Sweeping hills overrun with the purple hues of heather and a dash of yellow common gorse are broken up by the glimmer of civilisation, vast quantities of various corrugated structures are abundant yet displaced sporadically within surrounding land. For this was the Isle of Harris and Lewis; the echoes of a lost, but not forgotten way of life, a relentless tide crashing upon the shore line, the continuous flux of the ever changing weather.

The simplicity of these structures that rise out of the earth can be seen throughout the Isle, whether it’s of recent birth or has been watching over the land for years. These offer a raw and unapologetic view on how Island life can be. The roughness and the cold nature of the older structures are a reminder of how tough the climate is; one moment the sun is beaming off the rolling metal and the next, well the next could mean the end.

As the sun beat down upon the metal roofs, I began to humanise the structures, they became characters in a long list of weather beaten stories. They weren’t just static rusted bodies anymore; ones that were forgotten and unnoticed, ones that only served as shelter. They became part of the surroundings, part of nature. Structures with stories that will inspire for generations.