Several days have gone past since I watched a TV documentary about David Hockney’s recent paintings and upcoming exhibition. Seeing the creations of such a dazzling talent is simultaneously uplifting and depressing in that the intense beauty of his creations illuminate the lacklustre qualities of one’s own. There does not seem to be a period of his life when his work has not opened my eyes to another way of seeing. This is particularly relevant to a photographer in that so much of his work is, and has been, inspired by photographic media. So I set off into the local countryside and forest with David Hockney in my head. I searched for a comparatively dull route to a piece of woodland which was not of outstanding natural beauty, as I remembered the ordinariness of the site that Hockney had chosen for a set of seasonal pictures of trees. The conundrum is that nature is not adept at being dull and it is only through our looking, and lack of seeing, that we mistake dullness for our failure to see that which is there.