I've been on the hunt for photographs for the last three years on an isolated part of the Fleurieu Peninsula of South Australia. Time again, I've found myself drawn to the same piece of coastline, about a mile long stretch of rock that faces the cool Antarctic currents. Few people visit this place. As a photographer I'm not interested in the pictorial quality of the rock or its horizon. It's presence I'm after. This place is dynamic and penetrating, scarred by violence and time. For Ngarrindjeri it's where Ngurunderi entered the spirit world after throwing his spears into the sea having turned his two wives into a pair of islands. Ngurunderi isn't my story so i'm not sure that's what I feel but this place is affecting the work. The energy is close to tangible and the exchange is constant. As I walk across the rock here my footprints mark them, as clear as clay, like I'm forming with them in an arc of time. They appear like chalk dust across a living organ, like I'm taking counsel with Gaia. I wait weeks between visits for my indiscretion to be washed clean by the tides and the wind and each time I return, I become more careful where I walk and often retrace my steps to lessen the impact. In the pre-dawn light in this place of immense and subtle power it seems like the respectful thing to do.