That came later, sideways. A move from London to Mumbai, then into Antwerp's diamond trade. Marketing and communications, on paper, but really: afternoons spent with master cutters and polishers, watching them read a stone before it became anything. I started noticing how much of their skill was really about looking patiently and closely before touching a single tool.

Around then I bought my first camera. Learned about Martha Cooper's photography at an expo in Brussels - unposed, unwilling to sit still for anyone.

Almost simultaneously, I heard a manager say, "A good photograph is one that moves.”

Between the two, I understood what I'd been missing at the bench: an object can be beautiful and say nothing. A photograph, taken at the right moment, could say everything (and more).

I still work two ways. 

On assignment, in rooms, at events, in spaces I've never stood in before, learning their rhythm fast enough to catch what happens next. And on my own, where the opposite instinct takes over: a camera, a city once the light's gone soft, and nowhere in particular to be. That's where I go looking for stillness instead - the quieter, slower side of the same eye.