Beneath showcases Ceitas Atelier’s Prologue, research into Australian artists, and an index of stimuli to effectively curate it’s desired presence.
Prologue
Design - Christian Duyckers
Investigative Research, Conversations
Maps That Melt The Memory of Ice
Visual Compendium - Ceitas Atelier
Shells, 2024.
Photographing seashells is more than a way of admiring their beauty; it is a means of engaging closely with the details of the natural world. The camera forces attention to aspects often overlooked: the intricate spirals, the subtle ridges, and the way light plays across the surface.
A shell, so small and seemingly simple, becomes a study in texture, form, and pattern, revealing both complexity and order. Through photography, it is possible to explore the tension between fragility and resilience, impermanence and permanence, surface and structure. Seashells carry histories that are rarely obvious at first glance. Each one is the remnant of an organism’s life, shaped by currents, tides, and time.
Photographing them invites reflection on these processes, as well as on human interaction with nature.
Collecting shells or arranging them for photographs raises questions about our desire to possess and categorise the natural world. Photography mediates this interaction, allowing us to examine these objects while preserving the context of their origin—or, in some cases, transforming it entirely.
Creative experimentation further expands what seashell photography can accomplish. Extreme close-ups can render a familiar object almost unrecognisable, turning ridges into landscapes and spirals
into endless pathways. Water, dew, and reflective surfaces introduce movement and light that challenge the notion of a shell as a static object. These choices illustrate how photography mediates experience: it allows us to explore the ordinary in extraordinary ways, questioning assumptions about scale, beauty, and significance.
Ultimately, photographing seashells is a negotiation between observation and interpretation. It highlights the tension between what is given and what is perceived, between the material reality of the shell and the narrative created through the lens.
Each image becomes a site of enquiry, prompting reflection on form, meaning, and human perception. The act of photographing transforms these small, often overlooked objects into subjects of artistic exploration and philosophical contemplation of time. These photographs, like the illustrations, engage with this enquiry of time and, more specifically, demonstrate how this exploration has shaped the project.
A shell, so small and seemingly simple, becomes a study in texture, form, and pattern, revealing both complexity and order. Through photography, it is possible to explore the tension between fragility and resilience, impermanence and permanence, surface and structure. Seashells carry histories that are rarely obvious at first glance. Each one is the remnant of an organism’s life, shaped by currents, tides, and time.
Photographing them invites reflection on these processes, as well as on human interaction with nature.
Collecting shells or arranging them for photographs raises questions about our desire to possess and categorise the natural world. Photography mediates this interaction, allowing us to examine these objects while preserving the context of their origin—or, in some cases, transforming it entirely.
Creative experimentation further expands what seashell photography can accomplish. Extreme close-ups can render a familiar object almost unrecognisable, turning ridges into landscapes and spirals
into endless pathways. Water, dew, and reflective surfaces introduce movement and light that challenge the notion of a shell as a static object. These choices illustrate how photography mediates experience: it allows us to explore the ordinary in extraordinary ways, questioning assumptions about scale, beauty, and significance.
Ultimately, photographing seashells is a negotiation between observation and interpretation. It highlights the tension between what is given and what is perceived, between the material reality of the shell and the narrative created through the lens.
Each image becomes a site of enquiry, prompting reflection on form, meaning, and human perception. The act of photographing transforms these small, often overlooked objects into subjects of artistic exploration and philosophical contemplation of time. These photographs, like the illustrations, engage with this enquiry of time and, more specifically, demonstrate how this exploration has shaped the project.
Photography - Christian Duyckers
Stimuli Index
Ceitas reliably credits these artists where due. The use of these images is purely for innovative purposes, cultivating as an index of stimuli.
Published on the occasion of the exhibition: "New Itineraries", Musée de'Elysée,
Lausanne, June 13 - September 8, 1991
Measurements: 58.6 × 92.7 × 36.7 cm
National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne. Purchased, 1985.
©The estate of Inge King
David Noonan, 2017, Common Editions.
Jungjin Lee, 2025
Sidney Nolan, 1940.
Oil on canvas, mounted on composition board, 73.3 x 88.2 cm
Barbara Hepworth, London, 1943-1958.
Plaster on wood base.
12 ⅞ x 15¾ x 11⅞ in
Hashimoto Naotsugu, 2003. 11.2 × 6.2 cm
Alexander Calder, 1936.
Lignum vitae, walnut wood, paint and steel rods.
51⅞ x 24¼ x 11⅜ in
Deborah Turbeville, 1976.
High Diver I
Gerhard Richter, 1965. Oil On Canvas 190 x 110cm
Provoke Group, Tokyo, Nitesha, 2023
From a very young age, the ocean has always been a refuge for me—a place to play, to body surf with my father, and to feel deeply connected to the power of nature. Even now, swimming feels like a kind of secular baptism—an immersion that grounds me and reconnects me to something greater than myself.
In my work, I often use water as a psychological space, one that animates and frames the human experience. Through water, I explore how we are connected—to ourselves, to one another, and to the natural world.
Similarly, The "Heat" series showcases individuals interacting with water in various ways. What inspired this series, and what message were you aiming to convey through these images?
I was living in Tamarama, just next to Bondi, during a stretch of relentless heatwaves. I felt compelled to document how people descended from the city in search of relief, finding refuge in the waters of Sydney’s beaches. It became a kind of visual carnival—cultures and identities, bodies and sexualities, all laid bare beneath an ever-intensifying sun.
I wanted to capture that sense of heat in a world growing hotter, the sculptural grace of bodies diving into the sea, and above all, the ocean’s humbling and receptive power. Beneath the surface, even in these noisy, densely populated urban spaces, there’s a vast, quiet privacy—an intimate solitude that water provides.
Ultimately, it’s about salt water as both physical and psychological absolution.
With 76 colour plates featured in the book, how did you curate the images to represent the overarching theme of “Heat Best”?
I think books work best when they have a rhythm—like a piece of music. You're trying to hit different notes, explore various themes, and create a flow that carries the viewer. With Heat, I wanted to evoke the sensation of an intensely hot day. I built sequences of images that captured the kinetic beauty of people embracing the water—diving in, swimming, finding release.
Then, I’d follow with images of storms tearing across the coast, bringing both intensity and relief. After that release, the work would reset, and I’d begin building the energy again. There are always key images in a series—the ones that encapsulate the entire body of work. The real challenge lies in choosing the supporting images: the ones that deepen the themes, enhance the rhythm, and hold up those central moments.
Another one of your books, Australians: Response to the Land was of great interest to me. I was wondering if you could expand on how this series came about?
I was about 24 when I started that series. At the time, I’d been working as an assistant to various fashion and commercial photographers. After saving enough money, I decided to head north—stepping away from that world to pursue what I was truly passionate about: photojournalism.
It was a period of discovery, where I was trying to find my voice, both as a photographer and as a person, in the country I called home. I spent three months driving through the bush, sleeping in a swag, making my way into remote communities and cattle stations. When I returned, I had just a handful of images—but they gave me a sense of direction. For the first time, I felt like I could really do this. That trip became the first of many journeys across the country.
From the suburban sprawl of Sydney to the remote Indigenous communities of Arnhem Land, I wanted to explore the full range of Australian life. I was fortunate to spend time in Arnhem Land—extraordinary communities rich in culture, art, and history. The environment there was raw and intense, and it felt like the images came straight out of that energy. What stayed with me was how deeply the environment shapes people’s lives. Whether it was an isolated community, a vast cattle station or a suburban neighbourhood, each place offered it’s own story. Together, they formed a more complex, honest picture of Australia.
How and why are you drawn to the Australian landscape?
The landscape in Australia is so unique. It gives a certain flavour and meaning to the work I do here. I am always trying to find those incident moments of beauty within the rawness of the landscape.
Similarly, I wanted to ask how you first became interested in depicting “humanity” and “nature” within your photography and why?
I think much of my work explores the relationship between humanity and nature—often as a kind of tension or push and pull. It looks at how we distance ourselves from the natural world through modern life, yet still deeply rely on it. Despite this disconnection, there’s a redemptive quality in returning to nature—a sense of grounding and renewal that comes from reconnecting with it.
©© 2025 Ceitas Atelier. All rights reserved.
Return