There’s something magical about cities in the rain. The quiet moments when lights stop being lights and turn into colours instead. On dry nights, things are sharp, ordered, obedient. But add a wet windscreen and a slow shutter, and suddenly everything starts to breathe. Shapes begin to melt, headlights start to stretch, and reflections ripple across the pavement. What used to be a street becomes something else entirely. Something that is half real, but still half a dream.

For years, I thought good photography meant hunting for striking subjects — the dramatic building, the unusual face, the postcard landmark. But the images that stayed with me weren't about things at all. They were about light.