That experience culminated in a photo essay that was published in the Canadian travel magazine Outpost. "Usually there was an editor's note at the end of an essay telling readers how to get there. But with mine, the editor just dropped a line which effectively said: 'Don't bother!'"

In retrospect, the adventurous streak has always been there. But the narrative style has changed completely.

Each time after returning from his photographic travels and having the film developed, Cherney searched the film frame for qi (a Chinese term meaning spirit or energy). Qi is not the type of energy that animates a group of dancers, but one that invigorates the brushstrokes, painted or written.

This is usually separated from the clicking of the shutter by weeks or even months.

"Most Chinese painters did not do plein-air painting," Cherney says.

"After extensive travel they returned home to paint from memory. I choose whatever has stayed with me."

That memory is printed on Chinese rice paper and then mounted.

"The picture comes alive when the white comes through from behind," says Cherney, referring to the age-old Chinese practice of putting an extra layer of white paper at the back of the flimsy painting. He never digitally alters his photographs because they are "nature's gifts".