Three Days of Summer
The sea is calling, and I must go.
So that was the summer of 2024.
The first few months of the year were so relentlessly wet and windy that I had started to wonder if it would ever arrive. My gallery in Brighton is less than 100 metres from the sea and opens directly onto the beach. If you jump in the water and head south west you won’t hit land until you reach Venezuela, so I find myself acutely aware of the weather as it travels across the Atlantic, up the channel and in through my front door.
The wind in particular has felt more vindictive and persistent than I remember in previous years. More than anything, the wind dictates my safety in the sea and determines how often and how successfully I can make pictures in the water. Brighton is a safe enough place to swim, but the steep shingle beach and huge, shore dumping waves make it all but impossible to get in or out when it’s blowing a gale.
I try to swim in the sea all year round, but the first months of 2024 felt very lean, with far fewer swimmable days than usual. Between early March and June, I didn’t manage to make a single new picture of the sea, the longest gap since I began this kind of photography back in 2016. By June I felt very ready for a change.
When it arrived, it came in bursts. Short, sublime, sun filled interludes that made the world feel vibrant and three dimensional again. Brighton’s colours on full display, the heavy greys replaced by implausible shades of blue and green. The wind dropping away at last, leaving the water absurdly calm and collected after so many weeks of wild, angry waves.
A day of warmth and sunshine is all the more special when you know it won’t be around for long. Each time the sun came out we seemed to have about three days to enjoy it before things would change again. A series of long weekends followed by a few days off to recuperate. It was a summer without heatwaves or hurricanes. Mostly mild, lacking in extremes, but all the more wonderful for it. The kind of weather that makes for excellent conversation if that’s your national pastime.
We finally began our family tradition of quick, pre-bedtime dips. Dashing to the beach as the sun went down for a quick splash about before heading home, joyfully salty and cool. I swam before work, after work, and sometimes during work. A ‘Gone for a swim, back soon’ note stuck on the door. Sorry if I missed you, but the sea is calling, and I must go.
For the gallery too, a summer like this is good news (even if the proprietor is a little damp from time to time). We need the promise of sunshine to bring people to the beach, then a spot of rain to drive them inside. No one goes shopping in a heatwave, but the odd summer shower can be good for business. We had our best August for some time, a rare bright spot after a tricky few years for little independent shops like mine.
I find the beach itself almost overwhelming when the crowd numbers peak, but floating offshore, just beyond the range of the casual paddler, I feel like I have the whole ocean to myself. Immersed in cool water under a clear blue sky, observing my happy little city enjoying its brief British summertime, all of us knowing it won’t last.
Even so, it’s always a bit of a surprise when September rolls around and the summer comes to an end. Surely it’s only just got going? This year, the transition was made more abrupt by the arrival of a cold snap and a week of torrential rain as the kids went back to school.
Looking back, this summer feels a little dreamy and indistinct. I can’t remember which days were which, or distinguish between each of those micro-season moments. Instead, I’m left with the feeling of it all. The warmth of early morning sunshine as I cycled to the beach, the simplicity of summer swims without anything more than a towel and some trunks. The sound of Brighton beach filling up and chilling out, conversations and music drifting over the water accompanied by the smell of a thousand barbecues.
I took a lot of pictures along the way, but the following three images, one each from June, July and August, sum it all up rather well. This is how I will remember summer 2024, and very fine it was too.
An Epilogue / A Waterlog
The first of the good weather coincided rather wonderfully with the arrival of my latest book ‘Woodwork’. A collection of photographs made in the woodland of the South Downs National Park over the last twelve years, a celebration of aimless wandering and getting a little bit lost.
I had arrived at the beach early to take delivery of the pallets, but the driver was running late so I went for a swim. It was a spectacularly beautiful morning, the first for a good while, and the West Pier looked glorious in the morning sun. I’ve taken a lot of pictures of it over the years, but this one felt very appropriate for the start of an overdue summer. A moment of optimistic bliss.
Thanks for reading. If you enjoy this kind of thing, please pass it on, and if you ever find yourself in Brighton, take a wander along the beach and come and say hello.
What a joy to look at these photos. I love the colours and the perspective! I could look at them for hours. Well done.
Finn, thanks for sharing these. Brighton is in my list of places to visit. This piece is a great reminder. Hope you’re well this week? Cheers, -Thalia