From the Savanna to the Gallery Wall

When people see a wildlife print framed on a gallery wall, it’s easy to assume it appeared there in a clean, straight line. Camera, click, print, frame, done. But behind every image that makes it into a fine art collection, there is a long and often unpredictable journey. And strangely enough, it does not begin in the wild. It starts at home, in front of a screen.

Before I ever set foot on the ground, I spend what feels like an eternity planning. Locations, seasons, animal behaviour, accommodation, road access, local contacts and backup options. Every detail matters. I look through maps, check weather patterns, read field reports, and speak with people who know the terrain better than I do. All of it is an effort to stack the odds slightly in my favour once I am out there. It is not romantic, but it is essential.

Then... comes the fieldwork.

The Fieldwork: More Waiting Than Action

Once on location, it is a different rhythm entirely. Early starts, long drives, and quiet hours in the bush are the norm. You are constantly watching, listening, and adjusting. Wildlife photography is not a fast-paced experience. It is often a slow, patient one.

The idea of constantly chasing the perfect moment is a bit of a myth. More often, you sit still and wait. If an animal appears, it usually happens quickly and unpredictably. You need to be ready before anything happens. Some days are empty. Others are full of movement and noise and light, and they disappear before you can react.

Waiting for a male lion to wake up.

The Image That Almost Wasn’t

Take the image "At the Foot of the Mountain", for example. It did not happen by chance. It came after eight days of waiting, trying, and following different elephant groups across the plains. I had a very specific idea in mind with elephants walking in single file, spaced just right, approaching at a slight curve. I hoped the lead elephant would have good tusks and would flap its ears at the perfect moment. I needed soft, cloudy light and no other vehicles around to disturb their path.

On the final morning, it all came together. The conditions lined up. The elephants moved exactly as I had imagined. I lay flat on the ground, photographing from a low angle as they walked straight toward me. Kilimanjaro lingered in the background, just behind the clouds. That image became "At the Foot of the Mountain". It is one of the most requested prints in my collection, and one of the most personal. It was not easy or fast. It was the result of planning, patience, and a little luck finally landing in one frame.

Sorting Through the Images

Back home, I go through every frame. Thousands of them. But only a handful ever make it beyond that stage. The ones that stay are not always the most dramatic or detailed. They are the ones that make me feel something. They show something real about the animal or the moment.

I process most of my images in black and white, and that decision usually comes early. When I look at a raw file and feel that the colour takes something away from the subject, I know it might work better in monochrome. If the mood or structure becomes clearer without colour, that is the version I go with.

That choice is not about being different. It is about clarity. Black and white can give a photo a different kind of presence. It simplifies. It quiets the noise.

Turning a File into a Fine Art Print

Once the final image is selected and processed, the work shifts from the digital world to the physical one. Printing is its own craft. The paper, the ink, the tones, the depth. All of it affects how the image is received.

I work with a trusted printer who understands the details that matter. We fine-tune each print so it reflects what I saw and felt in the field. I print almost everything on high-quality baryta paper. It holds deep blacks, fine detail, and a subtle texture that suits my work. Once the image is ready, I do not experiment with different papers. I trust the process and the material that brings out the best in the image.

Size matters too. I tend to print my work large. It gives the image more presence and allows the viewer to feel almost part of the scene. Some images benefit from that scale more than others, but in general, I aim for impact. A strong composition printed big can fill a space and hold attention in a way smaller prints often cannot.

A fine art elephant print on the table ready for exhibition framing.

Framing and the Final Step

After printing comes framing. I keep things simple. Clean lines, no glare, and nothing that distracts from the image itself. The goal is always to let the animal speak through the print.

Shipping and logistics come next. It is not the glamorous part of the process, but it is a big one. Packaging, transport, insurance, tracking. It all needs attention. A print might end up in a gallery, a private home, or a collector’s space across the world. Wherever it goes, it carries the whole journey with it.

The Story Behind the Frame

When someone looks at one of my prints on a wall, they see a still moment. But behind that moment is a long story. Research, planning, travel, stillness, motion, doubt, timing, editing, printing, and framing. Every part of the journey is in there, even if it is not visible.

That is part of the magic. A fine art wildlife print is not just about the animal in the frame. It is about how that frame came to exist at all. Sometimes the image was luck. Sometimes it was years of experience. Sometimes it was both.

In the end, I think what makes the journey so strange, and rewarding, is how uncertain it always is. You do everything you can to prepare. You try to be ready. But the wild does not owe you anything. And when something finally comes together, and the image holds what you felt in that moment, it makes all the effort worth it.