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ANENGLISHMAN

Name: ANENGLISHMAN
Address: Astridlaan 466 A, Brugge, 8310, BE
Telephone: +3250682031

Startpagina
België
Brugge
ANENGLISHMAN

Creative partner in photography, video and branding. Now also offering beautiful web solutions to entrepreneurs and businesses: www.anenglishman.online

Hello, I'm Chris

I’m a photographer and videographer with over 25 years’ experience. I’m also a graphic designer and a digital artist with some serious image editing skills. I’m both creative and technical and, inevitably, very versatile. I’m motivated by inspirational thinking, I love a good challenge and I have a passion for solving problems with ingenuity. I’m a member of the British Institute

of Professional Photography and the Federation of European Photographers. I work with businesses, organisations, individuals and families as well as good causes, interesting causes and people I believe are worth supporting. It’s nice to meet you.

25/12/2025

This is my dad.

I'm working through photographing and editing the rest of my family.
They're not all thrilled about it, but family loyalty is a powerful thing.

I wanted to capture them differently.

Not smiling at the camera. Not posed. Not the version of themselves they show everyone.

Something deeper.

So I tried something.

I asked them to think of something personal. A moment. A memory. Someone they loved. Something that changed them.

Something they carry that not everyone sees.

And then I went quiet.

I didn't direct. I didn't talk the way I normally do in portraits.
I just let them sit with whatever they were thinking about.

And I photographed what happened in their face.

You can see it. Something in their eyes. Something real.

I never asked what they thought of. That stays theirs.

But it's there in the image.

This approach asks people to open up in a way that's uncomfortable. To let something out that usually stays hidden.

But that's what makes it matter.

Because most photos capture the surface.

What we show. What we're comfortable revealing.

This captures something else.

The person beneath. The memories they hold. The weight of what they've lived.

And when you look at the portrait, you feel it.

Not just who they are.
But what they carry.

That's what I wanted for my family.

Not just photographs.

Portraits that hold something true.

(Repost if you believe photos can hold more than a smile)

P.S. Do you have a portrait that shows something deeper? Not just how you look, but who you are?

24/12/2025

4I'm 42 hours into editing a Red Admiral Butterfly.

If you read my posts regularly, you probably roll your eyes when I mention Michael Singer. But he just sums things up in ways I can't, so I'm sorry, I'm going to keep mentioning him.

Here's why I bring him up now.

I've been thinking a lot about why I do these macro artworks. Why I spend 72 hours on a hornet, or 42 hours and counting on a butterfly.

And I've realised my perspective has shifted.

I used to approach this work from a place of inevitable doom. Humanity is trampling everything. We're grinding up the natural world. We're consuming it all. Species are disappearing.

That's still true. I haven't changed my mind about what's happening.

But I've changed how I approach it.

I go for walks most mornings. You've probably seen those posts too. I've been working on myself a lot, trying to understand how to handle what's happening in the world without being consumed by it.

And here's what I'm learning.

Michael Singer talks about approaching things from a place of "I can handle this." Not that you agree with what's happening. Not that you're okay with it. But that you can handle the reality of it.

When I approach the decline of the natural world from that place, something changes.

My choices become wiser. More compassionate. Less about me and my fear, and more about what I can actually do to help.

So these images hold both truths now.

Yes, this is a dead butterfly. Yes, species are disappearing. Yes, we might end up with only photographs and dead specimens as records of what once lived.

But also, look at how overwhelmingly complex and beautiful this is.

Look at what 13.8 billion years of cosmic history created.

Maybe if we view these creatures with awe rather than just alarm, we'll be inspired to act differently. To plant more native plants. To pressure councils not to cut down meadows. To create more insect-friendly spaces. To educate people about what we're losing.

I'm not trying to shock people into action anymore.

I'm trying to show them what's worth protecting.

And I think that approach comes from a better place. A more grounded place.

But as ever, you have to practice these things for them to really sink in. I'm still learning. Still working on it. Still going for those morning walks to remind myself that I can handle what's happening, and then asking myself, what can I do to help?

(Repost if you believe hope and action can coexist)

P.S. What's one small thing you've done recently that felt like choosing hope over despair?

I've linked to my previous macro artwork (European Hornet) in the comments below 👇

23/12/2025

These are the seats I walk to each morning, where I pause and take in the woods around me.

I didn't make the trees in front of me.

I didn't create this wood. I didn't design the weather system that pulls water from the seas and rains it down.

It would all still be here, whether I was watching or not.

And yet, my mind acts like everything depends on me.

Here's what I mean.

This universe is 13.8 billion years old.

Stars formed and died. Those dying stars created the elements that eventually became planets. Those planets created conditions for life. Life evolved until eventually, somehow, humans appeared.

And through that entire journey, I was born.

Every single event in those 13.8 billion years had to happen exactly as it did for this moment to exist.

Michael Singer talks about this. The moment unfolding in front of you is the result of cosmic history. It has nothing to do with you.

The reality outside exists completely independent of you.
So why do I sit here most mornings, reminding myself of this?

Because my mind forgets.

It runs off into stories. It spirals into negativity. It tells me I'm not enough or that I'll mess things up.
And when I'm caught in that, I'm not experiencing the moment in front of me. I'm experiencing my thoughts about myself.

Here's what I'm practising now:

● Reminding myself that 13.8 billion years of creation happened without my input
● Recognising when my mind is creating a story that has nothing to do with what's actually happening
● Coming back to what's real, what's here, what I can actually see and experience

I still forget sometimes.

My mind still runs off sometimes.

But when I remember that none of this required me to make it happen, it's easier to see my thoughts for what they are.

Just thoughts. Not reality.

P.S. Does your mind ever convince you that everything depends on you, when really, the world keeps turning regardless?

I've linked to Michael Singer's talk on this in the comments below! 👇

18/12/2025

Your phone is incredible.

It captures everything. Moments you'd have missed twenty years ago. Memories that would've been lost before.

That's not nothing. That matters.

But here's what happens:

You scroll back through thirty thousand photos looking for one that feels like them.

Really like them.

And you're hunting. Through snapshots and moments and quick captures between other things.
Someone's eyes are closed in this one. Someone's in the background of that one. This one needs cropping but it's too pixelated. The ones that are okay won't print large enough.

All of them are beautiful.
But none of them are what you're looking for.

Because a snapshot captures a moment.
A portrait captures a person.

The difference isn't the camera.

It's the intention.

A portrait happens WITH someone. There's conversation. Ideas. Time to think about who they are and how they see themselves.

There's care in the editing. Thought in the final result. The journey matters as much as the image.

And when it's done, they look at it and say: that's me.

Not a version of me caught between other things.

Me.

We're losing this.

Not because phones are bad. They're not.

But because we've stopped making portraits.

We've stopped sitting for them. Stopped creating something intentional that says: this person matters enough to do this properly.

And you don't feel it until you need it.

Until you realise you have everything and nothing.

Thirty thousand snapshots.

And not one portrait.

(Repost if you're choosing to create something that lasts)

P.S. I'll respond to every comment. Do you have a portrait of someone you love? One made with care and time?

17/12/2025

42 hours in.

That's where I am with my latest macro artwork, a Red Admiral Butterfly.

The last one, a European Hornet, took me 72 hours to complete.

So I'd like to think I'm over halfway. But if I've learned anything from doing these, it's that I'm probably lying to myself about that.

There's always more work than I think. Always another detail that needs attention. Always some challenge I didn't anticipate.

But I'm genuinely excited about this one.

I should have it finished by the end of the month, and it'll be on my website early next year. After this, I have three more insects to photograph and edit.
Here's what makes these so time-intensive.

These aren't single shots. They're pixel-shift images. My Sony camera takes 16 individual photographs for each pixel-shift capture, moving the sensor by one pixel with each shot. Those 16 images are then combined to create a significantly larger, more detailed final file.

Then I stack multiple exposures to build depth of field that wouldn't be possible in a single frame.

The file sizes are massive. The editing is meticulous. Every hair, every texture, every reflection gets individual attention.

I've also just got the new Sony 100mm GM macro lens, which is even sharper than my current setup. I'm very excited to start working with that on the next specimens.

So why do I do this?

Because when you get this close to something so small, you start to understand the complexity of it. The evolution it took for this butterfly to become what it is.
But also because insect numbers are declining.

The fact that this butterfly is dead isn't something I want to hide. I want these images to be confronting. Not just beautiful pictures of insects that happen to be dead, but beautiful pictures of dead insects where that reality is clear.

It's a two-sided thing.

Yes, there's beauty here. Remarkable, overwhelming beauty when you see the detail up close.

But there's also a message. Numbers are dropping. Species are disappearing.

And I'm trying to show both. The beauty and the confrontation. What's worth protecting and what we're losing.

That's why I spend 72 hours on a hornet. Or 42 hours and counting on a butterfly.

To highlight what exists, what's declining, and what we should be paying attention to.

(Repost if insect decline actually concerns you)

P.S. Have you noticed fewer insects around where you live compared to years ago?

I've linked to my previous macro artwork (European Hornet) in the comments below 👇

16/12/2025

I sit in the woods most mornings.

Same spot. Same routine.

And I've started doing something that sounds ridiculous but changes everything.

I remind myself that this universe has been around for 13.8 billion years.

Stars formed. Stars died. Elements were created. Planets took shape. Life emerged. Humans evolved.

Every single event in that incomprehensible timeline had to happen exactly as it did for me to be sitting here right now, looking at these trees.

Michael Singer talks about this. He calls it recognising the cosmic foundation of the present moment.

The moment in front of you is the culmination of 13.8 billion years of creation.

And here's what I'm slowly learning:

🔸 This moment is perfect because it's the result of everything that's ever happened
🔸 The vastness of that timeline makes my morning complaints feel laughably small
🔸 I didn't create any of this, which means I can just receive it

It's simple. But it's not easy.

Because my mind wants to judge it, label it, make it about me.

But it's not about me. It never was.

P.S. When was the last time you really thought about how much had to happen for you to be exactly where you are?

I've linked to Michael Singer's talk on this in the comments below! 👇

11/12/2025

There's a difference between a photo and a portrait.

Your phone has taken ten thousand pictures of the people you love. Maybe more.

They're everywhere. Your camera roll. Your cloud. Backed up three times over.

And they're good. They're memories. Little moments you wanted to hold onto.

But they're not portraits.

A portrait takes time. It takes intention. Someone sits for it. You think about light and feeling and what you want to say about this person in this moment.
It's not fast. It's not easy. And you can't do it while you're doing something else.

That's the point.

Because here's what I know:

One day, you'll scroll back through those ten thousand snapshots. And you'll realise something.
You have everything.

And you have nothing.

You have proof they existed. You have moments when they were there.

But you don't have them.

Not really.

Not the way a portrait holds someone. The way it says: this mattered enough to stop for. This person mattered enough to create something that would last.

We're losing this.

Not because we don't care. Because it's easier not to.

Because the phone is right there. Because good enough feels good enough.

Until it isn't.

Until they're older. Or gone. Or the memory of who they were at five or fifteen or fifty starts to fade.

And you wish you had something more than a snapshot with strangers in the background.

You wish you had stopped. Made time. Created something.

A portrait isn't for right now.

It's for twenty years from now when you want to remember not just what they looked like.

But that they mattered enough to do this.

(Repost if portraits still mean something to you)

P.S. When did you last sit for a portrait? Or have one made of someone you love?

25/11/2025

Every morning, I go for a walk. About an hour. Sometimes less if time's tight.

And for the first 30 minutes, I listen to Michael Singer.

Not because I don't know what he's going to say anymore. I do. I could probably recite chunks of his books at this point.

But because my mind needs the reminder of how this system actually works.

Here's what I've learned over the last 10 years: I'm not my thoughts. I'm the one aware of them.

The world comes in through my senses. My mind reacts to it. Creates stories, judgments, and predictions. My feelings align with whatever narrative my mind just spun up.

And if I'm not paying attention, I'm along for the ride.

Let's say you're about to take a test. Before you even sit down, your mind starts: Have I studied enough? That person looks confident. They probably prepared more. I'm going to fail. I'm definitely going to fail.

You haven't even started yet, and you've already told yourself the outcome.

You're not the voice in your head. You're the one sitting behind it, watching it do its thing. Michael Singer calls it the seat of consciousness.

The work isn't silencing your mind. Anyone trying to do that is on a very, very long journey.

The work is being aware of what's happening and choosing not to engage with the mental chatter.

What I'm practising on these walks:

🔹 Noticing when my mind creates problems that don't exist yet
🔹 Relaxing back into awareness instead of having conversations with myself
🔹 Seeing how absurd some of my thoughts are when I just observe them

I'm 50 now. I was aware of some of this at 40, but it's taken me another 10 years to realise I actually need to do the work.

I can't just know about it. I have to practice it.

It's simple. But it's not easy.

My mind still does its thing. It probably always will.

But I'm getting better at sitting back and letting it pass through without grabbing hold of it.

P.S. Do you have a morning practice that helps you stay centred? What does it look like for you?

I've linked to a YouTube podcast on understanding the personal mind in the comments below! 👇

20/11/2025

Event photography is a delicate balance. You must be visible enough to capture moments, yet invisible enough to keep the evening flowing.

At an event with Julie Van der Mast and her team at FINEZZ Accountants, with Thomas Guenter delivering the keynote, I worked in evening light. Limited, tricky, but full of character. It reminded me why I embrace this challenge. I push beyond my comfort zone (I prefer the studio), while still creating images that tell a strong story.

Reflections from the evening:

1. Confidence in your craft lets you focus on people, not just equipment
2. Available light can be limiting, but creativity and editing skills fill the gap
3. Professional images matter. They reflect care, detail, and quality for your business 📷

Phones can snap. Professional photographers capture. If your event is important and you want your brand to shine, don’t treat photography as an afterthought.

If you want to capture your next event professionally, get in touch here: https://www.anenglishman.online/design-contact

How do you ensure your business events are remembered for the right reasons?

P.S. That light, the one you didn’t control, often becomes the signature of the evening. Have you noticed that at events you attended?

19/11/2025

I'm starting a new butterfly macro photography project. And I'm genuinely excited.

But here’s the truth nobody talks about.

Giving yourself time to create your own work is brutal.

It’s not just about client deadlines, social media, or chasing new opportunities.
It’s about admitting you need this for yourself.
Admitting that making time for your own projects is essential.
And that’s hard. Really hard.

For a long time, I didn’t. I pushed my own work to the bottom of the list.
Weeks became months. Months became years.
And while I could still create, that spark, that energy, that drive… it faded.

The European Hornet project took 72 hours of editing.
But even more important than those hours was the energy and focus it gave me afterwards.
Recognition, pride, satisfaction—all of it fed the rest of my creative work.
That’s what personal projects do: they recharge you in ways client work cannot.

The struggle is real:
→ Giving yourself permission to start
→ Blocking time that stays blocked
→ Saying no to other “important” things
→ Doing it anyway because it matters to you

This butterfly project is me breaking the pattern.

I’ll steal hours. Early mornings. Late nights. Weekend,s I could spend elsewhere.

Because I know what it gives me:
Focus, energy, growth, and the reminder of why I pick up a camera in the first place.

Sometimes the work that doesn’t pay immediately is the most important work of all.
This is one of those times.

P.S. Do you struggle to make time for your own projects too? Or have you found a way to carve that space for yourself?

18/11/2025

I've always been good at staying busy.

Technical tasks. Client work. System updates. Anything that needs doing, I'll do it.

And yet, here I am at 51, realising I've been using all of it to avoid the work that actually matters to me.

The personal projects. The artwork. The things I genuinely want to create.

They tend to sit at the bottom of my list.

I tell myself it's practical. I need to find the next client. Keep the business running.

But when I'm honest? I'm just scared.

Not of the work itself. I love what I create. I can see the image before it's done. The process takes me there.

So why is it so hard to begin?

Michael Singer calls these internal blockages. The stored patterns from past experiences dictate how we react to the present moment.

Mine whispers constantly: "What if there's no next client? What if you can't support your family?"

So I find something else to do. Check my backup space. Optimise my computer. Anything but sit down and create.

I'm slowly learning to:

🔸 Notice when I'm reaching for a distraction instead of my own work
🔸 See these fears as old patterns, not current reality
🔸 Start anyway, even when the resistance feels overwhelming

It's simple. But it's not easy.

The fear still shows up every day. The list still tries to reorder itself.

But I'm catching it earlier. Seeing the patterns more clearly as I become more aware.

P.S. What's the thing you keep pushing to the bottom of your list? The work you're confident you'd love, but somehow never get to?

I've shared a Michael Singer podcast on removing blockages in the comments below! 👇

12/11/2025

Event photography is more than pointing a camera. It’s about reading the room, connecting with people, and working with the light you’ve got.

At an event hosted by Julie Van der Mast and her team at FINEZZ Accountants, with Thomas Guenter as keynote speaker, I was reminded of a few practical truths. You can’t just hide behind the camera. People respond to friendliness. Flash often intrudes on the mood. Use available light and rely on RAW editing afterwards. A phone will capture moments, but a professional photographer will capture your brand and your story.

Tips for hiring an event photographer:

1. Choose someone who understands people, not just gear.
2. Make sure they can work with the ambient light you’ll have.
3. Ask for examples that reflect the professionalism you want for your business.

A good photographer doesn’t just take pictures. They tell the story of your event and your brand.

If you want to capture your next event professionally, get in touch here: https://www.anenglishman.online/design-contact

What’s the most important thing you check before hiring someone to photograph a business event?

Adres

Astridlaan 466 A
Brugge
8310

Openingstijden

Maandag	09:00 - 17:00
Dinsdag	09:00 - 17:00
Woensdag	09:00 - 17:00
Donderdag	09:00 - 17:00
Vrijdag	09:00 - 17:00
Zaterdag	10:00 - 14:00

Telefoon

+3250682031

Website

http://www.anenglishman.online/

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