A Hundred Views of the Same Lighthouse
This is my favorite photo of Phare de la Pointe à l'Aigle. I took it on January 20, 2025, on a beautiful foggy morning.
We’ve now spent a little over a year and a half in France, and we're starting to get a fairly good sense of the country and what it’s all about. Living here has been truly wonderful, and I know that whenever we return in the future, it will always feel like coming home. It feels like coming here has been the wisest decision of my life.
At the moment, though, it looks like we’ll have to head back to Finland in the fall. Kimmo’s work requires it at this stage.
Knowing that we won’t be staying here much longer feels unsettling. I don’t want to return to Finland, yet staying here alone while Kimmo goes back isn’t really a realistic option for me - at least not for any significant length of time. If I could, I’d choose a life of constant travel, endlessly moving from one place to another. I’d stay a month or two in each destination - and the stranger the place, the better. But being alone would get too lonely; sometimes, even with the two of us, it can feel that way.
In France, Paris has been the biggest surprise in the best possible way. Leaving it felt different from leaving any other place before. We would have gladly stayed much, much longer. Otherwise, moving on has always been exciting, knowing that something entirely new awaits. But Paris - Paris could have kept us for a long time. The last time I felt that way about a place was when I moved to Helsinki, and that was a long time ago.
But as everything eventually comes to an end, it was time to leave Paris behind - for now - and see more of France. Maybe someday in the future, we’ll live in Paris for good - who knows?
We’ve both really enjoyed Brittany whenever we’ve been here, so after Paris, we decided to come back - though once again, to a place we hadn’t lived before. So we came to Plérin, a small commune near Saint-Brieuc in the Côtes-d’Armor department.
And why Plérin, of all places? Well, it was because of the lighthouse.
Me and Phare de la Pointe à l'Aigle in a rainy day
The Pointe-à-l'Aigle lighthouse stands at the mouth of the Gouët River, guiding vessels to the port of Légué. It was first put into service on April 1, 1857, meaning it has been standing guard for 168 years. When you look at old photos of it (some of them below), it still looks exactly the same as when it was first built.
This lighthouse is small and well-proportioned - almost perfect to my eye. Its land-facing side is particularly beautiful, with rugged granite adding depth and character, while the seaward side is painted white, creating a striking contrast against the surrounding landscape. It stands firmly on a bed of granite, grounded yet elegant.
The first time I ever saw it was over a year ago on the cover of a book - Bretagne, Petit Atlas Hédoniste by Franck Juery (photography) and Jules Gaubert-Turpin (author)—and I fell in love with it instantly.
I knew I had to see it for myself, and so I did - we visited it briefly, twice. But each time I left, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I just needed a little more time there.
So when we were looking for our next apartment and I noticed that one of the coziest Airbnb options in Brittany was just 500 meters from this very lighthouse, the decision was an easy one.
We had only been living here for two days, and I had already photographed the lighthouse several times. As I looked through the photos, I couldn’t help but notice how different they were - shaped by the time of day, the tide, and the weather. Even if I had taken every photo from the exact same spot, each one would still be unique. Fascinating.
It’s easy to think you’ve captured the essence of a building after visiting it once - why bother going back again? Mistake. That became very clear when I looked through my photos.
This could make a wonderful project: 100 different photos of the same subject!
But why take a hundred photos of the same lighthouse? Does that even make any sense? Well, because I know myself. I can get incredibly excited about something at first, but after a while, my interest might fade completely. A project like this could encourage me to push beyond that initial phase, and in doing so, I might learn something new - about photography or about myself. Either way, that’s a good thing.
With that goal in mind, I need to shoot 2.3 photos per day. It’s definitely doable, though not exactly easy. I imagine reaching 50 photos will be simple enough, but after that, it’ll get more challenging with each passing day.
When I photograph buildings - often abandoned ones - I find that I’m actually capturing more of the environment than the structure itself. Whether a building makes for interesting photos largely depends, in my opinion, on the surroundings it’s set in. And it’s hard to think of an environment more dynamic and diverse than a coastline.
Here in the English Channel, tidal variations are the most extreme in Europe. On the French side, along the coasts of Normandy and Brittany, the difference in tide height can exceed thirteen meters. In Plérin, it’s over 11 meters, which means the landscape and atmosphere shift dramatically over short periods. These constant changes make the same scene look entirely different from one moment to the next.
For me, photography is at its best when it feels meditative - something I rarely experience in urbex photography, where I’m tied to a schedule, and never when I’m not alone. I really enjoy photographing alone.
It’s most fulfilling when I have the luxury of time, allowing the environment to reveal itself at its own pace. In these quiet moments, photography becomes more than just capturing an image - it becomes a way of understanding a place. The process is calming, narrowing my focus to just one thing, and I find great comfort in that simplicity.
The best conditions for photography often emerge only after spending an extended period near a location. Now that I’ve been here for a while, I’ve experienced a blood moon, a rainbow, a storm, and fog - each of which would be a rare coincidence to catch on a single, spontaneous photography trip. Over time, I’ve also observed the tidal cycle shift, with both the lowest and highest tides occurring during dawn and dusk. Experiencing that alone takes about a week.
Letting go is hard for me. I set rules, then rebel against them simply because they’re mine. Since this project is self-imposed, it’s harder to stay motivated. Who even needs all these lighthouse photos? If I don’t find them meaningful in some way, why bother?
If this were a client project, I’d be forced to find new approaches - that’s the beauty of real work: you have to push through. But maybe, in this case, wandering freely without overthinking each shot leads to the best results.
But because I’ve made a decision - now I just need to see it through no matter what.
So far, I’ve spent 50–60 hours photographing the lighthouse, with around 2,500 photos in my folder - about a fifth of all the shots I’ve taken. The rest weren’t worth saving. From those, I’ve selected 85 images to edit. They’re as varied as you might expect when one person photographs the same inanimate subject, shaped by my style and approach. I haven’t chosen a single photo I don’t genuinely like, which naturally narrows the selection. Someone else might make completely different choices - or even approach the entire subject from a different perspective.
Unfortunately, the lighthouse isn’t open for visits at this time of year - if it ever is. I haven’t seen any photos from the inside, and interior shots would have made a nice addition to the series.
I’ve walked countless times along the sandy shore during low tide and down Rue de la Phare at high tide. French locals love chatting with photographers, so I’ve had plenty of conversations about what I’m doing. However, those interactions have become less frequent. Maybe they’ve just gotten used to me, or maybe they think I’m crazy - considering how much time I spend photographing the same subject. People see me near the lighthouse several times a day, and I probably seem a little obsessed - and honestly, I’m starting to question my own sanity too.
I’ve explored every angle possible - even photographing from our window and shooting from sand level during low tide. I’ve also used a drone, which adds entirely new perspectives. I’ve flown it five times now, in various weather conditions and tidal stages.
I’ve shot both documentary-style images that highlight the environment and more artistic, tightly framed photos - my personal favorite style. I love creating the impression of an isolated, dreamlike place, a world you’d want to escape to. Most of my work leans toward that theme. So far, only a few of the photos capture any kind of movement, as my style tends to be minimalistic and static. Maybe it’s time to push further - I’ve got some ideas for that.
I’ve incorporated objects from the environment, often blurred in the foreground, to add depth and context. My rule for this project is simple: if I can’t find it naturally in the surroundings, I won’t add it. Some items, like a lifebuoy, would’ve been perfect, but there isn’t one anywhere near the lighthouse.
I’ve even appeared in some photos myself - after all, I’ve spent more time there than anyone… way more. In one photo, a fisherman’s dog rests at the base of the lighthouse. My rule here is simple: people or animals should be doing whatever they’d naturally do in that setting. Unfortunately, that’s not always photogenic. Something surreal in the scene would be amazing, but it doesn’t just happen on its own - and staging it isn’t an option for me in this project.
Fishing boats and small cargo ships pass by the lighthouse, but I haven’t yet captured a shot with a boat that I truly love - maybe I’m too critical of their style and colors. Most of my photos are from the mainland side, which happens to be the lighthouse’s more photogenic face. The open horizon provides a beautiful backdrop, and the light is always coming from behind me, which helps.
I almost always crop out the cargo port across from the lighthouse. It could offer an interesting contrast, but I just don’t feel like including it - it’s not particularly beautiful. I know this selectiveness limits me as a photographer. Maybe I’d be better if I challenged myself to capture that view. But then again, maybe I wouldn’t be me anymore.
I’ve used all my lenses except the Canon 100mm macro. My favorite is the Canon 70–200mm - it works for almost everything, which is why nearly 90% of these photos were taken with it. I could definitely be more versatile. For urbex photography, I usually rely on the Sigma Art 24–70mm and the 12–24mm, but wide-angle lenses don’t flatter lighthouses; their proportions tend to look better with the 70–200mm.
In the end, this project isn’t really about the lighthouse. It’s about the process - the repetition, the quiet frustrations, the fleeting moments of inspiration, and the challenge of finding something new in the familiar. Maybe I haven’t captured a photo that breaks the cliché, but I’ve captured time, thought, and a part of myself in each frame.
What I truly crave is the freedom to photograph - just having something that fascinates me is enough. The real luxury lies in dedicating time to something seemingly pointless, and that’s what excited me from the start.
And after all, is it even possible to take a photo of a lighthouse that isn’t a cliché? Maybe not. But perhaps the point was never to avoid the cliché - just to lose myself in the process and find meaning there.
Sometimes, it’s not about the final image at all. It’s about standing in the wind, hearing the waves crash, feeling the cold air on your face, your fingers going numb in the icy breeze, and knowing you were there - fully present, looking closely at something most people would pass by without a second glance. Maybe that’s the real deal - the memory that stays with you long after the camera is put away.
Little lighthouse Project Diary
January 12
I take the first photos of the lighthouse around 5 PM, just half an hour after we arrive—it’s already getting dark.
January 14
I decide to capture 100 different photos of the lighthouse. That evening, I’m lucky enough to witness a huge, blood-red moon rising on the horizon.
January 17
First drone photos! This project feels brilliant - focused yet creatively open.
January 18
Cloudy skies, perfect for moody drone shots.
January 20
Morning fog for the first time - my favorite weather!
January 23
A stunning sunrise and later, a rainbow. The weather alone keeps the photos interesting.
January 24
Feeling the need to get more creative, I take self-portraits in the rain with an umbrella.
January 27
Still motivated, excited for each new day of shooting.
January 28
Looking back, this was the last day the project felt effortless. Seems like two weeks is my peak obsession period before it gets tough.
January 30
Around photo 60. Feels like I’ve covered every weather, light, and tide. But I only need 1.6 photos per day - should be manageable.
February 1
Snapped a fisherman’s dog, but ideas are running dry. It’s starting to feel like a chore.
February 3
No new photos in two days. My motivation is gone, though I’ve got around 70 good shots so far.
February 6
Feeling a bit better. The stormy, cold weather draws me out. I spend hours on the beach, not overthinking compositions - just enjoying the solitude and the challenge.
February 7
There are two weeks left, and I’ve got 85 out of 100 photos. The project feels stupid, but I’m going to finish it anyway. I just wrapped up this blog post, so now I’ll pick some of my favorite photos and publish it - mostly because it’s freezing outside, and I’m definitely not in the mood to take more photos of that stupid old subject!
