London in the 1980s was a city of excess. A place where possibility seemed limitless—if you had the right mix of talent, luck, and audacity. The world had not yet been digitized. Youth culture was shaped by images pulled from the racks of Woolworths and Athena. Poster art was how people defined themselves. Van Gogh, Monet, pop stars—and then, suddenly, photography.

Athena, once a tired and irrelevant poster company, had been handed to a man with vision. Paul Rodriguez arrived as Art Director, determined to reinvent its offerings. He saw potential in photography, in images that could tap into something raw, something unsaid. He was willing to take risks.

And then there was me. A photographer of the male form, drawn to emotive, sculptural bodies. We hit it off. Paul saw something in my work, and I in him. We started collaborating. He trusted me, sent me on assignments, funded my travels. We created together.

At the time, I was known for my photography—studio-lit, emotive, often focusing on the male form. My images weren’t just about aesthetics; they carried a mood, a feeling, something deeper. Paul saw that. He understood how photography could move beyond being a passive object on a wall and instead become something relational, something lived with.

He sought out photographers who could bring this to Athena, and I was in the right place at the right time with the right work. Suddenly, the photograph wasn’t just an alternative to a Monet or a Van Gogh print—it was something else entirely. It was intimate, provocative, aspirational. It was about identity, about how you wanted to be seen and what you wanted to say without words.

Athena, under Paul’s vision, changed the status of the photograph. It was no longer confined to family portraits in heavy frames or the pages of a magazine. It became something to live with, something that defined you. And for me, being part of that moment—seeing my work become part of this shift—was something I could never have anticipated. But looking back, it makes perfect sense.