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Initially published via PHMAGG.
We spend too much of our lives moving through social media, where the self-portrait has slipped from the hands of fine artists into the endless repetition of the selfie. Everyone is visible; yet few are truly seen.
Among the noise, some still return us to something real; their images break through the polish and performance, carrying the taste of lived experience, salt air, and unguarded light.
They take us back to a place that feels both familiar and elemental: the beach.
Cate Brown draws you into the authentic, invites you to savour it, and reminds you that the beach belongs to every season — even winter.
Cate began photographing as a young girl, guided by her mother, who showed her how to load an old 35 mm film camera when Cate was 13—a moment that ignited her passion for photography.
She carried that fascination with imagery to Fitchburg State University in Massachusetts, where she earned a Bachelor of Science in Communications Media.
After graduation, she returned home to southern Rhode Island and reconnected with the coastline that had shaped her from the very beginning. There, she found her true calling.
Her work is defined by light, contrast, and the quiet pull of the sea: the timeless restraint of black and white, the soothing blues and greens of coastal water, and the softened glow of sundown.
Cate’s photography stirs a deep longing for the elemental—a return to the place where life feels unguarded, immediate, and real again: the beach.
Cate, you began photographing sailing in Narragansett Bay, having grown up in a sailing family. What are the greatest challenges of shooting at sea?
Out at sea, you are working in an environment that is deeply unforgiving to electronics. Reliable, weather-sealed gear is essential, along with plenty of lens cloths, towels, rain protection, and splash guards. Above all, you need constant awareness of everything around you.
The marine world is unpredictable. Conditions can shift in an instant. You have to anticipate not only your subject and the scene, but also the wind, water, movement, and weather around you.
It is a balance of safety, instinct, and timing—staying alert enough to protect yourself, while remaining ready to capture the moment when it appears.
Were these challenges what led you to focus more on seascape photography?
Seascapes naturally became a quieter refuge from the speed and intensity of action photography. I can go to the beach or shoreline alone, stay until the sun goes down, and let myself settle into the calm.
It is a slower, more reflective experience—less about chasing the moment, and more about being fully present when it arrives.
What do you love about outdoor photography?
It’s the perfect way to bring together everything I love. Because my subject is the outdoors, it naturally keeps me outside and connected to nature. Many photographers move toward weddings or studio work, but this path allows me to capture what I already love and turn that passion into my career.
What is your favorite time of day for capturing the ocean’s texture, when the light is at its best?
Definitely golden hour, especially as the day moves toward sunset. When the sun drops lower, the light begins to skim the surface of the water, revealing texture, movement, and depth in a way that feels almost sculptural.
I also prefer sunset to sunrise. By then, you can read the light as it changes, follow its direction, and anticipate the final glow. It gives you more time to shape the image before the moment disappears.
What are some of the main challenges seascape photographers face? Since your work leans more toward fine art than commercial imagery, how does one succeed in this field?
I keep a portfolio that moves between fine art and commercial lifestyle photography. For seascape fine art alone, there is no clear formula.
Much of it comes down to visibility: getting the work in front of as many people as possible, approaching galleries thoughtfully, and shaping proposals that feel aligned with each curator’s vision.
Relying only on fine art can be very difficult. That is why I balance it with other projects, including sailing photography and commercial lifestyle work. It gives me room to sustain the practice while continuing to develop the more personal, fine art side of my work.
Which of the sports you photograph have you tried yourself, and which did you enjoy the most?
I have taken part in almost every sport I photograph. Sailing, especially, feels like second nature to me at this point.
I surfed for a while, too, although I never fully mastered it. But once I got a waterproof housing for my camera, something shifted—I realised I found even more satisfaction in photographing the waves than riding them.
There is something about being in the water with a camera that changes the experience entirely. Instead of chasing the wave, you begin chasing the moment.
You’re a sailor yourself—what’s the longest you’ve stayed out at sea? And have you ever been seasick?
I’ve been sailing since I was an infant, so being on the water has always felt natural to me. I’m very much a bluewater sailor, although I do not usually venture more than a few miles offshore. The farthest I’ve sailed was to Provincetown in Massachusetts and to Nantucket—around 30 miles (48 km) out.
I have never spent a night at sea. When my family goes cruising, we sail during the day and always make it into port by nightfall. It feels a bit like camping—just on a sailboat instead of on land.
And yes, I have been seasick—although surprisingly not until my twenties. I was around 25, photographing a regatta off Brenton Reef in Newport, Rhode Island. The conditions were rough, with swells reaching 8 to 10 feet (about 2.4–3 meters), and some closer to 12 feet (around 3.7 meters).
Ironically, sailing itself is usually easier for me, but that day I was shooting from a motorboat—and that was enough to make me properly seasick.
Since then, I’ve only had a few mild moments and learned how to manage them. As my dad always says, everyone gets seasick eventually—it’s just a question of finding out which conditions bring it on.
Sailing runs in your family, with your father being a sailor. Did he take it up for pleasure or as part of his profession?
It goes back even further than my father. My grandfather served in the Navy and raised my father and uncles in Wickford, Rhode Island—a town shaped by a deep sailing tradition. Growing up there, learning to sail was almost second nature.
My father later joined the Merchant Marines, and for him, sailing became more than a passion. It became a profession as well.
We sat down with Ana Tabakova to discuss her photographic journey, inspirations, and creative process.
ReadYou’re also a climber and a yogi—what styles do you practice? And why haven’t we seen any of your climbing photos?
I’ve been practicing yoga since I discovered it at around 16, and I’ve been climbing for six or seven years now.
With yoga, I naturally gravitated toward Vinyasa. I love the sense of flow—the continuous movement, the transitions, the feeling that each pose leads naturally into the next.
As for climbing, I mostly do top-rope indoors at the moment. I do not yet have all the equipment needed for outdoor routes, although I would love to move further into sport climbing in the future.
I have experimented with climbing photography a little, but it demands an entirely different setup and investment in gear. Right now, I am focusing more on my water equipment and directing my energy there.
Maybe because of that, climbing has remained something personal—a space that belongs only to me, experienced for the moment rather than through the lens.
Can you elaborate on the different equipment needed for climbing photography?
You need a highly specific range of gear: extra static ropes, which differ from dynamic climbing ropes, along with top-rope anchors, tethers, ascenders, proper footwear, and dedicated safety equipment.
It is not simply climbing with a camera attached. It requires a separate system, a different mindset, and a level of preparation that makes it almost its own discipline.
I have some essentials for outdoor climbing, but when I head outside, I often borrow additional gear from friends.
It also helps to be deeply familiar with the sport you are photographing. I would consider myself an intermediate climber, and climbing photography has its own demands, risks, and technical language.
For now, I prefer to keep climbing as something personal—a practice I do for myself—while focusing my professional investment on water photography, where my creative language feels most at home.
You spend so much time outdoors and seem deeply devoted to physical activity — it sounds like you lead a calm and balanced lifestyle.
I use yoga and climbing as my main physical outlets and as time for myself. Massage therapy helps keep my body healthy, while meditation clears my mind when I need to reset. I also unwind outdoors, whether it’s spending a relaxed day at the beach with friends or reading outside. When I’m indoors, I’ll take a hot bath — or sometimes just enjoy playing a few video games.
What kind of video games do you play? Can you share a few favorites?
[Cate laughs.] Oh goodness—mostly console games.
I still have my old Nintendo 64 and love going back to classics like Mario Kart and GoldenEye. There is also a Wii somewhere at home collecting dust.
More recently, I have been playing newer PS4 titles like Destiny and Horizon.
I like that games offer something similar to photography in a way—they let you step into another world for a while.
Apart from photography, what other passions drive you?
The environment, without question.
I try to stay involved in local initiatives, donate whenever I can, and help raise awareness. I also make an effort to encourage those around me to think more consciously—whether that means reducing consumption and waste, choosing local and healthy food, staying informed, or supporting policies that protect the environment.
More recently, I have become increasingly involved in safeguarding public access to the coastline here in Rhode Island. Together with a group of like-minded citizens, I help monitor public rights-of-way to ensure they remain open and protected from private encroachment or gradual loss of access.
The coastline means a great deal to me—not only as a photographer, but as a person. I want to help preserve the possibility that anyone can walk to the water, stand at its edge, and experience it for themselves.
How do you help ensure the public’s right of access to the coastline?
In the United States, coastal access is largely governed at the state level. Here in Rhode Island, we are somewhat unique because access to the shoreline is written directly into the state constitution. Article I, Section 17 protects what are known as the “privileges of the shore,” including activities such as fishing, swimming, gathering seaweed, and passage along the shoreline.
Public access is protected along designated shoreline areas and through public rights-of-way that allow people to reach the coast. Rhode Island’s coastal agencies and municipalities maintain and designate many of these access points, but enforcement and monitoring often depend heavily on public involvement.
For me, that means staying informed and paying attention. Alongside other engaged citizens, I report situations where access appears to be restricted—whether that means public entry points being landscaped over, misleading signage appearing, or barriers being placed where passage should remain open. Reports can be submitted directly to the Coastal Resources Management Council (CRMC), which oversees shoreline access issues across the state.
A lot of this work happens at the community level. People attend town meetings, share information, monitor changes, and help others understand where public access points exist. We also pay attention to similar conversations happening in places like California and Connecticut because one thing becomes clear very quickly: protecting access is far easier than trying to restore it once it has disappeared.
The coastline means a great deal to me, both personally and professionally. After the pandemic, especially, so many people rediscovered it as one of the few places that still felt open, restorative, and shared. That is worth protecting.
Text: Phaedra Botanicals
Images: © Cate Brown