Steve Richard has been a painter for fifty years, and for four decades he kept it a secret. He never used paint; instead, he worked undercover with a camera. People naturally assumed he was a photographer—and a very successful one, at that: he had solo exhibitions, lectured around the world, and published three books (Cloud Busting, Obscuro, and Aerial).

But there were signs that he wasn’t exactly a photographer. Where a normal photograph documents what is there, Steve laboured to create moments that weren’t. He’d spend days, weeks, sometimes months, to craft a single image (and could scrap it without a flinch if it didn't meet his vision). He had little interest in reality—the very thing the camera exists to capture—and fought against it at every turn. Once, wanting his subjects to float in the air, and unable to reverse gravity, he did the next best thing: he flooded his studio. For three years, people held their breath underwater while he froze them, suspended in what looked like the ether. A painter wanting the same effect would just put sky where the floor should be, and call it a day.

Five years ago, Steve dropped the façade. He hung up the camera and picked up a brush, finally admitting what had become obvious: he is a painter. He has the hand of a novice but the eye of a veteran—an eye fifty years in the making. This gap is why he'll tell you that his paintings aren't as good as his photographs. But don’t take his word for it; see for yourself.