My father was a harpsichordist who specialized in Baroque music. He met my mother as a student in Prague. He loved the architecture and would often point his camera skywards. 'Oh God,' my mother explains, 'I was always bloody waiting for him! He would be in a rapture, lying on the floor in a trance, trying to photograph an ornate ceiling.' It's almost as if he tried not just to document but to elevate moments and focus on the ornate and the sublime in his photography, as he did his music.

Amongst these many images of frescoes, ceilings, gargoyles, and stucco reliefs, I am most drawn to his photos of windows.