Sjórinn Talar: the sea speaks through story and soul

I never imagined this would be possible. That I’d be opening a solo exhibition in Iceland, at a museum dedicated to whales. That I’d stand alongside the wild sea I love so deeply, not just as a visitor or observer, but as a storyteller, an advocate, a witness. The exhibition is called Sjórinn Talar. It means “the sea speaks” in Icelandic.

Everything about it has been shaped by listening, seeing, sensing natures messages. To the waves, the wind and the whales. To the stories below the surface that so often go unheard.

A girl from ramsgate, toes in the sand, salt in her hair

My story with the sea started long before I ever set foot on a boat.

I am a coastliner, born by the sea in Ramsgate, on the Kent coast where I grew up. We spent summers by the sea, my grandparents would often have a beach hut at Viking Bay in Broadstairs, my grandad a lifelong swimmer who taught swimming and water rescue in Dover Harbour seas to new police recruits. I was nurtured to watch tides rise and fall, listening to gulls, collecting sea glass, standing on cliffs dreaming of what lies beneath the surface. The sea was everything to me. Wild. Comforting. Mysterious. Alive.

But for much of my life, I was land-locked by motion sickness. I’d get waves of motion sickness hitting as a passenger in a car and going onto a boat was an experience that felt like doom, something I avoided at all costs. I couldn’t even watch things that spun around on TV or sit on my paddle board for too long before feeling funny. And that brought a sense of disconnection and grief, knowing I felt so connected to something I physically couldn’t reach it. It was a quiet ache that followed me through adulthood, wishing I could get to see islands and the deeper open sea from a boat.

Everything changed in 2022

After a late ADHD diagnosis at the age of 37 in 2021, I waited for a space with a titration nurse and began medication to support my brain in April 2022. I had read that the meds I was taking could help to ease motion sickness. And so I took a short ferry between the mainland and Isle of Skye and it blew my mind, I didn’t feel sick, my lifelong motion sickness had literally disappeared.

On that trip a gift of an encounter with common dolphins happened. I spotted lots of splashing on the horizon and in the distance a pod were rapidly coming towards us, the dived under the boat and rode the bow of the boat for about 10 minutes. I was utterly mesmerised and could not believe what I was witnessing. The images almost look like drone shots, as I was shooting from a deck maybe 2 floors above sea level.

It was one of the most emotional moments, not only to be encountering the dolphins but to be on a ferry and not feel sick. My meds had balanced my fast brain over processing what I could see visually and what I was sensing with my vestibular system.

Suddenly, I could board boats. Cross to islands. Work offshore. Step into the sea as more than a dreamer. I’ve been chasing islands, cetaceans and underwater stories ever since. You can read more about my journey with this, here.

When the sea speaks, we must listen

Sjórinn Talar is the culmination of everything the sea has taught me since that profound moment. A growing body of work that’s taken shape in wild, windswept places, Iceland, Shetland Islands Scotland, Snæfellsnes and through deep, evolving relationships with those working to protect the ocean.

One of those relationships is with Whale Wise, a research and conservation charity based between the UK and Iceland. What started as a conversation about helping share their crowdfunder for a new drone (thank you Laura Jones for the intro!) turned into something much more: from trustee, to treasurer, to now President of the Board.

I’ve witnessed a whale named Bird entangled in fishing gear, read more about the rescue mission here. As well as this, I’ve helped fundraise for vital science. and created The Hanging Gannet to raise awareness of seabird entanglement. And each time I’ve picked up my camera, I’ve felt more entangled too, with the stories that need to be told.

From awe to advocacy

In 2024, I was named a finalist in Ocean Photographer of the Year, going to gain second place in the Conservation (Impact) category. That moment changed everything.

It validated the path I was walking, that visual storytelling could hold beauty and urgency in the same breath. That awe could open the door to action and that my way of seeing could matter.

The photographs in Sjórinn Talar carry that same duality. Bioluminescent jellyfish, whale flukes like celestial brushstrokes, ghost nets and light shafts piercing kelp forests. The unseen and the unforgettable. Each frame is a conversation between reverence and reality. View the full collection, here.

The ghost fluke and Arctic Canvas

This work has also been shaped by time spent on creative residency with Arctic Canvas on the Snæfellsnes peninsula. An experience giving me space to immerse in the sea and experiment with new forms of storytelling. You can read more about my creative residency here.

From that time came the Ghost Fluke, a sculptural tribute to Bird, the whale who survived entanglement. It’s made from reclaimed ghost gear and suspended like a memory in motion. A reminder of what we can lose, and what we can save.

My time at Arctic Canvas at Snæfellsnes has given me more than imagery, it gave me clarity. A place that is wrapped in 360 degrees views of the most pristine nature on this planet, Snæfellsjokull to the north and the sea meeting the volcanic basalt cliffs. Running from the east round to the north west to one of my favourite coastal features at Londrangar – the sea worn cone walls of a volcano eroding at this wild edge. It has left an imprint on my soul. The heart shaped lake and I call Iceland my heart home, it really feels like I’ve immersed in the exact same place on this beautiful island. A sense that this work isn’t just about documenting. It’s about devotion. And the sea deserves that devotion in every form.

The deeper current

Behind all of this is a truth I rarely say out loud: I never thought I could do this.

Not just because I was landlocked by motion sickness. But because, for so much of my life, I didn’t know I was neurodivergent. I masked and struggled, questioning everything. Forcing myself into spaces, places and personas that I thought I should be, all the while dissociating from who I truly was.

Since my diagnosis, everything has shifted. My sensory world makes sense. My special interests, like the ocean, nature, light, liminality, are my way of sensing, being and connecting with the world and my passion for visual storytelling is the arc that weaves my path. I’ve found a way to channel them into something meaningful. Into work that makes impact. Into stories that speak.

And somehow, that led me here.

I am actually welling up writing this, tucked up here in Iceland, listening to Coldplay. The cinematic emotive strings on ‘One world’ at the end of Moon Music, the views from Arctic Canvas, the light dancing on the sea and the track dissolving into lyrics ‘in the end it’s just love’ and it really is, love. Poured from my heart, my soul purpose. Because I truly believe that if we all lead from a place of love, we can’t deny the simple beauty of rewinding our connection to nature as we remember we are part of nature.

Sjórinn talar opens 8 July 2025

Sjórinn Talar opens at the Whales of Iceland museum in Reykjavík, Iceland on 8 July 2025 and runs until 30 September. It’s a soul-filled, ocean-centred experience with photography and sculpture woven together to honour the voices of the sea.

If you’re in Iceland this summer, come visit. Walk through the work. Let it speak to you.

And if you’re reading this from afar, you can enjoy the digital version of the Sjórinn Talar exhibition online here.

Please know that your support, curiosity and shared love of wild places has helped bring this exhibition to life and collectively our energy and advocacy will protect our oceans.

The sea has always spoken to me. Even when I couldn’t answer her call. Now I can. And I will continue to listen, to learn, and to create from that place where story and saltwater meet.

Sjórinn Talar. The sea speaks. And I hope you’ll come hear what she has to say.