About the Artist

In the early hours, before the wind stirs the heather or light touches the ridge, I walk alone. These are the moments I wait for — when place becomes presence, and silence says everything.

I'm Peter Nutkins, the photographer behind Captured Isle — a fine art practice rooted in the raw, weathered beauty of the British Isles. My work is drawn to the edges: coastlines and summits, ruins and remnants, the quiet marks of time on land and stone. I photograph not for spectacle, but for stillness. For the feeling that something ancient is being remembered.

My path into photography began not in the studio but in the hills — often with a map in one pocket, mud on my boots. Over time, the camera became more than a tool. It became a way to pay attention. To honour the spaces that hold memory, and the light that reveals them.

Each image is made slowly, often in solitude. I return to places over years, watching how they shift with season, storm, and silence. The work is field-based, grounded in patience and place. No image is taken lightly. Every photograph you see here is part of a longer dialogue — between land, light, and time.

Captured Isle is an ongoing body of work that invites pause. It invites return.

If these quiet moments speak to you, I hope you'll stay close.

Origins

Before Captured Isle took its present form, I worked differently. My early images reached for bold light and familiar landscapes — searching for something I could feel but hadn’t yet named. These photographs were my first quiet steps toward what would become a practice rooted in stillness, weather, and the memory held in land.

Rutland Water — An early study of stillness and reflection. The first steps toward finding presence in open space and quiet light.

Mam Tor — A path rising through heathered slopes. An early glimpse of the solitude and scale that would come to shape my work.

Harbour Light — One of my first explorations of coastal edges. A study in weather meeting place. Clovelly Harbour.

Looking back, these images feel like sketches: imperfect, but necessary. They carry the beginnings of the quiet I now work to distil.