David Wagstaff-Myers Photography

One of the joys of photography is discovering stories that quietly challenge our assumptions. Spend a day at a clay shooting ground, and you quickly realise this isn't about stereotypes. It isn't about men in tweed discussing cartridges over a bacon sandwich. It's about people who love a sport that demands concentration, discipline, patience and respect. On this particular day, what really caught my attention wasn't the shooting itself—it was the women. Hence the slightly tongue-in-cheek title... Girls and Their Toys. Before anyone reaches for the comments section, no, these aren't toys. They're beautifully engineered sporting firearms, treated with enormous respect by the people who own and use them. The title simply reflects the enthusiasm we all have for our hobbies. Photographers become obsessed with cameras and lenses. Cyclists with bikes. Anglers with rods. Clay shooters? They appreciate a beautifully balanced shotgun just as much. And that's perfectly...

  It's very easy to photograph a steam rally. It's much harder to photograph  what a steam rally is really about. Anyone can come home with hundreds of pictures of immaculate traction engines lined up in neat rows. They're impressive machines and deserve to be photographed, but after a while every engine begins to look rather like the last one. When I visited the Dene Valley Traction Engine Rally, I tried to slow down and ask myself a different question. What is the story? For me, the answer wasn't simply steam. It was people, craftsmanship, heritage and the quiet moments that exist between the noise of whistles and the clouds of smoke. Many of these photographs were deliberately converted to black and white. I wasn't interested in the bright paintwork or colourful fairground atmosphere. Removing colour lets texture, light and expression become the subject, and somehow feels entirely appropriate for machinery that belongs to another age. The Forgotten Workhorse The ...

Does listening to an audiobook count as reading? It’s a surprisingly heated debate for something so harmless — one that quickly divides people into camps of “real readers” and everyone else. The statement was simple enough: “Listening to an audiobook doesn’t count as reading a book.” Really? Now, before anyone reaches for their metaphorical pitchforks, let me say this: I understand where the argument comes from. There is something deeply romantic about sitting in a comfortable chair, a physical book in hand, turning pages while the world quietly carries on around you. I love books. I love bookshops. I love the feel of a well-thumbed paperback and even the slightly guilty pile of unread books beside the bed that silently judges me every evening. But here’s the thing. An audiobook is still a book read. Or perhaps, more accurately, a book experienced. Because what exactly is the point of reading? Surely it isn’t the mechanical act of moving your eyes across ink on paper. The poin...

  Anyway, on to the actual bit. Two birthdays. One rather large, round one – I turned 70. And one brilliantly elastic, full-of-bounce one – Matilda turned 11. So we did what felt right. We gathered the tribe and disappeared into the trees. Four nights in a log cabin in Sherwood Forest. It felt symbolic, somehow. Ancient oaks. Big skies filtered through branches. The sort of place where time slows down, whether you approve of it or not. The Setting The cabin sat tucked into woodland, timber against timber, as if it had grown there rather than been built. Early mornings carried that cold-fresh smell only forests seem to manage. You open the door, and the air feels cleaner than it has any right to be. There’s something about tall trees that recalibrates you. They’ve been standing there for hundreds of years. You arrive with your birthday cake and your slightly creaky knees, and they’re completely unimpressed. It’s rather grounding. We walked. We talked. We wandered without much of a p...

"It's not just about capturing what something looks like. It’s about capturing what it *feels* like.” An Inspiring Day with Patrick Legard of Legard Furniture Today, I had the privilege of joining Patrick Legard, the artisan behind Legard Furniture, for an inspiring photoshoot to showcase his stunning handmade wooden furniture. Patrick isn’t just a furniture maker; he’s a storyteller. Each piece he creates tells a tale of patience, precision, and passion.   As a photographer, capturing that story is just as important as photographing the piece itself. This blog offers a behind-the-scenes look at the day’s journey, from setting up the perfect shot to capturing the soul of Patrick’s creations. The Setup: Welcome to the Workshop Every photoshoot has energy, but walking into Patrick’s workshop was special. The space hummed with quiet creativity. The air was tinged with the fresh scent of sawdust and varnish, and large windows framed streams of natural light that danced across t...

6 Simple Habits That Instantly Make Your Photography Look More Professional You don’t need new gear. You don’t need a fancy studio. What you do need are a few smart habits that quietly elevate every image you take. These are the small changes that separate “nice photo” from “that looks professional.” Let’s get into it. 1. Control Your Depth of Field (Tell the Viewer Where to Look)                                                                                           Depth of field is one of the fastest ways to make your work feel intentional. A soft, blurred background pulls attention straight to your subject. A wide, sharp scene gives scale and storytelling. Learn when to use each — and choose it deliberately rather than letting the camera decide. Quick win...

If You Don’t Know Something, Don’t Be Afraid to Ask There’s a sentence I’ve said to myself more times than I care to admit:  I should probably already know this .  It’s usually followed by silence. A pause. A decision not to ask the question that’s sitting right there, perfectly formed, but somehow stuck behind pride, habit, or a quiet fear of looking foolish. After nearly seventy years, I can say this with some confidence: that instinct—to stay quiet, to nod along, to bluff your way through—is one of the least useful habits we ever pick up. And yet, it’s remarkably hard to unlearn. We’re told from an early age that curiosity is a virtue. Ask questions. Explore. Learn. Then, somewhere along the line—often sooner than we realise—that message gets muddied. Questions become interruptions. Admitting you don’t know something becomes a weakness. By adulthood, many of us have perfected the art of appearing informed, even when we’re not entirely sure what’s going on. And here’s the ir...