I’ve recently returned from leading our White Horses of the Camargue Photography Workshop in France. This workshop was our first workshop in this region of France and was a wonderful photographic experience, very different to the usual polar environment we thrive in. The blend of horses, water, light and the quiet poetry of watching these animals thunder across the shallows, salt spray rising around them like mist made for both superb photography and a powerful experience.
For those unfamiliar, the Camargue region of southern France is a vast delta of wetlands, salt flats, and shallow lagoons stretching between the arms of the Rhône River. It is home to one of the most beautiful and iconic equine species on Earth: the White Horses of the Camargue.
Our days began early on this workshop, before the sun crested the horizon over the marshes and dunes. The Camargue mornings are soft and cool, with a delicate veil of sea mist that lifts slowly as dawn warms the air. The white horses, often coated in a thin film of mud and salt, move with a kind of effortless grace that makes them a joy to photograph.
Each morning session began around sunrise, when the light is at its most gentle and the air still carries that quiet, expectant hush. Working alongside local horsemen, we positioned ourselves in the shallows, cameras poised, waiting for that moment when the herd would burst forward. The water exploded around them in a dance of energy and light, droplets suspended midair, manes flying. Other mornings, we worked with quiet back-lit silhouettes of the horses and riders on the coastal dunes.
This is where the challenge and reward of this workshop lie: balancing the chaos of motion with the artistry of composition. The horses move unpredictably, their power raw and untamed. Yet within that wildness, there are fleeting instants of perfect geometry — a raised hoof, an arched neck, a shaft of light catching an eye.
This workshop provided an opportunity to experiment with shutter speeds, angles, and focal lengths. The longer focal lengths — 200 to 500mm allowed for intimate compression and detail, isolating expressions and motion within the herd. Those working wider (myself usually between 70 and 200mm) could capture the full scale and energy of the group, the interaction of light, water, and form.
By late morning, we’d return to our base, a relaxing and comfortable hotel nestled not far from the reeds and salt fields. The smell of sea air mixed with the warmth of croissants and coffee as we gathered for breakfast. Later in the day, we met at 2 p.m. for image review sessions as well as camera settings and a discussion on how to improve our work further.
Image review sessions are one of my favourite parts of any workshop: the opportunity to look, to learn, and to refine. Photography isn’t simply about pressing the shutter — it’s about seeing, about understanding why an image works (or doesn’t), and about finding your own visual voice within the chaos of the natural world.
We reviewed sequences from the morning sessions, discussing everything from exposure balance in backlight to maintaining focus on fast-moving subjects. We explored the creative use of motion blur, the subtle influence of angle and height, and the compositional language that helps translate energy into elegance.
Participants discovered that some of their most powerful frames were not the obvious, high-action shots, but quieter moments — a horse pausing, droplets falling from its mane, or the soft glow of dusk reflected in its eyes. The Camargue offers both spectacle and subtlety, and the ability to shift between the two is what separates documentation from artistry.
Our evening sessions began as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The light in the Camargue at this hour is extraordinary — low, warm, and honeyed. Dust and moisture in the air turn the landscape golden, and as the horses move through the shallows, they seem to ignite with the glow of the setting sun.
Here, we worked to capture action shots, the fine spray of water turned to gold, and the luminous quality of light that defines this region. It’s both technically demanding and deeply rewarding. A fraction of a second can mean the difference between a good photograph and one that truly transcends.
Between moments of intensity, there were long, quiet stretches where the only sounds were the gentle lapping of water and the distant call of flamingos. These are the moments when the experience becomes something larger than photography — a meditation on movement, nature, and the passage of time.
The Camargue horses are unlike any others. They are smaller and more muscular than most breeds, their coats turning near white with age. They are strong, intelligent, and deeply connected to the land and the people who care for them. Photographing them is as much about respect as technique. The traditional horsemen of the region play a vital role in this workshop. Their deep bond with the horses and their skill in managing the animals allow us to photograph authentically, without artifice. The scenes we capture are not performances, but natural expressions of an age-old relationship between human, horse, and landscape.
One of the strengths of this year’s workshop was the variety of conditions we encountered. From luminous mornings of perfect silhouettes to evenings washed in rich, copper light, every session offered new opportunities. We photographed the horses in open lagoons, beaches, dunes, and salt marshes, as well as against textured backgrounds of reeds and sand. Each location demanded a slightly different approach — different focal lengths, exposure settings, and timing. It was this diversity that gave participants the chance to build a truly comprehensive portfolio by the end of the week.
By the time our final evening session faded into dusk, each participant had grown not only in skill, but in sensitivity to the rhythm of the moment. As I watched the last of the light dissolve into the horizon, I was reminded that these horses, wild in spirit yet gentle, embody something timeless — a spirit of freedom and grace that refuses to be tamed. Capturing that essence is a privilege. As we packed our gear and shared one last meal under the warm southern sky, there was a quiet sense of completion.
The White Horses of the Camargue will always hold a special place, not just for their beauty, but for what they represent: wildness within reach, grace within chaos, and the eternal dance between light, subject, and photographer. Until next time — au revoir, Camargue.
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