Salthill Promenade, A Week Chasing Winter Light: AI Composition Diary

Monday morning, the light coming through the curtains was different. In Galway in December, the sun rises late and sets early, and during those short daylight hours the light spreads nearly horizontal. You simply cannot encounter this kind of light in summer. As I packed my camera bag, I resolved to go out to the Salthill Promenade every day that week. And every evening, I would feed the day's photos into an AI tool to reinterpret them as entirely different images.

Day 1 -- Grey on the Horizon

When I arrived at the promenade around half ten, the boundary between sky and sea was nearly invisible. The whole of Galway Bay felt like one enormous grey mass. Normally these would be disappointing conditions, but I actually liked that uniform tone. I shot a seagull perched on the concrete railing at 200mm, and because the background was completely flat, the photo came out as though the bird's outline had been cut from the scene.

That evening I fed the photo into an AI composition tool with the prompt "solitude upon an ink wash painting." The result was the seagull floating above a spreading ink blot. It was interesting how the grey tones of the original had transformed into the gradations of ink. The bird's feet, however, melted awkwardly into the background — confirming once again how readily AI ignores structural detail.

Day 2-3 -- The Moment the Light Opens Up

Tuesday was completely different. Around 2 p.m., light poured through a gap in the clouds and reflected at just the right angle off the wet paving stones on the promenade. The entire ground had become a mirror. While pressing the shutter, I could see the light creating a different colour in every puddle between the paving stones. Some were gold, some copper, some nearly pink. When I fed this into the AI with the direction "broken stained glass," each paving stone transformed into a fragment of a cathedral window. It matched exactly the sensation I had felt shooting the original.

Wednesday was rain. I went out anyway. Holding the camera with one hand under an umbrella, I shot toward the diving tower, but everything came out blurry because of the downpour. I thought there were no usable photos, but the AI reinterpretation actually produced the most dramatic results from these blurry originals. The streaks of rain turned into lines of light, and the diving tower looked like a structure from some future city.

Day 4-5 -- Three Minutes of Sunset

Thursday, in roughly three minutes just before the sun set, the sky split into deep orange and violet. I had been standing for an hour and a half near the Blackrock Diving Tower at the end of the promenade, waiting for precisely those three minutes. My hands were frozen and I had lost all feeling in my shutter finger, but three out of forty consecutive shots were usable. I chose the one where the colour transition in the sky was most dramatic and fed it to the AI, this time without a prompt, letting the tool interpret it on its own. The result was unexpected. The orange of the sky bled down into the sea, and the whole image took on a lava-like texture. Honestly, it was a bit much. The restrained beauty of the original was better.

Friday was overcast again. I shot the promenade benches as a series. Winter benches no one sits on, peeling paint, old locks tied to the railing. I gave the AI the direction "remnants of memory," and the benches came back half-buried in sand. The concept of time as sediment rendered visually was impressive, but the result was closer to illustration than photography. As a photographer, I am becoming increasingly conscious of this boundary.

Day 6-7 -- Layering a Week's Light

Saturday morning, I spread all five days of AI results across my monitor and made a mood board. One pattern emerged. Originals from days with strong light led to excessive AI reinterpretations, while originals from days with weak light were actually improved by the AI. When the original is already intense, the AI tends to pile unnecessary ornamentation on top of it. When the original is subtle and quiet, the AI seemed to uncover hidden structures within it.

Sunday, the last day. I went out at eight in the morning. The promenade just before sunrise was immersed in a darkness close to navy blue. Streetlight reflections stretched long across the wet road, and in the distance I could see the silhouette of a single jogger. I did not feed this photo to the AI. There was no need. As it was, it already embodied what I had been trying to create with AI all week — the texture of light, solitude, and cold air itself.

Over the week I shot about 600 frames and ran roughly thirty AI reinterpretations. If there is one thing I have taken from it, it is this: AI does not replace my eye — it is a tool that translates what I have already seen into a different language. And sometimes it is better not to translate at all. Like that navy-blue darkness on the promenade.