The Hidden Music of the Tower: Photographing the Art of Bell Ringing
Photographing local bell ringing has turned out to be one of the most quietly rewarding projects I’ve worked on in recent years — not because of grand vistas or dramatic light, but because of the people, the places, and the traditions that tie them together.
Bell ringing is one of those elements of village life that’s both ever-present and curiously hidden. We all hear the bells — their chimes rolling across fields and rooftops, marking the passing hours or calling people together for services and celebrations. But few of us ever get to see what goes on behind those sounds: the ringers themselves, the towers they climb, the ropes they pull, the teamwork they rely on.
That’s what drew me in.
I’ve been lucky enough to spend time up in the ringing chambers of several churches, camera in hand, quietly observing the ringers as they go about their practice sessions and performances. It's a world of narrow stone staircases, thick old beams, dust motes in shafts of light — and the rhythmic, almost meditative motion of the ropes rising and falling in careful time. There's a physicality to it, but also a deep focus. Every ringer has to be in sync, each one playing their part in a sequence that’s part music, part mathematics, and part instinct.
From a photographic point of view, it’s fascinating. The confined space, the repetition of movement, the contrast between ancient architecture and living tradition — it all comes together in a very quiet kind of drama. I’ve tried to capture not just the action of ringing, but the atmosphere of these hidden spaces: the concentration on the ringers’ faces, the softness of worn wood and well-used ropes, the way the light filters in from high-set windows.
But more than that, I’ve tried to capture the sense of continuity that surrounds this tradition. Many of the people I’ve photographed have been ringing for decades. Some learned from parents or grandparents. Others came to it later in life, drawn in by the challenge and the sense of community it offers. What unites them is a deep respect for the practice, and a commitment to keeping it going.
There’s something incredibly moving about that — about the idea that, in a world where so much changes so fast, these bells are still being rung by hand, by people who care enough to keep learning, keep practising, keep passing it on.
In a way, documenting bell ringing has felt a bit like uncovering a hidden layer of village life — one that’s always been there, quietly marking time. And being able to photograph it, to shine a little light on it, has felt like both a privilege and a responsibility.
These are the kinds of stories I love to tell through my lens — the ones that speak to tradition, dedication, and the quiet strength of community.
If you’re involved in a local tradition or community activity that you think deserves to be documented, I’d love to hear from you. Whether it’s a centuries-old custom or a brand new initiative, capturing these stories matters — and I’m always open to creative collaborations.
