The Other Escalator

As much as I like certain parts of London, it is not the city I think of when feelings of home tug. Although I spent only a few days a year in Somerset and Dartmoor when I was a child, these areas and coastal towns instil in me feelings of being at home and comfort. The photograph showing part of the seawall in Lyme Regis is so quintessentially English it reflects all the images that my mind conjures when seaside towns are mentioned; which is odd as I had not previously been to Lyme Regis.

However, before my fleeing from London occurred, I had some other city type things to take care of. First on my list was a trip to the Photographers’ Gallery, to take in the two exhibitions currently running there. As mentioned in my last post, none of the exhibitions currently running really grabbed my eye or generated high excitement but the fact that it was possible for me to visit any exhibitions was reason enough to feel chirpy to do so.

The first of the exhibitions running at the PG were photographs by Czech photographer Markéta Othová, entitled “Pardon?”. Erm, I am assuming that the “Pardon?” refers to what she said on the phone when the show was being arranged, and the organisers believed that was her title, because the photographs, mostly, look like that from someone who has no idea what to produce. Of course I am being a little facetious here, and no doubt a great deal of purpose is involved in producing these photographs, but I can’t help feeling that it is another example of trying so hard to avoid beautiful but clichéd landscapes that results in photographs which are just plain dull. It is quite a small exhibition and the majority of prints shown are these exceptionally boring black and white landscapes of non-descript fields, produced in low resolution then printed fairly large, leaving you with soft, muddy (tonally rather than brown stuff) scenes. To exaggerate the feeling of drabness (from my point of view, I suspect there is a more heroic meaning) the prints are not mounted in anyway, with the paper itself being nailed to the wall with small tacks. Mixed in with these landscapes are a few photographs of other subjects which are genuinely interesting, and to my eye so much more receptive to the fuzzy B&W treatment. One thing I did notice was the speed at which other gallery floaters passed through, with none really stopping to take in the prints for any amount of time. I did scour each photograph to try and find a hook, but failed.

Moving next door, the offerings took a couple of large steps closer to what I think are interesting and appealing photographs. A good selection of prints from Japanese photographer Rinko Kawauchi are nicely block mounted at the front of the gallery, while in a separate media room at the rear a looping projected display shows other images, accompanied by music written and played by a friend of Miss Kawauchi. By necessity you look at the mounted prints (you could of course walk past them blind-fold to the media room, but why?), and while none are really earth shattering from an originality point of view, they are very well executed images with interesting composition. The photographs hanging either side of the entrance corridor are generally crisp and saturated still lifes, some fairly close up, but all sharing a feeling of equilibrium in nature, and the Zen-like we are surround by. One of the prints is larger than most of the others and shows a turtle swimming in crystal clear dappled water. Although hardly earth shattering from a subject or composition point of view, the lighting and colour are extremely attractive and make for a pleasing photograph. From here on in, the material starts to lose my interest. The back wall supports a collage of smaller images, which appear to have no coherence at all, which would be fine but the subjects and style are so wildly different as to make you wonder if you are observing the whole collection of photography from Miss Kawauchi’s life on one wall. You can almost see the progression of here photographic experience, and a style forming which develops into the style seen in her larger prints. This feeling of progression is lost when you pass on into the media room with the projected images and musical backing. To put it boldly these are the images of someone’s family over a fairly lengthy period of time, that only really offer any interest as it happens to be a Japanese family, not something most visitors to the Photographers’ Gallery would find everyday. Of course the photographs are probably better composed than the average family member would produce, as the photographer is somewhat more proficient, however in some way I find these types of photographs more interesting when the composition is more wild and unpredictable. I have no idea if it was intentional, but after sitting through the entire loop (around 20 minutes) I noticed that there did appear to be some reference to the cycle of life. There were a number of pictures of an elderly male family member, during family gatherings, later in a hospital bed and finally photographs showing his funeral. Mixed in with these images were photographs of young born children, which, as the presentation appeared to be in random order and following no timeline, provided an interesting balance. I maybe being a little harsh of this presentation, as it is stated by the photographer that these are nothing more than personal photographs of her family, and although they did provide some interest, I think I may have kept them private.

So, with a few galleries in the bag, and a re-acquaintance with some of the lovely photo equipment shops in London (and impressively little money spent), it was time to hit the roads and head for Dartmoor. If there is one feeling that I am always left with when visiting Dartmoor, it is that I would like to spend the rest of my life photographing it. I only wish I could.

Looking For A Way Out

There comes a time in every ex-pat’s life when a trip to the motherland is called for. Apart from the hideous amount of funds this can absorb, I find it less traumatic than many other ex-pats with whom I have spent time jousting Blighty from afar. My time is now. (In a factual rather than prophetic way.)

Somewhere near the top of my list of things that I feel I miss out on while out of the oh so developed world, are photograph galleries. I tend to buy very few magazines these days, as photograph magazines are, by and large, full of regurgitated articles on digital sharpening; and non-photography magazines tend to just make me want to spend money. My one exception is Black and White Photography magazine. Apart from being an exceptionally good ol’ mag, it includes a comprehensive listing of exhibitions, shows and galleries, which every month makes me think how nice it would be to go and see some photographs how they are meant to be; printed big and hanging on walls. Naturally this trip would be my chance to get in some gallery action.

After surviving the journey that just seems to last forever, and never gets any easier, a quick trip to the local magazine pusher landed me a fresh copy of B&W. I immediately turned to the exhibition pages to plan my attack of the galleries. It turned out Mr. Murphy, the patron saint of mucking things up, has been up to his old tricks again. During the times that I am thousands of miles away from any possibility to take a quick peak at the ever so interesting exhibitions sprawled across the pages of B&W magazine, there are oodles of compelling shows doing the rounds. Now that I am within a 10 minute tube ride the offerings are somewhat less appealing. It’s not that I am not interested in going to see some unknown (to me) photographers work, but I was hoping for maybe just one big name to go and pay homage to. Still, there is plenty on offer to see what’s doing the rounds.

First on the list (read closest) was “Nonsuch”, an exhibition of photographs by Steffi Klenz, presented at Photofusion in Brixton. Now, I am going to digress a little here, so bare with me. I would classify myself as quite well travelled, having visited and lived in most corners of the world, some of which have less than perfect reputations for safety. So I found it rather difficult to swallow that of all these places, including those where bandits with machine guns are commonplace, Brixton would rank up there in terms of unease. I guess that it is a little unfair to wash Brixton with this statement and I am sure that, just as any district, I was just unfortunate to walk the street having the bad hair day. I did find it rather ironic though, to feel on edge so close to my home after returning from locations so widely viewed as dangerous.

OK, digression over. Back to “Nonsuch”.

The background information sheet states the following regarding this Steffi Klenz exhibition: “At first glance, these seemingly unexceptional images could be mistaken for a documentary portrayal of an ordinary town.” I would have to agree with that statement, and would say further that the opinion stays firm after the second and third glance. However, when you are looking at these photographs, printed fairly large, you feel that something is missing; and it is. There are no people or even signs of human existence in these photographs. The subjects of these photographs are the buildings of Poundbury, which is a newly created town in rural England. It may be that many of these buildings remain empty, as it is clear from the photographs that the construction has only recently been completed. With this type of subject, especially when printed large, I would really liked to have seen a good technical approach, but for my eye these photographs left something to be desired. The depth of field is quite shallow, and the fine detail in the prints is left wanting. I am not sure what type of camera was used, but these do not appear to have been taken in a large format which would have permitted movements to provide front to back sharpness and also provided the fine detail seemingly missing. So what I was left with were some fairly average photographs of residential dwellings, minus the people. I assume the message here is the lack of human evidence but, for me, that alone was not enough. It would be interesting to see some further development on the theme, with residents being photographed with their new homes. I believe this would make an interesting statement on how all the buildings were made equal, whereas their occupiers are an eclectic mix. It maybe that Poundbury attracts only people of a similar type, again this would be interesting to see. Empty streets do not say much to me – except that they were probably taken in the early morning, which the lighting bares out.

After rather quickly legging it back to the train, I got caught up in the mass exodus that is rush hour. It should be noted that having so recently come from such a different social environment, that the extreme contrasts make any observations all the more prominent, whereas in reality the differences are probably not so stark. That said I find city life here quite formulaic. Life seems to be a means to an end and to be travelled as efficiently as possible. Of course I know that this is only an image portrayed by the way the underground train forces its passengers to act as if under a spell, the trance like state in which they embark and disembark the train, the temporary hibernation as they are gently rocked and the up-tempo march towards the exit upon arrival. It makes you wonder how many are looking for a deeper way out than the sign suggests. No? Well it made me wonder, so I took the photo.