The first photographs I ever made appeared like magic in a darkroom in rural Victoria. An alchemy of light, time and chemistry, and I was mesmerised.

That was decades before digital, back when a photograph could still be trusted to tell the truth. I’ve been chasing the same thing ever since: the moment as it actually was.

Over more than 25 years, my husband and I have carried our cameras into some of the furthest corners of the planet. We’ve stood on Antarctic ice while the wind tried to wrestle the tripods away from us. We’ve waited in the half-light of an Alaskan dawn, barely breathing, as we hoped for a bear and her cubs to step into the frame.

On the Sepik River in Papua New Guinea we sat with dancers in heirloom headdresses made from the feathers of Birds of Paradise, plumes handed down through generations, then paddled the waterways beside them in dugout canoes.

Iceland, Norway, Patagonia, the Australian outback and the wild corners of Africa and Alaska. These are the places that pull hardest, and the ones we keep going back to.

Cancer has interrupted us more than once along the way. It sharpens things. You stop assuming there will be a next time, which is a strange sort of gift for two people whose whole life is built around waiting for a moment to arrive. Survival hasn’t made us cautious. If anything, we’re hungrier for the world than we’ve ever been.

So we wait. A creature at home in its own country. A landscape doing what landscapes do when nobody is watching. We edit with a deliberately light hand, because the world rarely needs much help. It just needs someone patient enough to still be there when the light comes.

What you see here is a small window into a much larger archive. Tens of thousands of images sit in our catalogues, and any of them can be printed on paper, canvas or metal, at any scale you like. Some already hang in homes and workplaces around the world, which still quietly delights us.

If something here moves you, please get in touch. We’d love to help one of these photographs find its way onto your wall, and a little of the wild find its way home.

Linda