BELL GREEN CASTLE

I lived in South East London for over two decades. It wasn’t a deliberate choice — it was simply the only place we could afford. The area was often labelled as underprivileged, working-class, and predominantly Black.

Like many before me, I didn’t see much photographic value in the place I called home. It felt ordinary, unremarkable — just a backdrop to my daily life. I spent my days working in wealthy, polished parts of the city, and every evening I returned to a space that felt invisible. Crossing the threshold of my home seemed to erase it. I felt no emotional connection to it. It just was.

Everything changed when my wife and I decided to move back to our native Poland. Suddenly, the reality of leaving made me see things differently. I began walking the streets of my neighbourhood — not just passing through, but seeing. I felt an urgent need to document what had once been overlooked. The grime, the decay, the rawness of it all became captivating. The same streets, the same estates, and the same people — they revealed themselves to me in a new light. Suddenly, grime was texture, decay was pattern, and derelict corners glowed with colour.

I encountered familiar faces: people wandering without clear direction — beggars, drug users, the homeless. Slowly, I stopped feeling separate from them. I felt part of the place. It had shaped me. It was me.

In Britain, people say, “My home is my castle.” A private sanctuary. My Bell Green home was my castle for many years. I still miss it. I return whenever I can.

This series is on-going — a love letter to a place I once couldn’t see.