The photographs in this book have a ceremonial quality about them, as if the animals and the birds present themselves to us one by one – the fox, the hare, the wild boar, the deer, the mouse, the snail, the bird of prey, the fledglings, the owl – as well as something rather solemn, in that we see them the way they are in themselves, in their own world, normally so out of reach from our own. The world we see in these images is a secret world, though no less so when light re- turns to the land, the animals retreat into hiding and the forest again becomes recognisable to us; on the contrary, the mystery seems only to thicken. - Karl Ove Knausgård
Stephen Gill’s passion for photography was sparked by his father’s quiet influence and fuelled by an early fascination with insects, birdlife, and the tiny pond creatures he’d gather to examine under a microscope. Music, too, has long been a steady companion. Together, these early obsessions nurtured a sense of wonder, and image-making became not only a way of exploring such curiosities, but a means of responding to his surroundings and to the subjects that intrigue or move him. Over time, it has become an essential form of articulation and expression.
As the years have passed, Gill’s relationship with photography has continued to evolve. While he values photography’s strengths, he remains increasingly aware of its limits, how straight descriptive photographs are often unable to convey more elusive emotions, feelings, or ideas that lie beyond the glass wall of clarity, projection and control. He works outside those limits, developing a quiet trust in chance and what can be withheld. In reducing information, he often finds that something vital — a presence, a spirit — can remain, allowing the subject to breathe without interference.
Gill continues to explore the idea that even the most abstract or ambiguous images can carry a truth, sometimes more illuminating than clear visual description, however factual it may appear. In a time when images flood every corner of life and certainty feels harder to hold, he chooses to relinquish much of the authorship and control, seeking instead to honour his subjects by handing much of the authorship back to them. He is often drawn to finding ways to collaborate with his subjects or to assist them to fully speak for themselves, without the images being suffocated by the medium or the maker.