Welcome!
Thanks for coming along
⚡️ View the latest digest and the full archive here.
📐 My Goals ℹ️ Donations Page & Status 📸 MPP Status 🛍️Shop
Meet Hodge the cathedral cat at Southwark. One of my assistants during a photo shoot there last week.
I wish I could show you,
When you are lonely or in darkness,
The astonishing Light
Of your own Being!
From: "I Heard God Laughing:” Renderings of Hafiz: by Daniel Ladinsky.
Drawing The Veil: What Lies Beneath.
"The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the endless skies" - Ewan McColl
It’s an awkward moment. There have been rumours that there might be a pandemic and subsequently isolation and lockdown, but Carole, as she welcomes me into her house, has none of it. She smiles warmly and says she’s looking forward to me taking her photograph.
I’m taking her photograph as part of a project that will eventually be displayed at Bury Art Museum. My idea is to photograph Carole holding an antique mirror with my reflection in it. I keep thinking of the gravity of it all as I confess to her that I’m not used to photographing people - that my camera is tuned for castles and cathedrals, not for the subtleties of the human face.
As I set up, we talk. Carole shows me photographs, tells me of her favourite holiday destinations, and places some of her cherished things around the chair where she sits. All the time, I’m looking at her through my lens, framing the view. On my camera screen, Carole is redacted, her voice is mute, she seems distant. I can’t quite work through the composition, so I stand up and decide to take a break - to engage in the conversation.
Then there comes a moment. I can’t define it. For the briefest of seconds, I see, in Carole’s face, her younger self. It is as if her ten-year-old self has popped up to say hello. It brings tears to my eyes. I stand back. She seems to sense it too. The air is charged and I realise that this encounter is not simply about taking a photograph - it’s about connecting, about really seeing.
Then I introduce a mirror into the composition. I hold it up to adjust the light, and suddenly another presence joins us - a silent observer. Carole sees herself, I see myself, and the act of looking becomes a conversation between three perspectives. It feels metaphysical, this triangle of observation. Long after I leave her house, I carry that awareness: true connection begins when we dare to look beyond the obvious - and when we step outside the frame that separates us.
That moment got my cognitive juices flowing. I began to wonder: if a single face could hold such depth, what might happen if I tried to capture it line by line in my sketchbook? That curiosity ignited a new direction for me: slipping into cafes, museums, pubs, sketchbook tucked inside my bag, rendering the tilt of a chin, the furrow of a brow. Then I started to capture the whole human form - as well as the face - there was something telling in how people held themselves.
Astronomer Maria Mitchell wrote: “We have a hunger of the mind which asks for knowledge of all around us, and the more we gain, the more is our desire,” yet “we reach forth and strain every nerve, but we seize only a bit of the curtain that hides the infinite from us.”
That’s how it feels like when I draw - each sketch is an attempt to distil a fleeting truth, to honour the mystery within a stranger’s face and form.
On a winter’s afternoon, in a pub in Beverley, I sketched a man whose mood held me captive - soulful, solitary, a little lost. When he left to order another pint, I scribbled a note and left it at his table before slipping away:
“I wish I could show you,
When you are lonely or in darkness,
The astonishing Light
Of your own Being!”
Walking up Hengate afterwards, I questioned myself. Have I been presumptuous, intruding on his solitude? But then I thought of the lines by Leonard Cohen:
“Ring the bells that still can ring,
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in."
On another occasion in a pub in London, absorbed in sketching, I completely misread the moment. When I finished, the subject caught my eye and smiled. She asked if I’d like to join her for a glass of wine. Startled, I blurted out that I didn’t like wine (I do) and fumbled my sketchbook back into my bag like a guilty secret. These encounters - awkward, tender, unexpected - remind me why I keep drawing. Each sketch is more than a likeness; it’s a way of distilling, without words, what it means to see and be seen.
Through these stolen moments, I’ve learned something profound: every person carries a story as intricate and enduring as the buildings that I’ve spent my life photographing. Sketching people has become a rebellion against indifference, a celebration of the infinite richness within each human life.
Perhaps, in sharing this, we might pause, look again, and truly see the people around us - not as background figures in our hurried days, but as singular works of art, each one an invitation to connection, each one an astonishing light waiting to be seen. Because when we stop looking at each other through the glass of a screen - when we truly meet - we find what it is to be human again.
I put my heart and soul into the Genius Loci Digest and it takes a day a week to produce. With your support, I’m able to keep this digest free and public facing. 📸🏛🚐
Can you help support me and keep Woody on the road?
Lots of Member Benefits from £2pm
Become A Member
My Sketchbooks
A portrait of Woody
Andy Marshall
This is the story of Eric Tucker – a man who lived in near anonymity, painting quietly in the shadows of his own life. A self-taught artist from Warrington, he spent decades creating a world of colour and character, all from the confines of backstreet rooms. When he died, the scale of his hidden talent came to light: more than five hundred paintings, unseen and unsung, suddenly emerged. Told through the voice of his nephew, Joe Tucker, this is not only a portrait of an artist but a meditation on modesty, devotion, and the mysteries we leave behind.
Carole's Film
At the start of my work into portraits, I had no idea how this project would impact my understanding of people, or the strong bonds it would form beyond my work, especially with Carole.
Beyond that, I'm in awe at the power of art at drawing people together, creating the necessary conditions for human interaction and wellbeing. It also taught me about the human condition - our need to present a formal front that, in some cases, hides the realities beneath.
There are lessons here that teach us about questioning what we see and exploring what lies beneath. One surprising outcome was that it helped me understand and counter-act fake news in our modern age.
There is a moment in the film that words can't describe - a moment of human connection: where I see Carole's younger self for the briefest of seconds. I can’t define it. It was as if her ten-year-old self had popped up to say hello. It brought tears to my eyes. I stood back.
Portrait of a Knight
As I stand but a few inches away from the recumbent knight, I can’t help but reflect on the vast distance of time that separates us. A sadness lingers - a recognition that neither he nor I, nor the experiences we cherish, can endure forever.
My Art Survival Kit
And so, in a café in Howden, through the portal of the final page of my little black sketchbook, I begin to see the world as it truly is.
Mightier than the Sword
Reaching for my camera, I pause, feeling something profound at play. This building is pure atmosphere, and I feel emotionally connected to it. I set the camera aside and reach for my sketchbook, determined to capture the spirit of this place, to convey how it makes me feel.
Member's Field Notes
Where the lens lingers a little longer...
A New Member's Supplement is Available
It’s an oddly disorienting experience, seeing the framing out of context. There’s something about it that feels almost like approaching a wild animal after it’s been tranquilised – suspended, vulnerable, and strangely still.
Andy Marshall
Andy Marshall
Andy Marshall
Like to linger a little longer? Why not consider becoming a member and help me continue my journey.
Recent Digest Sponsors:
Andy Marshall
I managed to capture Carole with her family just after she saw her portrait installed at Bury Art Museum. Her reaction meant the world to me.
The pandemic and cost-of-living crisis changed everything for me. After 20 years, commissioned work slowed down.
I started the Genius Loci Digest to keep going – sharing stories, photographs, reflections, and sketches each week from my camper-van-camino in Woody.
What I didn’t expect was what happened next: a community began to gather around the Digest. People didn’t just read – they connected. Some became Members. Their support was more than financial – it was a lifeline. It kept the wheels turning and the stories flowing.
Your support helps keep the stories flowing and the wheels turning.
Become a Member:
Andy Marshall
Make a Donation:
Andy Marshall
Purchase Art:
Andy Marshall
Companies can sponsor me too - more here:
Andy Marshall
Kind words from a subscriber:
Andy your work is becoming wonderful, remarkable. A so-called breakdown has been milled into its constituent parts, becoming profound construction: through perception, architecture, the lens and the pen. In your Repton crypt essay a deep description of our social anxiety - and our reason to be....
Kind words from Bluesky:
Thank You!
Photographs and words by Andy Marshall (unless otherwise stated). Most photographs are taken with Iphone 16 Pro and DJI Mini 3 Pro.
Member discussion