Peter Davidson
Profile
- Name
- Peter Davidson
- Joined
- Oct 2007
A corporate/advertising photographer for many years, but you’ll find none of my commercial images displayed here on RB. I’m still an enthusiastic amateur (in the best sense of that word) and these pictures are just me enjoying myself.
Nearly all images are for sale as prints through RB or for commercial use under an appropriate license from me, direct.
Over the years I’ve collected some qualifications and awards that are now lost in the loft somewhere. For what it’s worth, these are:
Associateship of the Royal Photographic Society.
Associateship of the British Institute of Professional Photography.
Photographic Exhibitions both in London under Nikon and in Saudi Arabia.
Previous work has brought recognition through the Financial Times Industrial Photography Award, Red Cross Children in Need Award and once, a place in the old Association of Photographers Awards.
Thank you, whoever you are, for visiting.
Groups
Peter Davidson is a member of Fabulous Flowers, Flash Fiction, Night Photography, Photography Critique and Advice, Short stories - Spherical Scriptings, Street Photography and Photojournalism, Twisted Tales and United Kingdom.
Journal Entries
Thank you, intimate stranger!
Posted 4 months ago, 6 comments so far.
Thank you!
Posted 7 months ago, 5 comments so far.
Who was that masked stranger?
Posted 7 months ago, 3 comments so far.
Art
Writings
Scramble
He remembered her warmth burning through the softness of the silk like the devil’s tongue as she’d wrapped her legs around his waist.
Lust
Her skirt rides higher and a flash of skin as pale as a lost memory transfixes me.
Human Error
Nick had considered himself a lucky guy, until now. ‘Mr. Saunders, you look as if you could do with this.’ Nick looked up. A tough fireman covered in smoke and oily filth, held out the Briti…
The Gate
The stuff of nightmares and wonder, they burned in the furnace of our imaginations.
Night's End
Like inhabitants of some grotesque Amsterdam whorehouse window, they ignore me …
Dusk
I’m glad of the knife as my torch spears the gloom. For there, in the depths, a myriad of cold eyes wait, darkly reflecting the light.
