, this poisoned territory became known as The Plains of Vileness — a contaminated realm through which few inhabitants could safely pass.
Labyrinth of Carcinus
Beneath the shallow tidal waters of Waterworld lies a dense labyrinth of gutweed, algae, and submerged sea grass — a softly billowing green terrain alive with bubbles, currents, and concealed movement.
It was within this dark aquatic thicket that I noticed the figure of a crab lying perfectly motionless amongst the vegetation, almost indistinguishable from its surroundings. The longer I observed the scene, the more the creature seemed less like an ordinary crustacean and more like some ancient sentinel concealed within the undergrowth.
The bubbling surface textures and luminous green algae created an atmosphere that felt simultaneously organic and toxic — beautiful, yet faintly hostile. The crab itself appeared patient and watchful, waiting silently within its submerged domain.
Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, these hidden tidal zones became known as the Labyrinth of Carcinus — places where visibility collapses, movement slows, and unseen creatures linger just beyond perception.
It was within this dark aquatic thicket that I noticed the figure of a crab lying perfectly motionless amongst the vegetation, almost indistinguishable from its surroundings. The longer I observed the scene, the more the creature seemed less like an ordinary crustacean and more like some ancient sentinel concealed within the undergrowth.
The bubbling surface textures and luminous green algae created an atmosphere that felt simultaneously organic and toxic — beautiful, yet faintly hostile. The crab itself appeared patient and watchful, waiting silently within its submerged domain.
Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, these hidden tidal zones became known as the Labyrinth of Carcinus — places where visibility collapses, movement slows, and unseen creatures linger just beyond perception.
Togan Masses
If viewed slowly, or with the eyes partially closed, the clustered mangrove roots within this image begin to resemble a vast gathering of robed figures assembled deep within some flooded forest encampment.
The illusion felt immediate to me when first encountering these dense tidal mangrove systems in southern Thailand. At low tide, the exposed bulbous roots appeared almost human in form — stooped, hooded, congregating together beneath the dark canopy of the forest floor.
The atmosphere carried something strangely medieval and mythological, recalling the imagined worlds of childhood literature and the sense of unease found within ancient forests, riverside settlements, and wandering tribes.
It was these moments of visual transformation that first drew me toward constructing the allegorical universe of Waterworld. The series emerged not from scientific observation alone, but from the psychological phenomenon of perceiving narrative, figures, and symbolic meaning within natural forms.
The experience also returned me unexpectedly to childhood memories of hearing The Lord of the Rings read aloud at primary school in England during the early 1970s — stories which left a deep and lasting impression upon my imagination.
Standing alone amongst the mangroves decades later, with tidal water gurgling softly through the roots and fading light moving across the mud, I became aware just how deeply those early imaginings still lingered beneath the surface of perception.
The illusion felt immediate to me when first encountering these dense tidal mangrove systems in southern Thailand. At low tide, the exposed bulbous roots appeared almost human in form — stooped, hooded, congregating together beneath the dark canopy of the forest floor.
The atmosphere carried something strangely medieval and mythological, recalling the imagined worlds of childhood literature and the sense of unease found within ancient forests, riverside settlements, and wandering tribes.
It was these moments of visual transformation that first drew me toward constructing the allegorical universe of Waterworld. The series emerged not from scientific observation alone, but from the psychological phenomenon of perceiving narrative, figures, and symbolic meaning within natural forms.
The experience also returned me unexpectedly to childhood memories of hearing The Lord of the Rings read aloud at primary school in England during the early 1970s — stories which left a deep and lasting impression upon my imagination.
Standing alone amongst the mangroves decades later, with tidal water gurgling softly through the roots and fading light moving across the mud, I became aware just how deeply those early imaginings still lingered beneath the surface of perception.
Togan Clan
If viewed slowly, or with the eyes partially closed, the clustered mangrove roots within this image begin to resemble a vast gathering of robed figures assembled deep within some flooded forest encampment.
The illusion felt immediate to me when first encountering these dense tidal mangrove systems in southern Thailand. At low tide, the exposed bulbous roots appeared almost human in form — stooped, hooded, congregating together beneath the dark canopy of the forest floor.
The atmosphere carried something strangely medieval and mythological, recalling the imagined worlds of childhood literature and the sense of unease found within ancient forests, riverside settlements, and wandering tribes.
It was these moments of visual transformation that first drew me toward constructing the allegorical universe of Waterworld. The series emerged not from scientific observation alone, but from the psychological phenomenon of perceiving narrative, figures, and symbolic meaning within natural forms.
The experience also returned me unexpectedly to childhood memories of hearing The Lord of the Rings read aloud at primary school in England during the early 1970s — stories which left a deep and lasting impression upon my imagination.
Standing alone amongst the mangroves decades later, with tidal water gurgling softly through the roots and fading light moving across the mud, I became aware just how deeply those early imaginings still lingered beneath the surface of perception.
The illusion felt immediate to me when first encountering these dense tidal mangrove systems in southern Thailand. At low tide, the exposed bulbous roots appeared almost human in form — stooped, hooded, congregating together beneath the dark canopy of the forest floor.
The atmosphere carried something strangely medieval and mythological, recalling the imagined worlds of childhood literature and the sense of unease found within ancient forests, riverside settlements, and wandering tribes.
It was these moments of visual transformation that first drew me toward constructing the allegorical universe of Waterworld. The series emerged not from scientific observation alone, but from the psychological phenomenon of perceiving narrative, figures, and symbolic meaning within natural forms.
The experience also returned me unexpectedly to childhood memories of hearing The Lord of the Rings read aloud at primary school in England during the early 1970s — stories which left a deep and lasting impression upon my imagination.
Standing alone amongst the mangroves decades later, with tidal water gurgling softly through the roots and fading light moving across the mud, I became aware just how deeply those early imaginings still lingered beneath the surface of perception.
Togan Militia # 1
Togan Militia #2
Auks
Among the tangled tidal root systems of the mangrove forests, certain forms appeared more unsettling than others.
Photographed at close range, these dark mangrove projections resembled strange robed figures stumbling silently through mud and shallow water. Small red petals caught upon the root tips created the uncanny illusion of glowing eyes, lending the scene an almost predatory presence.
The longer I observed them, the more animated the forms became — awkward, looming, vaguely animalistic, yet strangely human at the same time.
Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, I came to think of these wandering apparitions as the Auks — a primitive shoreline tribe existing at the margins of the flooded world. Not inherently violent, but restless, chaotic, and oblivious to the larger environmental collapse unfolding around them.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image emerged through pareidolia — the mind’s tendency to discover figures, narratives, and meaning within natural forms. What began simply as mangrove roots and drifting petals slowly transformed into something altogether more ominous and mythological.
Photographed at close range, these dark mangrove projections resembled strange robed figures stumbling silently through mud and shallow water. Small red petals caught upon the root tips created the uncanny illusion of glowing eyes, lending the scene an almost predatory presence.
The longer I observed them, the more animated the forms became — awkward, looming, vaguely animalistic, yet strangely human at the same time.
Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, I came to think of these wandering apparitions as the Auks — a primitive shoreline tribe existing at the margins of the flooded world. Not inherently violent, but restless, chaotic, and oblivious to the larger environmental collapse unfolding around them.
Like much of the Waterworld series, the image emerged through pareidolia — the mind’s tendency to discover figures, narratives, and meaning within natural forms. What began simply as mangrove roots and drifting petals slowly transformed into something altogether more ominous and mythological.
Togan Spy
Deep within the dense mangrove root systems of Waterworld, certain isolated forms began to take on disturbingly human characteristics.
In this image, one exposed root appeared uncannily like a solitary figure standing amongst a larger gathering — a bald-headed drifter wrapped in a torn trench coat, his body turned in profile while one eye glanced suspiciously back toward the viewer.
The illusion felt immediate and strangely cinematic. The ragged textures of the root structure resembled worn fabric pulled thin across shoulders and arms, while small markings embedded within the surface suggested an eye, ear, and partially concealed face. The figure carried something of the bleak, post-apocalyptic atmosphere of a character from Mad Max — wary, hardened, and untrustworthy.
Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, I came to think of this lone apparition as a Togan Spy — an infiltrator concealed amongst the wandering tidal tribes.
Like much of this series, the image emerged through pareidolia: the mind’s tendency to perceive narrative and human presence within ambiguous natural forms. Standing amongst the mangroves at low tide, surrounded by mud, roots, silence, and slowly shifting water, these hallucinated figures often felt momentarily real.
In this image, one exposed root appeared uncannily like a solitary figure standing amongst a larger gathering — a bald-headed drifter wrapped in a torn trench coat, his body turned in profile while one eye glanced suspiciously back toward the viewer.
The illusion felt immediate and strangely cinematic. The ragged textures of the root structure resembled worn fabric pulled thin across shoulders and arms, while small markings embedded within the surface suggested an eye, ear, and partially concealed face. The figure carried something of the bleak, post-apocalyptic atmosphere of a character from Mad Max — wary, hardened, and untrustworthy.
Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, I came to think of this lone apparition as a Togan Spy — an infiltrator concealed amongst the wandering tidal tribes.
Like much of this series, the image emerged through pareidolia: the mind’s tendency to perceive narrative and human presence within ambiguous natural forms. Standing amongst the mangroves at low tide, surrounded by mud, roots, silence, and slowly shifting water, these hallucinated figures often felt momentarily real.
Sasian Chief
Deep within the flooded mangrove forests of southern Thailand, isolated pencil roots rise silently from the shallow tidal waters like markers or sentinels.
In this fleeting moment, rain falling softly across the surface formed expanding circular patterns around a single root crowned by a small deposit of mud. Seen from the correct angle, the shape appeared uncannily human — a robed figure with shawled shoulders upon his pew.
The longer I observed the scene, the more impossible it became to separate natural form from imagined presence.
Within the allegorical world of *Waterworld*, I came to think of this solitary figure as The Sasien Chief — a quiet witness lingering within the drowned mangrove realm.
In this fleeting moment, rain falling softly across the surface formed expanding circular patterns around a single root crowned by a small deposit of mud. Seen from the correct angle, the shape appeared uncannily human — a robed figure with shawled shoulders upon his pew.
The longer I observed the scene, the more impossible it became to separate natural form from imagined presence.
Within the allegorical world of *Waterworld*, I came to think of this solitary figure as The Sasien Chief — a quiet witness lingering within the drowned mangrove realm.
Sasian Women & Children
Among the softer tidal regions of the mangrove forests, the exposed root systems occasionally took on gentler and more human forms.
In this image, the pale fluted roots and muted brown tones suggested a quiet gathering of women and children standing together within the flooded landscape. Unlike the harsher and more ominous figures that emerged elsewhere throughout Waterworld, these forms carried a sense of calm, vulnerability, and resilience.
The longer I observed the scene, the more the mangrove structures resembled draped figures clustered together in quiet conversation, enduring the damp and unstable world around them.
Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, I came to think of these softer apparitions as the Sasians — one of the more peaceful shoreline tribes attempting to adapt to an increasingly waterlogged environment.
Like much of the series, the image emerged through pareidolia and emotional association — natural forms slowly transforming into psychological narrative. What first appeared simply as mangrove roots and tidal mud gradually became something far more human and melancholic.
In this image, the pale fluted roots and muted brown tones suggested a quiet gathering of women and children standing together within the flooded landscape. Unlike the harsher and more ominous figures that emerged elsewhere throughout Waterworld, these forms carried a sense of calm, vulnerability, and resilience.
The longer I observed the scene, the more the mangrove structures resembled draped figures clustered together in quiet conversation, enduring the damp and unstable world around them.
Within the imagined mythology of Waterworld, I came to think of these softer apparitions as the Sasians — one of the more peaceful shoreline tribes attempting to adapt to an increasingly waterlogged environment.
Like much of the series, the image emerged through pareidolia and emotional association — natural forms slowly transforming into psychological narrative. What first appeared simply as mangrove roots and tidal mud gradually became something far more human and melancholic.
The Battle of Ojah Delta
Photographed from a compressed perspective across densely clustered mangrove pencil roots, this section of tidal mudflat began to resemble a vast battlefield suspended in motion.
The thin black roots, protruding sharply from the exposed mud, appeared less like vegetation and more like masses of figures colliding amidst a chaotic melee of spears, pikes, and raised weapons. The further I studied the scene, the more the landscape dissolved into the illusion of conflict — an immense struggle unfolding across a flooded delta.
What fascinated me most was how naturally the mangrove formations evoked the visual language of medieval battle paintings and mythological warfare: dense formations, advancing lines, confusion, violence, and collapse.
Like much of Waterworld, the image emerged through pareidolia — the psychological tendency to perceive narrative and human drama within ambiguous natural forms. Here, the tidal mangroves transformed briefly into something epic, tragic, and deeply cinematic.
The thin black roots, protruding sharply from the exposed mud, appeared less like vegetation and more like masses of figures colliding amidst a chaotic melee of spears, pikes, and raised weapons. The further I studied the scene, the more the landscape dissolved into the illusion of conflict — an immense struggle unfolding across a flooded delta.
What fascinated me most was how naturally the mangrove formations evoked the visual language of medieval battle paintings and mythological warfare: dense formations, advancing lines, confusion, violence, and collapse.
Like much of Waterworld, the image emerged through pareidolia — the psychological tendency to perceive narrative and human drama within ambiguous natural forms. Here, the tidal mangroves transformed briefly into something epic, tragic, and deeply cinematic.
Towers of Gamot #1 Plains of ájá ájá
Viewed from above, this small section of mangrove mudflat and exposed root systems began to resemble an ancient fortified landscape — a cluster of towers, citadels, and defensive outposts rising from a flooded delta plain.
The illusion felt strangely architectural. Dark root formations evoked medieval strongholds or the imagined landscapes of fantasy illustration. Looking at the scene now, I am reminded strongly of the surreal environmental paintings of Roger Dean, whose floating islands and improbable geological forms occupied so much of the visual imagination of the 1970s.
Within the allegorical geography of *Waterworld*, I came to think of these formations as The Towers of Gamot — isolated settlements emerging precariously from the drowned landscape.
Like much of the series, the image relies upon scale ambiguity and pareidolia. What is in reality only a small tidal stretch of sand, mud, and mangrove roots becomes transformed into something monumental, ancient, and mythological.
The illusion felt strangely architectural. Dark root formations evoked medieval strongholds or the imagined landscapes of fantasy illustration. Looking at the scene now, I am reminded strongly of the surreal environmental paintings of Roger Dean, whose floating islands and improbable geological forms occupied so much of the visual imagination of the 1970s.
Within the allegorical geography of *Waterworld*, I came to think of these formations as The Towers of Gamot — isolated settlements emerging precariously from the drowned landscape.
Like much of the series, the image relies upon scale ambiguity and pareidolia. What is in reality only a small tidal stretch of sand, mud, and mangrove roots becomes transformed into something monumental, ancient, and mythological.
Towers of Gamot- Plains of ájá ájá
Viewed from above, this small section of mangrove mudflat and exposed root systems began to resemble an ancient fortified landscape — a cluster of towers, citadels, and defensive outposts rising from a flooded delta plain.
The illusion felt strangely architectural. Dark root formations evoked medieval strongholds or the imagined landscapes of fantasy illustration. Looking at the scene now, I am reminded strongly of the surreal environmental paintings of Roger Dean, whose floating islands and improbable geological forms occupied so much of the visual imagination of the 1970s.
Within the allegorical geography of *Waterworld*, I came to think of these formations as The Towers of Gamot — isolated settlements emerging precariously from the drowned landscape.
Like much of the series, the image relies upon scale ambiguity and pareidolia. What is in reality only a small tidal stretch of sand, mud, and mangrove roots becomes transformed into something monumental, ancient, and mythological.
The illusion felt strangely architectural. Dark root formations evoked medieval strongholds or the imagined landscapes of fantasy illustration. Looking at the scene now, I am reminded strongly of the surreal environmental paintings of Roger Dean, whose floating islands and improbable geological forms occupied so much of the visual imagination of the 1970s.
Within the allegorical geography of *Waterworld*, I came to think of these formations as The Towers of Gamot — isolated settlements emerging precariously from the drowned landscape.
Like much of the series, the image relies upon scale ambiguity and pareidolia. What is in reality only a small tidal stretch of sand, mud, and mangrove roots becomes transformed into something monumental, ancient, and mythological.
The Breosladís Army
At first glance, this scene appears less like a tropical mangrove system than some frozen northern frontier.
The strange fluted forms rising from the mud reminded me immediately of two opposing armies facing one another across a narrow winter river — ranks of silent warriors wearing tall helmets or ceremonial armour, gathered in anticipation of battle.
What appears to be snow scattered across the landscape is in fact nothing more than reflected sunlight catching the saturated mud at low tide. Yet this optical illusion transforms the entire terrain into something cold, austere, and strangely medieval in atmosphere.
One of the recurring fascinations while working on *WaterWorld* was discovering how these mangrove ecosystems continually dissolved the boundary between reality and imagination. Root systems became fortifications. Mudflats became aerial battlefields. Small tidal channels transformed into rivers dividing hostile territories.
In this image, the illusion feels almost complete.
The Breosladís Army waits in absolute stillness upon the pale delta, poised for conflict in a world already collapsing beneath rising seas and environmental ruin.
The strange fluted forms rising from the mud reminded me immediately of two opposing armies facing one another across a narrow winter river — ranks of silent warriors wearing tall helmets or ceremonial armour, gathered in anticipation of battle.
What appears to be snow scattered across the landscape is in fact nothing more than reflected sunlight catching the saturated mud at low tide. Yet this optical illusion transforms the entire terrain into something cold, austere, and strangely medieval in atmosphere.
One of the recurring fascinations while working on *WaterWorld* was discovering how these mangrove ecosystems continually dissolved the boundary between reality and imagination. Root systems became fortifications. Mudflats became aerial battlefields. Small tidal channels transformed into rivers dividing hostile territories.
In this image, the illusion feels almost complete.
The Breosladís Army waits in absolute stillness upon the pale delta, poised for conflict in a world already collapsing beneath rising seas and environmental ruin.
The Crucifix
Among the mangrove mudflats I came across this small root structure entangled with oceanic waste.
Its form appeared unmistakably cruciform.
What struck me most was not only the resemblance itself, but the scale illusion created by the surrounding mangrove pencil roots. Their delicate vertical forms transformed the scene into something monumental — an altar-like structure towering above a gathering of tiny figures or pilgrims assembled in silent witness.
The object felt strangely tragic. A stunted mangrove form, partially bound and suffocated by synthetic debris washed repeatedly through the tidal system.
Throughout the making of *WaterWorld*, plastic waste revealed itself everywhere within these fragile coastal ecosystems — embedded in roots, buried beneath mud, suspended in tidal channels, or wrapped tightly around living structures. At times it felt less like discarded material than some invasive foreign presence slowly choking the landscape.
Within the allegorical world of *WaterWorld*, I came to think of this image as a symbol of environmental martyrdom — a quiet monument to ecosystems burdened by the accumulated debris of modern human consumption.
Its form appeared unmistakably cruciform.
What struck me most was not only the resemblance itself, but the scale illusion created by the surrounding mangrove pencil roots. Their delicate vertical forms transformed the scene into something monumental — an altar-like structure towering above a gathering of tiny figures or pilgrims assembled in silent witness.
The object felt strangely tragic. A stunted mangrove form, partially bound and suffocated by synthetic debris washed repeatedly through the tidal system.
Throughout the making of *WaterWorld*, plastic waste revealed itself everywhere within these fragile coastal ecosystems — embedded in roots, buried beneath mud, suspended in tidal channels, or wrapped tightly around living structures. At times it felt less like discarded material than some invasive foreign presence slowly choking the landscape.
Within the allegorical world of *WaterWorld*, I came to think of this image as a symbol of environmental martyrdom — a quiet monument to ecosystems burdened by the accumulated debris of modern human consumption.
The God Idol STYRACIFLUA
A bas-relief in crumbling styrofoam.
When I first encountered this enormous slab of discarded insulation standing upright among the mangroves, it appeared less like industrial debris and more like some weathered ceremonial object — an eroded totem or idol shaped slowly by tide, abrasion, and exposure.
Its scarred surface seemed to reveal the suggestion of a face emerging from within the material itself. An effigy of decay. A monument to humanity’s enduring dependence upon synthetic manufacture and plastic convenience.
I called the figure STYRACIFLUA.
Within the allegorical realm of WaterWorld, false idols inevitably emerge. Not carved from marble or granite, but from petroleum by-products, polymer packaging, fishing waste, insulation foam, and the endless synthetic residue drifting through the oceans of the Anthropocene.
Nothing remains stable within this fluid world. Through tidal movement, current, friction and sunlight, all matter slowly breaks apart. In the case of STYRACIFLUA, small fragments continually dislodge from the structure, drifting outward upon the tides to settle elsewhere within the marine ecosystem — often consumed unknowingly by creatures inhabiting waters far beyond the visible shoreline.
What fascinated me most was the strange transformation taking place: industrial waste slowly assuming the presence of archaeology, mythology, and religious artifact.
When I first encountered this enormous slab of discarded insulation standing upright among the mangroves, it appeared less like industrial debris and more like some weathered ceremonial object — an eroded totem or idol shaped slowly by tide, abrasion, and exposure.
Its scarred surface seemed to reveal the suggestion of a face emerging from within the material itself. An effigy of decay. A monument to humanity’s enduring dependence upon synthetic manufacture and plastic convenience.
I called the figure STYRACIFLUA.
Within the allegorical realm of WaterWorld, false idols inevitably emerge. Not carved from marble or granite, but from petroleum by-products, polymer packaging, fishing waste, insulation foam, and the endless synthetic residue drifting through the oceans of the Anthropocene.
Nothing remains stable within this fluid world. Through tidal movement, current, friction and sunlight, all matter slowly breaks apart. In the case of STYRACIFLUA, small fragments continually dislodge from the structure, drifting outward upon the tides to settle elsewhere within the marine ecosystem — often consumed unknowingly by creatures inhabiting waters far beyond the visible shoreline.
What fascinated me most was the strange transformation taking place: industrial waste slowly assuming the presence of archaeology, mythology, and religious artifact.
The Fountain of Pity
Plastics are now so deeply embedded within the natural environment that they are increasingly regarded as one of the defining geological markers of the Anthropocene — the age in which human activity became the dominant influence upon the planet.
While exploring these mangrove ecosystems, I began to see discarded plastic not simply as pollution, but as another narrative layer within WaterWorld. The organic mangrove forms suggested tribes, pilgrims, armies and wandering inhabitants, while the synthetic debris increasingly resembled civic structures, monuments, relics and shrines belonging to this imagined drowned realm.
I call this image The Fountain of Pity.
In a more revered world, fountains symbolised purity, renewal, civic pride and the gathering of community around fresh water. Here however, the inhabitants gather around a degraded monument leaking dark and insipid water into the surrounding plaza. They mingle and socialise beside it with quiet acceptance, much as visitors might gather around the Trevi Fountain in Rome.
What unsettled me while making this series was not simply the presence of the plastic itself, but how normalised it had become. Along coastlines throughout the world we increasingly walk across litter-strewn beaches almost without noticing the debris beneath our feet, as though synthetic waste has somehow become a natural extension of the landscape.
Within the allegorical realm of WaterWorld, the Fountain of Pity stands not only as a civic monument, but as a quiet reflection of that acceptance.
While exploring these mangrove ecosystems, I began to see discarded plastic not simply as pollution, but as another narrative layer within WaterWorld. The organic mangrove forms suggested tribes, pilgrims, armies and wandering inhabitants, while the synthetic debris increasingly resembled civic structures, monuments, relics and shrines belonging to this imagined drowned realm.
I call this image The Fountain of Pity.
In a more revered world, fountains symbolised purity, renewal, civic pride and the gathering of community around fresh water. Here however, the inhabitants gather around a degraded monument leaking dark and insipid water into the surrounding plaza. They mingle and socialise beside it with quiet acceptance, much as visitors might gather around the Trevi Fountain in Rome.
What unsettled me while making this series was not simply the presence of the plastic itself, but how normalised it had become. Along coastlines throughout the world we increasingly walk across litter-strewn beaches almost without noticing the debris beneath our feet, as though synthetic waste has somehow become a natural extension of the landscape.
Within the allegorical realm of WaterWorld, the Fountain of Pity stands not only as a civic monument, but as a quiet reflection of that acceptance.
The Civic Centre
Part of what fascinated me while working within these mangrove systems was the way discarded objects slowly shed their original identity and appeared to assume new meaning within the landscape.
Seen upside down upon the shoreline, this weathered flotation buoy no longer suggested maritime equipment at all. Instead, it took on the appearance of a civic structure — something monumental, ceremonial even — rising within the surrounding forest of mangrove roots and tidal growth.
The protruding nails and fine stalk-like roots scattered throughout the scene create the impression of gathered inhabitants moving around the structure. The illusion feels strangely architectural, as though we are looking across the centre of a small settlement within the imagined realm of *WaterWorld*.
What interested me most was the transformation itself: how an object manufactured entirely from synthetic material could become absorbed so completely into the visual mythology of the environment surrounding it.
Like many images within the series, *The Civic Centre* exists somewhere between environmental document, pareidolia, and allegorical landscape.
Seen upside down upon the shoreline, this weathered flotation buoy no longer suggested maritime equipment at all. Instead, it took on the appearance of a civic structure — something monumental, ceremonial even — rising within the surrounding forest of mangrove roots and tidal growth.
The protruding nails and fine stalk-like roots scattered throughout the scene create the impression of gathered inhabitants moving around the structure. The illusion feels strangely architectural, as though we are looking across the centre of a small settlement within the imagined realm of *WaterWorld*.
What interested me most was the transformation itself: how an object manufactured entirely from synthetic material could become absorbed so completely into the visual mythology of the environment surrounding it.
Like many images within the series, *The Civic Centre* exists somewhere between environmental document, pareidolia, and allegorical landscape.
Ojah Delta
At first glance, this image appears less like a tropical shoreline than a vast canyon landscape viewed from high elevation — a barren ravine carved through rock, ash, and sediment.
The illusion of scale fascinated me.
What appears in reality to be a small stretch of water-worn beach and tidal runoff becomes transformed into an immense desolate terrain of cliffs, channels, and dry riverbeds. Against this landscape stands a tiny dark figure near the left edge of the frame.
Not debris. Not leaf matter.
A lone Sasian.
Separated from his clan, he stands upon the edge of the ravine searching for spoor — traces or markings that might lead him back towards his people somewhere beyond the vast reaches of the Ojah Delta.
The scene carries a profound sense of isolation and exposure. There is no visible shelter. No vegetation. No sign of comfort or safety. Only sand, water, shadow, and distance.
Like much of Waterworld, the image emerged through scale ambiguity and pareidolia — natural coastal formations slowly transforming into psychological landscapes charged with narrative and emotional tension.
What interested me most here was the feeling of vulnerability. The smallness of the solitary figure set against an overwhelming and indifferent terrain.
The illusion of scale fascinated me.
What appears in reality to be a small stretch of water-worn beach and tidal runoff becomes transformed into an immense desolate terrain of cliffs, channels, and dry riverbeds. Against this landscape stands a tiny dark figure near the left edge of the frame.
Not debris. Not leaf matter.
A lone Sasian.
Separated from his clan, he stands upon the edge of the ravine searching for spoor — traces or markings that might lead him back towards his people somewhere beyond the vast reaches of the Ojah Delta.
The scene carries a profound sense of isolation and exposure. There is no visible shelter. No vegetation. No sign of comfort or safety. Only sand, water, shadow, and distance.
Like much of Waterworld, the image emerged through scale ambiguity and pareidolia — natural coastal formations slowly transforming into psychological landscapes charged with narrative and emotional tension.
What interested me most here was the feeling of vulnerability. The smallness of the solitary figure set against an overwhelming and indifferent terrain.
Swamped Souls
There are moments within WaterWorld where the boundary between landscape and apparition becomes increasingly uncertain.
Photographed looking down into the tidal surface of a mangrove system, this image at first appears almost abstract — reflections of blue sky drifting across dark water. Yet beneath the surface, submerged mangrove forms begin to emerge slowly from the depths, assuming an unsettling resemblance to human figures suspended within the flooded terrain.
The effect is quiet rather than dramatic. Not catastrophe, but aftermath.
I called the image Swamped Souls because it seemed to suggest the final psychological residue of a drowned world — traces of presence lingering beneath the surface long after the structures of civilisation have disappeared.
Like much of WaterWorld, the image operates through suggestion and pareidolia, allowing the natural forms of the mangrove ecosystem to evoke something simultaneously organic, human, and ghost-like.
What remains submerged here feels less like bodies than memory itself.
Photographed looking down into the tidal surface of a mangrove system, this image at first appears almost abstract — reflections of blue sky drifting across dark water. Yet beneath the surface, submerged mangrove forms begin to emerge slowly from the depths, assuming an unsettling resemblance to human figures suspended within the flooded terrain.
The effect is quiet rather than dramatic. Not catastrophe, but aftermath.
I called the image Swamped Souls because it seemed to suggest the final psychological residue of a drowned world — traces of presence lingering beneath the surface long after the structures of civilisation have disappeared.
Like much of WaterWorld, the image operates through suggestion and pareidolia, allowing the natural forms of the mangrove ecosystem to evoke something simultaneously organic, human, and ghost-like.
What remains submerged here feels less like bodies than memory itself.
Phanagoria # 1
pecular highlights sit at the point where the sun’s disk is reduced to a pinprick of light, suspended at the threshold where liquid meets solid matter. At first glance, the surface resolves into something distant and elevated — a scattering of illuminated forms that recall villages seen from high altitude at night, the sparse geometry of light across rural Africa, or island settlements in the Sulu Sea and the Philippine archipelago.
The reflections shift and break apart into zigzagging traces across the water’s skin, where soft browns, muted yellows, and pale blues fold into one another. What is, in fact, sunlight striking a shallow bed of sand becomes something more ambiguous in perception — a scene that feels constructed rather than observed.
In this ambiguity, mangrove roots begin to register as vertical structures: a kind of submerged settlement, or a field of slender figures standing in low light. The image moves between recognition and uncertainty, never settling fully into either.
All that is present is mangrove root, water, and light. Yet perception insists on something else.
The reflections shift and break apart into zigzagging traces across the water’s skin, where soft browns, muted yellows, and pale blues fold into one another. What is, in fact, sunlight striking a shallow bed of sand becomes something more ambiguous in perception — a scene that feels constructed rather than observed.
In this ambiguity, mangrove roots begin to register as vertical structures: a kind of submerged settlement, or a field of slender figures standing in low light. The image moves between recognition and uncertainty, never settling fully into either.
All that is present is mangrove root, water, and light. Yet perception insists on something else.
Allejan Vallis # 1
Allejan Vallis # 2
