the sun sets towards the horizon
The light changes, the sun sinks towards the Sarthe horizon. The golden hour for photographers.

Acid apple green of a Porsche 911 RSR, standing out in this otherwise codified world. Green as an act of rebellion. The Porsche is as conspicuous as a punk on a high fashion catwalk. Aggressive, assertive, visible from two miles away. On the track, it's like a colourful slap in the face.


Regulation fluorescent orange of a marshal running towards an incident reported by the control tower, reflective 3M armband catching the light like a beacon in my lens. The colour of safety, the colour of emergency, the colour of possible death. In motorsport, fluorescent orange is the colour that turns up when the situation is extreme.
The number 60 painted bright yellow on white bodywork, Helvetica Bold typeface, legible at 125 mph. The yellow clashes with the charcoal grey of the asphalt, heated to 45 degrees by the June sun. Perfect contrast, a calculated shock of colour.
legible at 125 mph

In this world of polished chrome and fuel odours that scream octane, every colour tells a story, hides a secret, reveals a personality. The shocking pink of a racing suit that vaunts its gaudiness, the official electric blue of an Alpine A110, the brushed matt gold of a McLaren F1 glowing under the spotlights.



But what really fascinates me are the accidental, unregulated, unpredictable colours: the orange rust eating away at an Armco safety barrier, a heart-shaped Castrol oil stain on warm asphalt, the grey-green reflection of cloudy skies on a freshly polished Jaguar bonnet.
Colours no one has picked from a Pantone colour chart, no one has checked, no one controls. They appear by accident, vanish on the next lap, exist in the gaps between the seconds of the official timekeeping system. In one photo after another I record these happy accidents of colour, these details that editors erase in Photoshop post-processing to make everything look clean, crisp, predictable.


























