Grand Crew: vintage rock and those who help put the fizz into the show.

‘If you want to lift yourself up, lift up someone else’

Booker T Washington (1865-1915)

A friend got in touch recently. A tour manager and sound engineer, he wondered if I would be interested in spending a few days documenting the setting up of a stage show with the crew of a well known rock band. The band were due to tour the USA (as I write, they are in Detroit), it would be their fiftieth anniversary (deferred by a year due to the restrictions of the Covid pandemic) and it would be special. Aside from a few shots I would be left to my own devices. I would be transported, accommodated, fed and watered. I said yes.

Production Park is sited within an industrial estate not far from Wakefield, Yorkshire in the UK. The complex is dominated by Studio 001 which stands around six storeys high and which was to be my home for a couple of days. Built in 2005, the only production facility of its kind in Europe, Studio 001 has played host to the cast and crew of some of the biggest names in the entertainment industry. The building is largely a very big, black box with 4 loading bays at one end (floor around 40 metres square, working height around 19 metres): on one side of this and forming the frontage are offices, catering, various recreational facilities and, on the top floor, a hotel comprising 14 rooms. Mine was number 13.

I got the feeling, standing in that space for the first time, that the lighting was not going to be easy to deal with. Once three of the loading bays were opened up to the backs of large Transam vehicles and their cargo of flight cases, light from a bright, sunny morning flooded in and caused me a momentary rethink of my exposure calculations. Later, once those doors were closed, I was to discover that the testing of stage lighting could cause some sudden and unexpected problems. I love difficult light, enough said.

Before unloading began, crew members were busy with tape measures and the riggers were busy on gangways five storeys up. I was fascinated when a great number of chains descended from those lofty heights and even more intrigued by the chalk markings – symbols, letters and numbers – that covered the floor. Once flight cases and gantry parts arrived, the precision of panning became evident: each light, each piece of equipment had its place. This is stuff one doesn’t see at a show….

This was a new show and had never been erected by this crew before. The band, Judas Priest had opted for an industrial theme to celebrate 50 years in the business of ‘heavy metal’ rock. There were some unfamiliar props, notably large inflatables – a towering chimney among them – and a large lighting rig fashioned in the shape of the band’s logo which could be moved up and down during performance. The colossal space offered by Studio 001 provided the chance to get it all up and working and iron out any problems: the next time it would be erected – at a gig – the work needed to run like clockwork within time restraints.

As I noted, this anniversary tour had been delayed by the pandemic. One of the great things I witnessed was the meeting of old friends after a substantial lay off which hasn’t been easy for those in the entertainment business. In the dining room, on the first day, there was much conversation centred around experiences of the past year or so. One story, from a sound technician, particularly interested me: he had begun making and selling pizza from a truck at his hometown in Washington State, western USA. An excellent raconteur, the guy had me hanging onto his every word as he described the trials and tribulations of running a venture which, in the end, became too successful to cope with. He seemed glad to be back.

The crew made me feel welcome without exception, I found them friendly and interesting while their expertise and dedication to getting a job done well with as little fuss as possible was obvious. I tried to ensure I didn’t get in the way – during the unloading I literally needed eyes in the back of my head – and more or less adopted the ‘hiding in plain sight’ role that I have perfected over many years of making photographs in public places.

Shortly before I was driven back to the railway station I had an opportunity to go out onto the rigger platforms. It was an opportunity for me in the sense of making photographs but, being very scared of heights, my progress was slow as I nervously made my way across to a point where I could make the shot above. On ‘stage’ is Ritchie, guitarist with the band. Today I found out that he has been admitted to hospital with a serious heart condition. The remaining dates of the US tour have been postponed. I didn’t get to meet him but, as a guy who was lucky enough to feel part of the crew for three days, I wish him a speedy recovery.

Caveat, Cavea, Cave: lockdown musings on a sea wall and amphitheatres…

Graffiti on the sea wall, north Cleethorpes

I returned to live in my home town, Cleethorpes in July of last year and have yet to experience ‘normal’ life in this Lincolnshire resort. At the time of writing we are in the middle of a lockdown and I’ve had a quiet Christmas, a quiet New Year and, yesterday, a quiet but significant birthday (I now qualify for a bus pass that allows me free travel in the Grimsby and Cleethorpes area).

On arrival I had to quarantine for 14 days (I had traveled from overseas) and this I did in a holiday let overlooking the river mouth, tantalizingly close to the promenade. A couple of days earlier restrictions had been relaxed following the first lockdown: pubs and restaurants were open once more and, from the garden of my temporary home, I could watch the endless procession of people out to take advantage of the sunshine and sea air. From central Cleethorpes most walk south along the coast as this is far prettier than the walk north towards the port of Grimsby: this takes in a bleaker aspect along an interesting sea defence built in the mid-1970s. And it was the route I often chose once I regained something of my freedom.

The railway line runs alongside the wall and it was in 1953 that the sea took away a significant amount of track. Being a terminus, Cleethorpes is indeed the end of the line and in those days rail travel was a vital link. Quite a disaster. The wall was built, using a stepped design, to put an end to this and other incursions by the tide.

A place to walk, a place to run, a view to ponder

The walk north along the wall is exposed to the elements, the weather can change quickly and, when it does, there is nowhere to shelter: I have been caught out a time or two. On a fine day it provides an interesting walk, a decent place from which to fish or watch a variety of sea birds. Exercise seems to have become increasingly popular during these restricted days and the path is ideal for joggers, cyclists and dog walkers.

At sunrise and sunset the wall, depending upon the cloud cover, provides some interesting colour effects. Very early morning is my favourite time of day, photographically speaking.

As you leave Cleethorpes and enter Grimsby, the wall provides a palette for some of the area’s graffiti artists: an interesting and entertaining gallery is the result.

View from the Fuller Street railway bridge

The title of this post consists three Latin words: caveat needs no explanation for anyone living a life of enforced restriction and ‘cave’ is popular with public schoolboys as a warning to others of impending danger. It kind of fits. But cavea? Here we have a flight of imagination that resulted in my forming a relationship – tenuous at best – between the northern sea wall and a roman amphitheatre. I blame lockdown.

The wall is curved at each end, most dramatically towards the south. Contemplating the scene it occurred to me – in a fanciful way – that it might be nearly half of some vast, ruined amphitheatre. The steps represented the seating – the cavea – from where spectators would, in ancient Rome, watch animal hunts, gladiator games, executions and, oddly but appropriately, mock naval battles. Here in Cleethorpes one might sit and watch the drama of the tides, the coming and going of sea birds and shipping and the gathering of storm clouds on the horizon. At this point it is time to return home…

For the technically minded, the camera I used for these photographs was an Olympus OMD em5 mk II. Thanks for taking the time to look at my blog.

Walking the dog: freedom during lockdown

I haven’t got away from my hometown, Cleethorpes for some time now. I live a stone’s throw from the sea front and can be found somewhere along the local coastline most days. It’s good to see people out and about during the month-long lockdown but, as a photographer, I confess to running out of ideas. I have projects in mind but have had to shelve them for the time being.

The promenade and the beach are currently the haunts of those who like to excercise, those who simply enjoy walking, beachcombers and lovers enjoying the warmth of each other’s company tempered by the often bitingly cold sea air. And those who walk their dogs.

And so nothing has changed, for this is the scene in Cleethorpes every winter. But I wouldn’t be out and about every day making photographs, many regulars are getting quite well known to me and we exchange hellos, pass the time of day briefly. Halfway through lockdown and I am really feeling a sense of deja-vu every time I put camera to eye. I have started photographing my washing hanging out to dry, the kid’s breakfast, the street from my kitchen window and abstract views of my favourite chair.

I don’t have a dog and, although I am a cat person, I don’t have a pet. I’m happy to watch from a distance as people who do take the opportunity to escape the home and, like me, enjoy as much freedom as the coast can offer.

Camera used was an Olympus OMD EM5 mk II coupled with a Zuiko Digital 12-40 f2.8 lens. Thank you for taking the time to look at my blog.

Alone again or: a solitary life and the ‘rule of six’…

As she develops her review of Olivia Laing’s excellent book: The Lonely City, Hanya Yanagihara makes this observation: ‘I would venture to be even more specific and say that if love belongs to the poet, and fear to the novelist, then loneliness belongs to the photographer. To be a photographer is to willingly enter the world of the lonely, because it is an artistic exercise in invisibility.’ And to an extent I agree; much as making photographs with a pal or a group can be rewarding experiences, at the end of the day it is the photographer and his camera trying to make some sense of a world that continually refreshes itself before his eyes.

Over the past month I have limited my range to the seaside town which is my home. There are a few reasons and somewhere near the bottom of the list is the advice regarding the current pandemic situation. South of Cleethorpes and toward the mouth of the Humber estuary the sands broaden out, broken here and there by creeks emerging from the salt marsh. Dunes have formed here: topped by the coarse grasses that hold them together, they have captured my imagination and have inspired an idea for a new series of paintings. But out there under the big sky it has been people who have caught my attention: walkers with and without dogs, lovers, joggers, friends and relations. I have been provided with an opportunity to make some observations regarding distancing.

Naturally, there is an elemental aspect of walking on the North Lincolnshire coast and autumn offers a truly mixed bag of weather conditions which are often unpredictable. Strong winds, always cold, drive the fine sand across the flats, blasting exposed skin while rain, heavy or not, make the paths across the marsh perilous. Sometimes the sun shines and the shadows of walkers somehow serve to emphasize both the loneliness and the instant: that moment in time captured.

For me, the sense of freedom one experiences when out in desolate places is key. Often my mind wanders as I take in the various perspectives. Most of my family, past and present, will have walked here at one time or another. Many old friends too. And friends who are distant share the same sky: turning to face the sea I fancy I may cast my thoughts into the waves to be washed up on a distant shore where a good friend may paddle through them. Suddenly I spot a group of people in the distance and think how nice it might be to be in a ‘group of six’.

An ordinary street, a half thought out project…

Back in August 2019 I wrote a post on this blog: ‘A holiday snap and how Henry Miller hit the nail on the head…’ The post dealt with the photograph above which I took on my very last holiday in Cleethorpes, Lincolnshire.

There is no need to further explain the photograph. In July of this year I returned to my hometown; not for a holiday but to live. After 14 years out of the country.

After a two week quarantine in a holiday let overlooking the seafront the kids and myself went to stay with my sister. She lives on a quiet road that joins Humber Street and it was while returning from a walk that I felt compelled to stop. I had a second photograph of the short thoroughfare that had so appealed to my subconscious a year earlier.

It was after a third photograph, made on the last day of July 2020, that I decided I might try to keep an eye on Humber Street over the course of one year.

There are less that 50 dwellings on Humber Street and at the time of the last census it was home to 117 people. It lies roughly east to west on the slope of the ‘cliff’, the eastern end overlooks the River Humber and, as far as I know, it has had an unremarkable history. The postcode is DN35 8NN and I now live only minutes away in a flat at the top of the hill. I know the coordinates but little else.

Latitude: 53.5565 / 53°33’23″N, Longitude: -0.0251 / 0°1’30″W

I have yet to see much of the residents but hope to at some stage. I’d like to think I might include them in the project. No matter: if it happens it will happen. I did meet one chap and engaged in what turned out to be a lengthy conversation in the drizzling rain. But he was the owner of a flat on the street and he lived on the other side of the river, in Hull. His was a holiday flat – currently unoccupied – and we mainly discussed the ongoing pandemic which was having an adverse impact on his finances.

I took nothing in the street during September and at the moment I find myself looking forward to fog in November, frost and maybe snow during the winter months. At the end of the day I don’t want to force anything and the project was half due to my restricted movements for the time being: I’m usually strapped for cash and I don’t have a car. Perhaps a bit lazy, too. As for my new life in Cleethorpes – the place of my birth nearly 66 years ago – I love it. Though I’m not ready to hang up my boots and stick the popular house name, ‘Dun Roamin’ on my front door anytime soon.

How a trip to the Co-op enriches my passion for literature…

From where I am sitting, a trip to the local shops presents me with a choice of two routes and my decision as to which to take is mainly dependent upon the weather. If I make the trip via Alexandra Road I am exposed to the elements. And this is Cleethorpes. And it can be bitterly cold when the wind is blowing from the North Sea. As much as I love my home town this is a fact, although on a sunny day….

…on a sunny day you will find me loitering outside the antique shop on Alexandra Road (and, to be fair, on not so sunny days). I don’t know if it has a name for there are no clues on the shopfront. It’s been there for donkey’s years. Though the place is chock full of actual antiques, collectibles and other old stuff inside, on the pavement outside there are boxes full of secondhand books. For me, this is the attraction. It was here I picked up a copy of the beat classic: On the Road, by Jack Kerouac. I have several books by this author but never got round to buying this one. I have a decent collection of work by the Beats and have passed over a couple of books at the shop – one by Ginsberg and one by Burroughs – because I already owned them.

I can’t recall the number of times I’ve tried to read Ulysses but what I do remember is that I never got much further than the first 20 pages or so. I suspect that it is the sheer length of the work that I find daunting and not Joyce’s style. Anyway, I picked this up for 50 pence in the hope that it would be an easier entry into the great man’s literature. Speaking of price, you will pay up to a pound for a paperback and up to two pounds for a hardback book on Alexandra Road.

I love to cook. Although I consider myself quite accomplished in the culinary arts, the idea that those who consume my food – usually family and close friends – put so much trust in me. You can make someone very sick if you get the preparation of food wrong. I have bought secondhand cookery books at the Alexandra Road store – Mexican, North African and Spanish cuisines – but this is the book when it comes to explaining why a varied diet is important. Like shared tapas it is a thing you can dip into at will.

I love stories of real people: biographies, auto or not, fascinate me. I have recently picked up a couple: Wouldn’t it be Nice by Brian Wilson and the one pictured above. I’ve liked and disliked Cohen’s work in equal measure: I imagine his life story is a story worth reading, I’ll let you know.

The swinging 60s. I was aged 5-14 years, lived in a seaside resort and loved it all: mod or rocker? I wasn’t bothered. But the beatniks who descended on the place for the once famous Cleethorpes Jazz Festival, yes! At age 16 I discovered existentialism but in the decade before that I was a rebel kid – despite being a cub scout – I liked the Beatles but loved the Rolling Stones.

I have been looking at my world through the lens of a camera throughout my adult life. I am interested in the history of photography and enjoy looking at photographs by others. There were a few books that inspired me as a student: David Bailey’s ‘Beady Minces’ and Tony Ray Jones’ ‘A Day Off’ are two I remember. Work seen in magazines by Eugene Atget, Duane Michals, Don McCullin and Chris Killip also played a part in my development. The only photograph by Dorothea Lange I had really taken notice of was the famous one: Migrant Mother. Imagine my surprise when I found this book full of interesting photographs. Cost me one pound. Bargain.

The reason I started searching through the boxes of books on Alexandra Road was that I imagined I had spotted, in passing, a copy of The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir. I went back the day after and was disappointed. I have got to know the three guys who run the shop; they know that I am interested in Existentialism, Art and Photography, the Beat Generation writers and cookery. The only book I have so far discovered concerning my brand of philosophy is a small, well worn copy of some essays by Albert Camus. I had asked how much it would cost. ‘You can have that for nothing’ was the reply. I was so pleased I forgot what exactly I needed from the Co-op…ah, the absurdity of it all.

Life With Restrictions: A Visual Response…

I am reunited with my hometown, Cleethorpes. I have been here for one month after a very long absence and under the strangest of circumstances. Details are unnecessary. The month of July has seen a chaotic and confusing lifting of some lockdown restrictions. I headed for the beach most days, usually at either sunrise or sunset.

My photographs are sparsely populated. In the mornings I share the place with joggers, keep fit enthusiasts and their personal trainers, dog walkers, the odd photographer and those who simply sit and watch the spectacle of sunrise in silent reverie.

The evenings are slightly busier with the addition of fish and chip shop queues, skateboarders, pub crawlers and those who simply want to make the most of their day out. Sunrise watchers are replaced with those who can enjoy the sunset over the outline of what remains of Grimsby Docks further down-river. The odd detectorist scans the beach for treasure.

During the day, particularly if the weather is fine, Cleethorpes remains busy. Not as busy as would be expected under normal circumstances, but busy enough. I have photographs but I am not showing them to you!

I have always considered photography to be a very solitary occupation. I have enjoyed days out with a buddy or two, but at the end of the day I am trying to make sense of my world – by myself. Forty-five years of it have taught me a thing or two.

I anticipate the path of an approaching roller skater.

All photographs were made using an Olympus camera. Many thanks for looking at my blog.

Art for Art’s Sake? On the Contrary

Spoiler: it’s personal.

Following an unbelievably brief episode last year, which reduced me to a state of near devastation and the effects of which are still with me today, ten months on, I realised (once I had managed to pull myself together) that I might be a little out of my depth. I weighed up any positives I could muster, picked a couple of brains and ended up facing a big, blank canvas.

Positives? Well my alarming weight loss, from a rather ‘portly’ 74 kilos to a slimline 64 in about two months, was – once I had ascertained there was no physical reason for it – a very big positive. The sometimes agonizing effect of damage to the cartilage between the vertebrae in the sciatic region of my spine miraculously disappeared and, touch wood, has never returned. I enjoyed being able to buy some clothes that I felt suited me and which made me feel good about myself and, importantly, it enabled me to achieve a childhood dream: to have the bohemian look of a starving artist. I kid you not.

I had a bunch of largish box canvasses I’d bought cheap some years back. I invested in some good quality acrylic paint – just the colours I felt I needed – and, being of reduced means, solved the problem of hardware by buying cheap household items with which to apply paint.

Before I go on, I will say that I undertook an art foundation course back in the mid 1970s, am a committed photographer and have worked with computer graphic design / publishing programmes. So I have lived a pretty visual type of life.

As regards the therapy, my first attempts evolved through experimenting with the tools I had bought: plastic adhesive spreaders, rubber squeegees of the sort used to clean down shower cubicle glass, scrubbing brushes, dish washing brushes, small decorator’s rollers and large decorating brushes. From the start it was pretty obvious that texture was going to play a big part in my painting. And I went with it, loved how little unexpected details and unanticipated revelations of colour as I built layer on layer suggested compositional ideas.

Once I had discovered exactly what I could achieve with the resources at my disposal, I located myself within my pictures. The choice of an equilateral triangle comes from my love of maps. Everywhere I go, the first thing I do is buy a map. The Ordnance Survey of the UK use a small triangle as a symbol for a triangulation point. It seemed relevant to me.

I, or rather the triangle, evolved into trees, flowers and ice shards. Something pictorial was going on and I wasn’t fighting it. Most of these new pictures were based on memories of my home county, Lincolnshire.

The eighteen large canvasses I have completed so far (each one shortest side one metre) are currently en route from Bangkok Docks to the Port of Grimsby, UK. More on that in a moment. Meanwhile I am dabbling with what I have kept behind. On paper. We are currently locked down so my camera is taking a break. It keeps me busy and improves my condition.

Untitled 2020: Monoprint and soft pastel on lining paper

I hope to relocate to my home town, Cleethorpes in the near future. After a long time away. Only a couple of years off a pension (unless the government moves the goalposts again) and facing a new life as single parent of two teenagers. I will paint, I was just discovering the potential of very fluid paint when I left off and I am anxious to return to it.

To use a well-worn cliche, the journey continues. I have the prospect of a one man show of a photographic project I am currently wrapping up. In 2021. I would hope sometime to be able to exhibit my paintings and other artworks. But no matter: in a metaphorical way, painting has saved my life. I’ve left it late but I may even work myself out. Stranger things have happened…

Thanks for bearing with me. I’ve enjoyed putting it down….

Where time seems to have stood still: once upon a market in Pathum Thani

Talat Klong Sip Song Hok Wa in the Lam Luk Ka district of Pathum Thani was once a bustling market community established around the intersection of two klongs (canals) from which its name is derived: Sip Song and Hok Wa. The place, which was also home to a small Chinese community, is largely deserted now and the few families that do live there do so among empty, dilapidated buildings whose occupants have long since departed.

The once busy klongs, their waters animated by the passage of traffic, are silent now. There is evidence that fishing is an occupation for some, but the still water is only occasionally disturbed by the splash of ‘the one that got away’ or the silent wake of a water rat. If there is any success story to be told here then the clue is in the odd, well-preserved interior you may come across. For these are very popular with filmmakers.

The ‘talat’ has been used as a location in movies, television shows, advertisements and music videos and goes some way, I guess, to helping provide continuity. For the hour or so I was there I saw no other visitors save a few cyclists who pass through – the area is popular with cycling enthusiasts – and those who attended the few retail establishments weren’t busy.

The appeal for filmmakers is the authenticity of the available properties: particularly the period furniture. I came across two women about to sit down for lunch in a room full of beautiful examples of this. Though the table, with seating for six more, lent an air of poignancy to the scene. I got the impression that they were no strangers to photo requests; once they had posed for a photograph they seamlessly continued with the job in hand. I then made the photograph I wanted.

So what of the future, I thought, once the place has ceased to be useful? Will the wonderful pieces end up on a stall in Chatuchak Market, Bangkok? Or maybe grace the dining rooms of well-heeled tourists? One thing thing is certain: it has all been recorded. Many times over.

The juxtaposition above amused me: the period Thai costume and the nod to one of the most well known of cinematic icons. Looking at the way I framed the image, I am reminded that I owe a great debt to the work of Eugene Atget (1857-1927). A big influence during my time as a student of photography in the 1970s.

I couldn’t make up my mind about the barbershop: certainly the couple watching television in a far corner were not expecting custom, for I went unnoticed as I hovered in the doorway. A film set? The musical, Sweeney Todd: the Demon Barber of Fleet Street (2007) came to mind. The scene lent itself to the chilling, but in a way that recalled (for me) one of Andy Warhol’s best works: the series ‘Little Electric Chair’ (1964/5). I made my picture and beat a retreat.

Thanks for reading my blog. Camera used was my usual: Olympus OMD EM5 Mk II coupled with a Zuiko Digital short zoom.

Closure: ’35 Years On’ (Part 4 of 6)

When I undertook my ‘street’ portrait project in 1984, I never thought I would be tramping the streets of Scunthorpe, Lincolnshire 35 years later, revisiting those I photographed…

At the 1984 location Dave was accompanied by his girlfriend, Karen. Now separated, they had three children and are now grandparents. Not long after that photograph was made, Dave settled down in Oxford and worked in the car industry. He returned to his home town of Scunthorpe and became an upholsterer, a career he pursued for 17 years. For the past 11 years, Dave has been a caretaker for the largest housing provider in North Lincolnshire.

Dave’s passion for all things ‘punk’ has never diminished: he still goes to many concerts featuring the heroes of the late seventies and early eighties, manages – as a quick glance at his facebook page will show – to be photographed alongside many of them and is an avid collector of records and memorabilia. He is truly a fan.

He’s a thoroughly amiable guy – if I had to describe him now I’d say, ‘happy go lucky’. I chose to make his photograph in a room that housed a vast number of vinyl records, cds and other ‘collectibles’ from the punk era. Then I noticed the t-shirt; seems like his allegiance to his favourite band, the Damned, has not faltered throughout the years…

I always felt, remembering him in 1984 as the front man of a popular local band – Harry the Spider’s Coming Out Party – that Garry was something of an entrepreneur. Speaking to him in a Scunthorpe pub recently – he had made the trip down from his home in North Yorkshire – I believe he still has that air about him. Certainly, he has not lost that ‘gift of the gab’ he had back in the old days.

Garry’s first taste of employment was as a welder for British Steel at Scunthorpe. He then studied mechanical engineering at university and embarked upon a career in that field. He is currently the Commercial Director of an instrumentation company.

We never got round to talking about music so I guess his days as an excellent frontman were his ‘finest hours’. Married with three sons, Garry maintains a lifelong love of football.

Helen studied nursing at Nottingham, returned to the Scunthorpe area and continues to work in that field. Married with a daughter, Helen enjoys family life and travelling with her husband, Jon; they have both done many of the UK music festivals. Helen is a keen gardener and, during my visit to her home, I managed a tour of the beautiful garden she had cultivated.

Helen also enjoys the company of her dog and this relationship provided me with my photograph…

Many thanks go to those who agreed to take part in this project. 1984 photographs were made using a Mamiya 6×6 camera and the recent photographs were made using an Olympus OMD EM5 Mk II camera.