I saw my first empty car park at Westfield Miranda. It was a Thursday afternoon - after the departure of the schoolkid hordes and the stay-at-home mothers and prior to the descent of the late night shopping crowd. Swathes of empty concrete glowed in the dusky twilight air. The place shimmered with a surreal atmosphere, as light and colour merged to form an abstract landscape that was equally captivating and unsettling.

Since then, I’ve sought out these surreal concrete expanses at every opportunity. I’ve lugged my camera through shopping centres early in the morning to access car parks that hadn’t yet opened their doors to the public. I’ve waited for vaguely threatening, skateboard-toting manchildren to vacate carparks that reeked with the bitter stench of stale urine. And I’ve trekked for hours through dark, sprawling parking complexes in search of a vaguely decent photograph.

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