
Uncharted Waters
Hugh Arnold explores where few photographers dare, capturing dramatic, Renaissance-influenced tableaus in the open seas.
There’s a moment in Hugh Arnold: The Artist’s Journey where Arnold looks, forgive the expression, a little weathered. About three-quarters into the documentary, which sets out to articulate one man’s creative, personal and vocational evolution, he is standing on a boat off Indonesia’s Raja Ampat Islands in 2022, waiting to shoot underwater. The sea is choppy, the sky a queasy, unworkable grey, and the English photographer does not yet know that he and his team of 17 will have just one day of fine weather to shoot for a project three years in the making. Arnold also isn’t
yet aware of a far greater horror—that his longtime assistant has set the cameras incorrectly, for images sized large enough to run in a magazine and no larger, and certainly not for the metres-square works the artist is known for.
Arnold, who avoids reviewing his work during shoots as a matter of process, was “devastated” by the discovery. “I could not look at those pictures for a year and a half. I could not bring myself to start.” But when he did, he saw what would become Agua Memoria, the latest in his series of images of naked swimmers, as beautiful as classically painted nudes but liberated from passivity through the agency of moving underwater.

Arnold would transpose his work with images of ice, embedding the notion of memories as things frozen in time. It is the fifth of his collections, which include Agua Alta, photographed in the Seychelles in 2019 with its kaleidoscopic representations of images interposed with flowers and leaves, and Agua Vida, whose men and women seem to fight, embrace and fly—reaching to and away from each other, both muscular in motion and light in their suspension—in panoramic dramas reminiscent of Renaissance paintings.
“I’ve always considered Hugh slightly magical,” says photographer and model Polina Sova, who’s swum several times for Arnold, including in his first, dreamlike series Agua Nacida in Fiji in 2013, and its second instalment six months later on the Maltese island of Gozo. “There’s always something miraculous happening around him.”
“So many elements work against underwater photography,” says Jay Lyon, whose Art+ gallery in Sydney represents Arnold in Australia. “A lot of artists choose to work in pools where conditions are more controlled. But Hugh doesn’t do that. He shoots everything in the ocean. His work is in another realm.”

For Arnold, shooting in the open seas is the very point. His influences start with Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel frescoes, Auguste Rodin and Gustave Doré, and extend through to the untethered figures in the works of Klimt, Chagall and Sidney Nolan. The ocean is Arnold’s “empty stage”, in which humans arch back, fold and turn. Time—in both its limitlessness and preciousness—is a recurring presence. The swimmers are young and seemingly flawless, but each series reflects where Arnold finds himself in life: birth, adolescence and womanhood in Agua Nacida, when he was embarking on his new life in fine photography; or the surrealistic Agua Profunda, inspired by his father putting his house in order as he neared his death in 2020.
In other ways, says Arnold, shooting nudes underwater is a small rebellion. For almost 30 years he was a commercial photographer, starting in Sydney as a young actor snapping friends between jobs, then as a photographer’s assistant in Paris, before getting his break on an Armani job. For decades he shot beauty and fashion around the world; he was the man to go to for dynamic, action- charged images (and, indeed, among Arnold’s tear sheets from that time are leaping shadows and a model’s hair swept up long and wet in the shallows that hint of what was to come). But “ultimately, everything I did was all to do with facade. I felt that it was really important to forget about all those superficial elements of life.”

“I had no idea what I was hoping to do with Agua Nacida. I just knew I wanted to do an underwater story.” Arnold, a father of four with wife Celina, decided to abandon the commercial world
in 2012. The advent of digital photography —where even the first few frames were critiqued by clients behind a screen before he and his model could build rapport and get the shots—removed the pleasure from the work. “I was a confident photographer, but I felt emasculated, belittled because of my process that I couldn’t hide,” he says. Later, clearing out an attic, he found an envelope of little clips and cuttings he’d collected 20 years earlier in Paris; there was an image of a woman underwater. “I had no idea of what I was hoping to do in Agua Nacida. I just knew I wanted to do an underwater story.”
Arnold works with Olympic swimmers. (In one scene in the documentary, which is still being cut for release, he instructs a London imaging studio to remove an Olympic rings tattoo from a photograph.) Each of his series is roughly a three-year process: a period of thought and storyboarding that culminates with the swimmers, and the sun’s reflections, injecting their own unexpected moments into the shoot. Although he originally shunned the idea of working with artistic swimmers, afraid they would be too mannered, he’s since been captivated by their capacity for expression.
“Most swimmers swim [laps] on their own, but synchronised swimmers are used to the interaction, the collaboration in the space.”
Arnold himself swims every day, no matter the weather. He believes growing up on a farm in England’s Chester, near the border of Wales, where his mother told him glasses of water would freeze by the bed, and then his experience as an eight-year-old at a boarding school where open windows were considered mandatory for sleeping boys, set up his tolerance for discomfort. He amplifies his physical training as shoot week gets close, practising tumbling and twisting in the water, so that any orientation feels natural. He takes about 50,000 shots over a week; GoPros record that he’s shooting for six and a half hours underwater each day.

That’s not to say he’s entirely at ease below the surface. He was “fucking terrified” learning to scuba dive for his work, a feeling that only increased during his first, chaotic diving lesson in Egypt that failed to cover equalisation. A doctor’s subsequent instruction to stay out of the water for a week gave him time to sit on the boat and share his fears with seasoned divers. “They said, ‘It’s not natural what we do, you know. But it will be fine.’”
And it was. His first swimmer Sova says Hugh Arnold shoots feel as if they have a fourth dimension. “It’s because of the weightlessness. I was free diving, without goggles or any breathing apparatus. I was just free to be,” she remembers. “Hugh was moving around catching the best angles and light. I never knew where he was at every given frame.” Her favourite image is Primer Aliento (from the Spanish meaning “first breath”) from Agua Nacida. “The bubbles have such a divine entity about them and take more of a centre stage than the naked body,” she explains. “This image really represents the soul of the project for me. It is pure freedom encapsulated.”
Arnold has scheduled to shoot a sixth series in August 2026, in the seas around where he lives in Ibiza. “When I started, I was following my instincts, and things naturally evolved,” he says. “Because life becomes more complex as you get older. It has more layers, you know?”
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