It’s a story of contrasts: from the gritty pulse of skateboarding culture to the meditative solitude of scaling rock faces; from the spontaneity of youth to the clarity of creative purpose found in the wild.

Furneaux’s photography is more than a visual record—it’s a visceral language. His images hum with authenticity, framed with tenderness and driven by a reverence for fleeting moments. Each shot feels like a love letter to movement, to emotion, to the human spirit in its rawest form. Whether scrambling up a windswept crag or chasing light along a muddy trail, his work captures the romance of exploration and the untamed beauty of being alive.

We spoke with Liam about the path that led him from skating Bristol’s streets to becoming one of outdoor culture’s most honest visual storytellers—one shaped as much by introspection as by adrenaline.

Origins

“I grew up in Cheddar, a small village south of Bristol, where I still live today. As a kid, I played rugby for about a decade—photography wasn’t on my radar back then. I was just focused on being outdoors and playing sports.

Things shifted when I discovered skateboarding in my teens. I fell hard for the whole culture: skating anything and everything with friends, staying out late, going to parties, smoking weed—the usual chaos of youth. Around the same time, my parents gave me my first camera. That’s when it all began.

Every weekend, we’d be out skating, and I’d be documenting it—riding the train into Bristol, shooting my friends on the streets. Photography started as a way to capture what we were doing. It was fun, creative, and spontaneous. For a while, it stayed a hobby.

Eventually, I started to think I could turn it into a career. I studied for two years but never actually went to university. I taught myself and focused on skate photography. I thought that would be my path—but it quickly became clear there wasn’t much money in skateboarding. So I balanced photography with a full-time job just to get by.

Then the pandemic hit, and like a lot of people, I stopped shooting altogether. I wasn’t sure what I was even trying to say with my work anymore. That’s when the outdoors really took hold of me.”

Reconnecting with Nature and a New Purpose

“I started rock climbing about nine years ago, but it was during Covid that it truly became a lifeline. Climbing got me back into nature. I started camping, trail running, and eventually, picking up my camera again. In 2021, I went freelance and focused almost entirely on outdoor photography.

That shift changed everything—my lifestyle, my creative focus, my sense of self. I no longer wanted to just document people; I wanted to tell stories that felt real, stories rooted in the outdoors and human experience.”

The Birth of Advanced.Rock

“I’d always had a personal photography page, mostly filled with old film shots or skate content. But as climbing took over, it became an obsession. I started collecting vintage climbing magazines from the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s—hundreds of them.

Advanced.Rock began as a way to archive those images: scanning old ads, sharing forgotten photos, revisiting the roots of climbing culture. Over time, it evolved into a space to document my own adventures. Eventually, photography took center stage, but the page helped me connect with outdoor brands and people in the scene.

That was the turning point. Before, people associated me with skateboarding and fashion photography. I began to document climbing and running with a skater’s rawness—honest, unpolished, emotional. I wasn’t chasing commercial aesthetics. I just loved what I was shooting. And brands started to notice.”

On Staying Real

“What I’ve always tried to do—what I still do—is bring that honesty into my work. I want to capture real emotions, not just polished campaigns. My dream job would be to go backpacking with friends and document that journey for a brand. That’s when my photography feels most alive—when it’s grounded in real moments.

Photography isn’t just something I do; it’s something I live. I climb, I run, I train in jiu-jitsu. I know what it feels like to be out there—physically exhausted, mentally sharp, fully immersed. That helps me shoot better. I notice the small details: the exact way a foot grips a hold, the facial expression halfway up a steep climb. Those nuances matter.

I think that’s my “style”: documentary more than commercial, raw over curated. People seem to connect with that. I’ve come to believe that developing a personal vision is the most powerful way to stand out. That’s what brands want now: not just pictures, but perspective.

There’s so much room for artistic freedom in this space—abstract, expressive, narrative-driven. The question I keep asking myself is: how can I do it differently? How can I offer something no one else does?”

The Athlete Behind the Lens

“Sports have always grounded me. Rugby gave me discipline. Skateboarding shaped my identity—style, attitude, everything. Climbing came into my life nine years ago, and it’s still a core part of who I am. Lately, I’ve been more focused on running. But the activity itself almost doesn’t matter. What matters is movement—keeping my body and mind in motion.

Sport is what made me quit drinking. I’m 32 now and have been sober for a long time. Pushing myself physically gives me the rush I used to seek elsewhere. That’s probably why I keep exploring new activities—cycling, jiu-jitsu, running—to keep the fire going.

Outdoor sports give me freedom. They let me explore new places, unplug from screens, reconnect with nature. In a world where we’re constantly online, going off-grid for a trail run or a week-long bike trip is everything.

What first drew me to climbing was the access it gives you—reaching places that most people never see. Standing halfway up a rock face, looking out at the world, knowing how few have seen that view… that’s magic.”

Sport, Storytelling, and the Art of Chaos

“What’s always drawn me to photography—especially within sport—is not just the action itself, but the people. I’m fascinated by character, expression, and emotion. That’s what I look for, even in commercial work. But when I take on personal projects, I tend to lean toward the strange and the folkloric—those fringe events where sport blurs into tradition, chaos, and community. The most obvious one to mention is the Cheese Rolling Race at Cooper’s Hill. It was completely wild.

If you haven’t seen it, it’s hard to explain. The only word that fits is chaos. It was the first traditional, folkloric event I ever photographed, and technically, it’s a sport—just not one you’d find in any official calendar. I went on my own, met locals and visitors alike, and was instantly hooked. What fascinated me most was the obsession people had with it—hurtling down a steep hill after a rolling wheel of cheese. To an outsider, it seems absurd. But to witness the passion behind it… that’s the kind of story I live for.

That event kicked off a series of personal projects. I started seeking out similar events—sporting in nature, but unconventional in every way. One of the most intense was the Atherstone Ball Game, a brutal medieval football match held every Shrove Tuesday. It’s played along the main street of a small English town, lasts two hours, and ends with whoever holds the custom-made ball in the final 30 minutes claiming victory.

It’s less a game and more a ritual: scrappy, physical, lawless. The violence, the players’ faces, the mud-smeared chaos—it was cinematic. I was there to photograph it, but I found myself studying the crowd as much as the action. There’s something primal about these events, and it taps into the same energy I have for the sports I do myself. There’s an obsession in all of it. It may look extreme from the outside, but it’s very human.!

The Freedom of Personal Work

“What I love most about these projects is the freedom. I travel solo, I shoot on my own terms, and no one is there to direct me. With commercial work, there’s a whole machine behind the scenes—briefs, brand expectations, creative reviews. But with these fringe events, chaos is the only plan. I just show up and try to navigate it with a camera in hand.

There’s something thrilling about not knowing where I’ll end up or what I’ll see. A street brawl in medieval garb, a man in a cape tackling someone for a ball, a grandmother yelling from a pub window—it’s unpredictable in the best way.

I’ve always tried to avoid trends. I scroll through Instagram and actively look for things people aren’t shooting. That’s what pulls me toward these odd, beautiful events—not to be different, but because I’m genuinely curious. I want to discover what I didn’t know existed. When I’m photographing, I look for details, moments, angles that make people pause. I want viewers to ask: ‘What’s going on here? What’s the story?’ That sense of mystery, of not understanding a photo right away—that’s what I aim for. It invites people to look longer.

And these traditional events are perfect for that. Most people have no idea they even exist. It becomes a visual puzzle—showing just enough to raise questions, holding back just enough to spark wonder.”

Climbing Higher, Running Farther

“If there’s one thing I hope people feel when they look at my work, it’s the pull to get outside. To hike, to run through the mountains, to chase sunrises and experience the raw joy of movement. I want my photography to ignite that urge—to explore, to see what most people don’t, to choose adventure over comfort.

Photography, like everything else, is evolving. I feel like it’s shifting back toward the documentary—toward realness. Brands are starting to embrace imperfection, to see the value in images that feel lived-in and emotional rather than polished and posed. It’s a shift I welcome with open arms.

Personally, I’m training for a 100-mile ultramarathon next year. That’s the next big challenge. But it’s also a photographic dream—imagine what you could see across 100 miles of landscape, weather, pain, joy, collapse, and triumph. It’s not just about completing it—it’s about what you experience along the way, and what you can capture in those moments of exhaustion and beauty.

That, to me, is the heart of it all. The further you push yourself—whether in sport, creativity, or life—the more you discover. And when you bring a camera with you, you get to bring others along for the ride.”