Nature and Wild Places

More Than You Could Ever Know is a project which expresses a visceral and emotional experience of connection to nature and to self. It reminds us that to stop environmental destruction we must first understand that humans are one part of a whole organic system. “Things were separated out into neat categories and it has taken millennia to work out that we live in a web of intricately connected plants, fungi, conditions of weather, climate, terrain....that we are one thing” Laura Beatty ‘Looking for Theophrastus’ In these images nature takes precedent and body and soul merge with the landscape.

By Liv Mann Trembay

By Liv Mann Trembay

By Liv Mann Trembay

I climbed up the side of the Rhine valley into a layer of cloud.

By Christina Osborne

Wild poppies growing on the plateau above the Rhine valley.

By Christina Osborne

As I walked back down through the vinyard raod, the mist started to lift.

By Christina Osborne

I love the saltmarsh of North Norfolk. Being there relieves my stress, slows my heartbeat, allows me to breathe. It connects me to the natural world, and moves me into the present moment. Here, a rare hard frost brings birds hunting for food in the creek mud while Brent geese fly overhead. The saltmarsh is a fragile habitat sustaining rare and endangered species. Climate change means that rising tides and more extreme storms make it likely that some or all of the saltmarsh will be destroyed.

Everything is interconnected. We are part of Nature. We rely on the natural world for our own survival. And we are insignificant in our ultimate importance but hugely significant in our destructive effect. We are at breaking point and we need to change. We need to demand change, and we need to make change. Right now.

By Annie Green-Armytage

Sea-lavender, Limonium vulgare, flowers from late June - September, and is visited by bees, wasps, butterflies and moths. It is resilient to the temporary flooding of high tides, but this is a fragile habitat which is endangered by imminent sea-level rise. Permanent flooding will destroy it.

By Annie Green-Armytage

The brown of mud and dying vegetation make a bleakly beautiful scene on the saltmarsh in winter.  Remnants of manmade structures gradually succumb to the natural forces: wave, wind and salt erode and dismantle. The tide comes and goes, an inevitable force in this uncertain world.  This series is an attempt to inspire the love and awe the fragile ecosystem of the saltmarsh deserves, and to encourage action to prevent its unnecessary destruction.

By Annie Green-Armytage

"The Rhythm of Change" is a project that explores regenerative power of nature, highlighting its ability to restore and offer hope amid ecological crisis. I investigate the symbolism of growth and decay, juxtaposing nature’s vitality with the precision of geometric shapes. Circles represent the cycles of the natural world that repeat annually, while rectangles symbolize resilience. Just as nature moves in cycles, so do humans, viewed from the perspective of time. These series reflect on the universal cycles of life, death, and rebirth.

By Katarzyna Zub

By Katarzyna Zub

By Katarzyna Zub

This photograph captures the iconic silver fern (ponga), a native plant of New Zealand and a powerful symbol of the nation's identity and natural heritage. Held gently against the backdrop of a wild coastal landscape, the fern's delicate structure and silvery underside invite viewers to pause and notice nature's quiet intricacies. The silver fern is more than just flora—it is woven into the cultural fabric of Aotearoa, representing growth, resilience, and connection to the land. This image is a celebration of nature’s detail and the deep relationship between people and place. It encourages us to appreciate and protect the wild plants that define our environment.

By Lei Gao

This work presents a close-up view of the underside of a silver fern (ponga) leaf in New Zealand’s native forest. Its delicate silver-white veins are clearly visible in the soft light, like poetry written by the earth for nature. The silver fern is a national symbol of New Zealand and holds deep spiritual significance in Māori culture. Its underside is often used to light the path ahead, symbolising hope and guidance. Through a quiet composition and gentle lighting, I aimed to capture the sacredness found in the plant’s details, inviting viewers to immerse themselves in nature’s whispers.

By Lei Gao

Spring brings new willow budding at the Glen Ridge Quarry reclamation site. The location used to be a municipal dump and has in recent years been rehabilitated into a naturalization zone.

By Trish Crawford ARPS

People in New York city gather on Little Island to experience nature in the city.

By Trish Crawford ARPS

Sundews are found on the peaty slops of the Mourne Mountains. This carnivorous plant's hair-like tendrils are coated in sticky 'dew' which attract and trap insects.

By Polly Garnett

Beneath the surface, time moves differently. The coral polyps that built these reefs over millennia, the octopus whose brief but brilliant life is a celebration of intelligence and adaptation and the humpback whales whose century long lives witness the ocean's transformation, all exist in the most important place on Earth, our oceans. This diverse, untamed and awe-inspiring place is not only the foundation of our own existence, but one we depend on for every breath we take. At the halfway point of the UN Ocean Decade our understanding of oceanic life has never been more urgent, yet this vital ecosystem remains under unprecedented threat from human activity. These images represent not only what we stand to lose, but what we can still save. As Attenborough recently said, "The ocean can recover faster than we had ever imagined." We just need to act.

By Victoria Stokes ARPS

By Victoria Stokes ARPS

By Victoria Stokes ARPS

Groynes are the defenders of our beaches. If left unchecked longshore drift – where the waves move sand and sediment along the shoreline – would eat up the coast. Groynes face the oncoming waves and slow them down. However, standing face on to the sea has a cost. Their wood splinters, they rot and become untethered from the shore and fall. The waves win after twenty - five years. Yet even then they provide a home for limpets and barnacles. They become part of the ecosystem of the shore. These three images show groynes at various stages of this journey ending up on fallen on the shingle.

By Edith Templeton

Groynes are the defenders of our beaches. If left unchecked longshore drift – where the waves move sand and sediment along the shoreline – would eat up the coast. Groynes face the oncoming waves and slow them down. However, standing face on to the sea has a cost. Their wood splinters, they rot and become untethered from the shore and fall. The waves win after twenty - five years. Yet even then they provide a home for limpets and barnacles. They become part of the ecosystem of the shore. These three images show groynes at various stages of this journey ending up on fallen on the shingle.

By Edith Templeton

By Edith Templeton

These ghostly, gossamer structures—often mistaken for the work of spiders—are actually communal feeding webs. Woven by the caterpillars for protection and sustenance, they shroud the spring blossoms in an eerie veil. As the larvae feast and grow, their silken homes spread, creating a delicate but haunting presence in the hedgerow's bloom.

By Livvi Grant 

Delicate fungi rise like lanterns from the cracked shell of an acorn, rooted in the quiet decay of the forest floor. Captured in monochrome, this intimate moment reveals nature’s smallest magic—life unfolding in the overlooked. Here, in the space of a fingertip, decay becomes beauty, and a fallen seed becomes a stage for the forest’s tiniest performers

By Livvi Grant 

Tucked into the woodland at Hestercombe Gardens, this waterfall spills quietly down mossy rock, a ribbon of movement in a still landscape. Captured in soft monochrome, the scene evokes a timeless serenity—where Victorian design and natural form meet in gentle conversation. Ferns bow at its base, and ivy clings to the slopes, as if the land itself is listening to the water’s ancient song. A moment of peace in Somerset, where history flows as gently as the stream.

By Livvi Grant 

Where would we be without bees? The great pollinators of this earth. Your service has not gone unnoticed. This is part of a series of images to honour those short and tiny lives that often get forgotten. All creatures great and small play a part in our world and I wanted to respect that and provide a funeral of sorts. All the animals and insects photographed were buried afterwards.

By Lisa J Brinkworth

Some people believe the souls of our lost loved ones inhabit the body of a Robin. They are a beloved British garden bird and after a failed rescue attempt, I was sorry to see this one pass. We held a funeral in the rain for this friend of the garden. This is part of a series of images to honour those short and tiny lives that often get forgotten. All creatures great and small play a part in our world and I wanted to respect that and provide a funeral of sorts. All the animals and insects photographed were buried afterwards.

By Lisa J Brinkworth

The humble Wood mouse. Existing amongst us through Roman invasions, world wars and pandemics. Likely to outlive us all. ( If not for the Cats.) This is part of a series of images to honour those short and tiny lives that often get forgotten. All creatures great and small play a part in our world and I wanted to respect that and provide a funeral of sorts. All the animals and insects photographed were buried afterwards.

By Lisa J Brinkworth

I connect with nature in many different places. Trees and water bring calm and contentment. Here I express my connection to the landscapes that I have passed through in recent months.

By Caroline Fraser 

In Pavia, Italy, just beyond the din of traffic and at the edge of the industrial zone, lies an unexpected sanctuary: a lush forest stretching across 34 hectares. This protected natural haven offers a refuge where wildlife flourishes, reproduces, and finds shelter from the threats of urban life. It stands as a powerful symbol of what dedicated environmental stewardship can achieve — a message beautifully captured in this multiple exposure image of fireflies dancing in the dark.

By Cristina Paveri 

Standing in this vast Welsh landscape, I felt both grounded and limitless. The raw beauty of the land, untouched and unfolding into the distance, reminded me not only of nature’s power and serenity, but of something quieter: a sense of belonging. Out here, there are no distractions, just space to breathe, to feel, to be. These wild places invite presence without asking for anything in return. They hold us without question. A quiet remembering of how connected we really are to the land, to ourselves and to the steady rhythms that have always held us.

By Nicola Pass

After walking through vast landscapes, I’m drawn to the quiet intimacy of the small. This plant - fragile, detailed, alive, reminds me that everything we see in nature is made of countless unseen parts. The tiniest veins, the curve of a stem, the texture of a leaf. All of it working together to make something whole.

By Nicola Pass

This photograph of heather on a hilltop is completely unedited, and that feels important. The wildness, the movement, the soft blur of it all… it takes me right back to the moment I stood there, breath slow, heart steady. Not everything needs refining. Sometimes what’s real, messy, alive, untamed - is what grounds us most. There’s something about wild heather that feels both fierce and gentle. It moves with the wind but stays rooted. It reminds me that connection to place isn’t always tidy or still, it’s felt in motion, in texture, in weather. In that moment, I didn’t need to capture anything. I just needed to be there. And now, every time I look at this image, I am.

By Nicola Pass

Running along the River Wey navigation path, I found it calming, eerie, and quietly beautiful. During difficult times, it became a grounding place for me. The shifting reflections on the water’s surface sparked a deeper connection—I felt drawn to explore its enduring presence. Using Polaroid emulsion lifts floated onto watercolour paper, I sought to mirror the river’s gentle flow and capture a sense of its spirit.

By Sarah Hogan 

By Sarah Hogan 

By Sarah Hogan 

My family and I have spent time exploring the area where our mother was brought up. Her father was a sheep farmer. One photograph shows mum when she was a teenager outside Bowber Head farmhouse where she used to live. It is now owned by Cumbria Wildlife Trust. The fields behind the house are where my grandfather used walk and make hay. They are known locally as ‘herbie’ meadows due to the number of flowering herbs like wood crane’s-bill, greater burnet and lady’s mantle. The farmhouse is in the process of being renovated.

By Evelynne Rogers

By Evelynne Rogers

By Evelynne Rogers

A colossal iceberg, sheer and symmetrical, appears almost man-made in its perfection. But behind its stillness is urgency. This ice carries the weight of millennia—now melting into the sea within decades. What we’re witnessing is not just a natural cycle—it’s accelerated loss driven by human impact.

By Sue Wright

A jagged iceberg drifts silently beneath a bright polar sky, its form shaped by wind, water, and time. These majestic sculptures are the remnants of once-massive ice shelves, now breaking apart at an alarming rate as ocean temperatures rise. A breathtaking view—and a stark reminder of a vanishing world.

By Sue Wright

Towering like frozen monoliths, these icebergs stand guard over a warming sea. But they are not eternal. Cracked and fractured, their surfaces bear the scars of a planet in flux. As polar ice melts, global sea levels rise—threatening coastlines and communities thousands of miles away.

By Sue Wright