First Light Over London
I’m in London this week on a photography commission, working with some of the city’s historic livery companies. It’s the kind of assignment that feels like stepping through a doorway into another world. My days are lined up to be spent inside grand halls with oak-panelled walls and glittering chandeliers, among centuries-old traditions and portraits that seem to gaze out at you with stories stretching back hundreds of years. It’s a side of London that few people ever get to experience up close, and for me, it’s both a privilege and a delight to capture it through the lens.
But, as is so often the case when I travel for work, my camera never stays packed away for long. I find that when you’re in a city like London, the temptation to explore with fresh eyes is irresistible. The official commission is what brought me here, but it’s the in-between hours, the early mornings and late evenings, that often reveal the most memorable moments.
Yesterday, I set the alarm for far earlier than was strictly sensible. While most of the city still lay in deep sleep, I laced up my boots, slung the camera over my shoulder, and slipped out into the quiet streets. There’s something magical about walking through London before dawn, the usual roar of traffic replaced with a low hush, the occasional rattle of a night bus in the distance, and the glow of street lamps reflecting off wet pavements.
I made my way to a spot with a sweeping view of the skyline, knowing that if the light cooperated, it might be one of those mornings worth remembering. The river was calm, a slow-moving mirror carrying the last reflections of night. The air had that unmistakable chill of first light, the kind that sharpens your senses and makes every sound seem crisper.
And then came the slow reveal. As the sun edged closer to the horizon, the glass and steel towers of the City began to take on a faint, golden blush. The Shard, the Walkie Talkie, and the cluster of modern giants rose like sentinels against a deepening canvas of orange and pink. One by one, the lights inside their countless windows flickered on, until it felt as though the whole city was stretching, yawning, and preparing to wake.
It’s always fascinating to see London caught in this suspended state, a city in pause. Rush hour is still some way off, the pavements remain empty, and the Thames glides past almost undisturbed. There’s a brief moment, just before the day properly begins, when it feels as though the city takes a breath, holding itself still before the inevitable surge of life and motion.
For me, mornings like this are at the heart of why I love photography. My commission this week is exciting in its own right, and the work inside those livery halls will no doubt be rewarding. But it’s the unexpected moments, the ones that arrive without fanfare, when you find yourself standing in quiet awe before a view few others will witness that day that truly stay with me.
As the first rays of sunlight finally broke through, spilling across rooftops and sending long shadows stretching westward, I knew every bleary-eyed step of that early start had been worth it. For a few precious minutes, London wasn’t rushing or hurrying, it was simply glowing. And I had the joy of being there, camera in hand, to take it all in.
