After a brief spell at a nursery run by nuns, Gypsy joined the early incarnation of Morna Valley School, long before it became the established institution it is today. Founded by a small group of parents, the school was informal, experimental, and deeply communal. “Morna was amazing,” Gypsy says. “I have such fond memories of it. All the families were involved. My dad even taught PE for a while.” It was a blissful childhood yet for Gypsy’s mother, education represented opportunity and when Gypsy reached high school age, the family returned to the UK. “It was a shock,” she recalls. “I remember my first day at school, surrounded by thousands of kids. I had a funny name, a funny accent. Ibiza wasn’t cool yet.”

She persevered and went on to study painting at Middlesex University in North London. “I can see now what a luxury that was,” she says. “We were given free rein to use all the tools and equipment.” One day, she took a roll of film she’d shot on holiday into the darkroom, where the technician overseeing the space noticed something she hadn’t yet considered. “He saw one of my images as it was developing and said it would look good blown up.” That small observation was enough. “I never left the photography department after that.” On completing her studies, she worked as a photographer’s assistant, travelled, married and 12 years later in 2001, returned with her husband to the place she had always considered home.

Gypsy’s inherent shyness was soon dispelled by a job as a roaming photographer, moving between beaches and restaurants, snapping holidaymakers who could later buy the images. “It was horrendous. The first time I approached someone, I think they only said yes because I was on the verge of tears,” she laughs. It proved to be a turning point. “That job really helped me grow as a person and gain some confidence.” One evening in 2004, while doing her rounds, she photographed a young British couple who later asked her to shoot their wedding. “They wanted to see my work, so I pulled out my old university portfolio. Goodness knows what they thought, but I got the job.”

At the time, most wedding photographers worked out of small, dusty shops, turned up in ill-fitting suits and delivered the results in garish albums. Gypsy was at the forefront of a new outlook, approaching weddings with an artist’s eye. What began with a handful of bookings grew steadily, eventually reaching around 50 weddings a year. As digital technologies arrived, she adapted where it made sense, while continuing to work with film, particularly black and white when requested. “I become part of the day,” she says. “I get to see things others don’t always notice. It’s a real privilege.” The exchanges between guests, the rings resting briefly on a table and the way light falls across flowers – all the small elements add to the day’s spectacle.

As an observer of detail and a documentarian of love, Gypsy’s artistic instincts were shaped early. Growing up on an island familiar with constant movement, she learned to recognise the important moments and read what sits beneath the surface. She carries this into her work, attentive, present yet unobtrusive, rendering fleeting moments into beautiful images that last a lifetime. These days, after decades behind the lens, she is the standard bearer of an industry that has grown up around her. No longer working solo, Gypsy has built a trusted team that delivers on her vision of fusing love and art into memories. “I do love doing weddings,” she says. “Even after all these years, it’s impossible not to get swept up in the joy of it all.”