The sun isolating parts of the London skyline with almost deliberate precision as it sets.

Just before the third lockdown, I moved to a flat on the seventh floor of a block in Elephant and Castle. Its main feature is a huge view of the London skyline. It stretches all the way from the Walkie Talkie to the Shard to Canary Wharf - a lockdown blessing. But I had never wanted to photograph these magnificent structures. They'd been shot so many times before - how could I do it any differently?

Nevertheless, I was greeted every day by their looming presence, getting to know them with my eyes as I enjoyed a morning coffee.

One dark afternoon, I noticed a perfectly lit building against the others which were all in shade. It was so precisely illuminated that I thought that all of its office lights must be turned on. I grabbed my 70-300mm zoom lens and soon realised that this structure was all alone in reflecting the final rays of sun. I started snapping, having the sense to take a detailed long exposure with my tripod. I couldn't help feeling that this building, isolated by light, was reflecting my own solitude. I was happy with the photo, but thought that it was just a one off - an isolated incident.

The next spot was more obvious. The reflections from a single building were so bright that the entire living room was suddenly lit up in an unearthly way. It was far too bright to look at, but with my camera, I could see that it was The News Building. I especially liked the striking silhouette of the church at its base. There was some cloud coverage that day - I assume that is what prevented the light from spilling onto the neighbouring buildings. I started to think that there might be something more in these fleeting ephemeral moments, so I moved my desk directly in front of the window. Now I could always have half an eye on the buildings that were starting to feel like friends. From about 1.30pm every day, when the sun was out, amazing things began to happen.

Next came a photograph of Hartley’s Jam Factory against the bluish blocks of Canary Wharf. This one I could see with my eyes, and it really took me aback. The building appeared exactly as if it was on fire.

Each new image in the series felt like a huge win and I became determined to find a perfect moment for every major building on the skyline - each one having its chance to shine. And the clouds and the sun didn’t disappoint me - I was presented with the famous Shard as a shimmering mackerel against the otherwise dark backdrop. They obsessed me. Over the next few weeks, I could hardly look away from the window in case I missed something. Every time I spotted a new fiery building or an isolated glass surface reflecting the sun, I was ready.

On 22nd January, I was gifted with the ultimate show. For just a few minutes, not just one, but several of the buildings had some sort of edge or pane brilliantly illuminated. When exposed for just those very brightest parts, I was stunned to find an almost abstract looking image. And the same the following day, but with dramatically lit clouds as a background. This felt like the culmination of the project, the lonely buildings finally coming together for a sunset dance. Hopefully, a future projection for the end of our own current lockdown isolation.

Lockdown gave me the chance to focus on just one view and one idea. It would have been impossible to notice the many fleeting moments in which light works its magic if I hadn’t been home every day for weeks. Some things take a while to reveal themselves, and it’s worth the wait.