First time in Florence and first time sculpting. To learn in Florence was to return to a country I fell in love with 15 years ago. I had visited my friend studying Italian in Perugia and we went to see Assisi and Rome, Assisi has remained with me ever since. I was awed by the serenity of the place, taking in the jewel of the Basilica carved into the escarpment at one end of the city, and the maze of cobbled streets fanning out from it’s compass point. The streets held the hallowed footfall of occasional small groups of monks or nuns and, as they passed, you could look beyond and see small artisan shops laid out with sinfully delightful handmade chocolate treats nestling between sacred water fountains.
Florence was a warm, friendly, pretty hug, safely explorable, and deliciously photogenic. To work out of an art studio there, was to engage with the community, become part of the fabric of the City, not just an observer. I was going to make something, take much needed time from the rush and buzz of the world and breathe quietly next to the clay as the portrait took shape in whatever way it would.
Nothing in mind, hands working peacefully almost on their own, there were no stops or blocks, things I couldn’t do were just things to work out slowly as time ebbed and flowed. There was little that I was aware of outside of the studio. I was engrossed until jolted when, almost suddenly, her face emerged and enlivened the most unexpected feelings of tenderness in me. As I worked on her features; a dimple, the cut of the corner of her mouth, she took on expression and presence. I was copying from Frank’s original cast of a real someone’s face and I was moved by her appearance in my clay. Apparently the feeling of intimacy you get when you work with the human form is common, Frank explained. I have discovered something I could do and it was wonderful and exciting for me.
Ciao per adesso Frank and Laura, inspiring, knowledgeable and experienced artists. Teachers who know when to guide and when to give you your space to explore. I’m returning to Florence in January to continue the sculpture. I need to build out muscle, bone and fat on her face, pay attention to her expression and hair and eventually I’ll cast her. They’ll look after her while I’m gone, just as well as they looked after this fledgling sculptress in me! Thank you for helping the discovery happen ❤
The photographs for First Prize Spot News (Richardson) and Second Prize General News (Doumany) are beautifully tragic, candid images of trauma and war. Mine weren’t the only eyes brimming and I was grateful for that jolt in me, because the artwork of an outstanding discrete press photography image should be to evoke feeling and connection, where the gluttony of general media saturation with life’s darker side can leave you feeling numb. Numbness is of course one of the symptoms of trauma, a protective move to defend against the horror of what is witnessed and cannot be easily taken in. The dissonance of the Jazz chords playing in the Festival Hall after was apt.
A new creative endeavor came and found me in the guise of a friend. These shots are straight off camera and pre-edit. They are an interpretion of my friend’s ideas currently under development. The innards of her project are informed by her understanding of the mind, I have an insight into what she is doing as we both trained as clinical psychologists at the same institution. It’s helped me to see into the early form of what she wants to develop and how I might represent that in images.
After our initial discussions on the day of the shoot, she trusted me to run loose through her ideas with my own for the camera. Tight for time, we flew through street photography haunts I felt would work, and as the half hours passed, tentative interpretations were shaped and solidified on the hoof. This process was as much a testament to our good connection, as to any of the skills either of us brought that day.
Street photography is a solipsistic pursuit for me, the connections I seek are striking moments in time between myself and the subjects I shoot. This time, the subject I shot was also breathing oxygen into the ideas behind the camera with me, expanding the perspectives on visions of my own. It was a revitalizing and magical experience this fusion of ideas. A collaboration indeed.
Fraser and I stood in the middle of the Green Room at The Bedford and cast our eyes over a treasure trove of band and rigging paraphernalia, temporarily put to one side. Well to all sides. Scribbled walls stacked with lighting heads, gels, mixers, cables, benches and chairs. A piano leaning dormant in the corner, a thick green glased bottle of gin under it’s stool – still standing stoic as if utterly assured of it’s sense of belonging here, it was soaking in years of musical wizardry and a last swig remained.
Perfect. We got elbows deep in it and set up for the photographs.
For further information please see:
…gives me an intimate view on the nuts and bolts of a band’s workings. I’ve followed Honey Ryder since the band began, and over the past year have had my camera to hand whilst doing so and happily lugged a few things as well.
I love the different photography skills I have to develop and draw on to do band photography. In live gigs, the ‘delights’ of having to calculate correct exposures in darkness with randomly flashing lights, trying flash and drowning in flat light, keeping ISO low for better quality and the scene not appearing at all…then which lens? Wide angle to take in the full band, but loose close up wrenched expressions of loss in a love song? Closing in on too many a mouth by microphone, pouted lip or glassy eye, and risk the sense that there ever was a whole band making the gig come to life? Phew…
So I ditched the flash, learnt to switch fast between lenses, fired off semi-automatic to let the camera manage some of the exposure calculations, and kept the ISO high accepting some grain is part of the live atmosphere. Sorted.
Or not quite. Then switch photography to candid backstage style and aim to ninja about (less seen) in the green room to capture nuance and interaction. Oh I forgot the initial rigging and sound check shots for the band at the beginning! I love it, and half the time I turn the photos over to black and white to keep a journalistic feel, because its a story. Its a story of a band’s hard work, talent, creativity, dedication and relationships blooming in syncrony for the big moments on stage, and then deepening their experience together after it. It’s also a story of how I learn to interpret that in my images and my relationship with the band over the years. I’m a keen, close visual narrator.
More of my gig photography can be found at my kempspace photography gallery here
More about the band Honey Ryder here
Honey Ryder Fan Page here
I was delighted to join Dale Stephens in photographing the wedding of Aaron and Terry at Northcote House in Ascot. The setting was the grand Grade II listed Neo-Georgian mansion, the excitement of the wedding party infectious, and our hosts at Northcote House professional to the last.
My role was to focus on reportage shots of the party during the course of the day, a style of photography that I love. Being present but less seen, I skirt the edges to capture people’s expressions in interaction with others, and moments when they become the observers, standing on the sidelines taking it all in. Wedding days are special days, precious moments flying swiftly by; our job to try and still those for just a second so they can be looked back on, taken in and loved again.
With many thanks to Dale Stephens and Aaron and Terry for allowing me to be a part of this and share their very important day. All the very best for your future x
This was an interesting experiment for the photographers involved. The video shows how different contextual information about the person to be photographed may prime each photographer to produce quite different representations of the same person. Of course we know little of the usual style of each photographer and could expect differences between them, but it’s the photographer’s own reflections that are interesting. They respond to the direction to get to the ‘essence’ of the person, then seek to understand the person in the context of his (given) background to create the portrait. How they represented the person seemed unsteadying to them and revealing about how we work with information we are primed with.
As a psychologist in photography I want to think about how the knowledge I bring makes me see this. In cognitive terms, our perceptions and assumptions colour how we interpret information about others and the world outside of us. In psychoanalytic terms, our reading of the intentions and actions of others can often be skewed by our own unconscious projections. It becomes important to know that we interpret the outside world through our own internal world, without knowing this, we deny ourselves the hope of changing how we could see things differently when life gets difficult (by changing the bias behind our interpretations). How is this relevant in portrait photography? Who are we really seeing through our lens? Who is the portrait really of?
I believe that what we ‘see’ down the lens, and the image we create, is a blend of ourselves and the other. In a similar way, the therapeutic relationship and work is created of two minds in concert, that of the psychologist and the client. Whatever is created, whether a relationship or a portrait, is a meeting of the internal worlds of both involved. In the case of the photography experiment, much of the internal world of the person to be portrayed may have been assumed by the photographer due to the context given. How this influenced the image may have shown more about the associated concepts in the photographer’s mind than the ‘essence’ of the sitter.
I’ve learned that what moderates the extent to which we recognise the individuality or ‘essence’ of the other, is the extent to which we know ourselves. The more we know ourselves, the more we are able to partial out our ‘essence’ or associations and more clearly ‘see’ or portray the other’s. I wonder if these photographers felt quite exposed, but hopefully only insomuch as understanding that these processes are normal to us all.
Under the shady trees rushing by to my left, a red carpet of leaves set fire to the woods. I pulled over to stare hard, it was stunning, but moments of light were eeking away into the dusk and I’ve never pulled my camera and Jack out of the car so fast. He ran around my feet while I tried my best to find the exposure that would work – frustrated – I don’t want to have to pull this up so much in Post! Trying to keep my brain thoughtful in a fizz of excitement is a feat I’ve rarely managed. Figuring through the magic triangle of ISO, aperture and shutter speed, I found that very small part of my brain that deals with numbers threatening to bolt out the stables. C’mon… work it through…breathe (meditation helps in surprisingly diverse moments). Clicking through the stops I realise this one’s got to go manual to try to get what I see. I rotate the clicks to big scary ‘M’ in the hope I’ll get something before the sun says sayonara.
I still needed some of the magic dust of Post courtesy of Photoshop, but it was much less than before, but a light sprinkling of it. When I look through the frames, I can see I’m getting there.
We walked with Jack along a low lying plain in the New Forest, our steps on the yielding mossy carpet punctuated by virulent gorse. In the distance, an autumnul forest dense with turning leaves, crouched under their weight on the horizon line. Lower to one side of us, a shallow river soothed its way through a boggy tufted mire, meandering as if time were meaningless. England was cast off it’s summer axis, the sun’s brightness was burnished and everything we saw was given a halo of gold.
Eventually we reached the cool embrace of the forest. Sunbeams streamed into the shade to dance with lazy afternoon haze which wrapped the trees; caught up together, their steps set the undergrowth aflame into bursts of colour.
For minutes at a time I stood to take in the scene in front of me. I became as enchanted as the child I had been long ago, a child who had believed in magic.
I had found it again.