Visual Culture for the digital age
Louise Quignon’s series was taken in a nightclub that have been closed since the beginning of the lockdowns. Needless to say, the pandemic ravaged the live entertainment industries in cities around the world. These spaces designed to accommodate intense human activity have never reopened and remain frozen, uncertain.
For many children of first or second generation Chinese immigrants, “sik teng mm sik gong” or “pardon my Chinese”, is a familiar phrase which embodies the Cantonese diasporic experience. This in-between of identity– in which language and understanding clash and intersect– is at the heart of Gloria Wong’s photographic practice. Born and raised in Vancouver, Gloria is a curator, visual artist, and daughter of two immigrants to Canada from Hong Kong. Exploring the intimate themes of migration and family history, Gloria’s most recent work sik teng mm sik gong (pardon my Chinese) gives a voice to a cultural identity which many may have no language for, and speaks to the deep complexities and nuances of East Asian diasporic identities.
We talk with Gloria about her project while she sits in her makeshift “bedroom studio” in Vancouver. When covid-lockdowns started in March, Gloria explains her abrupt move from grad studio to bedroom closet; her prints and negatives are now scattered in every corner of her room. However, as sik teng mm sik gong realizes the detail in everyday mundane surfaces, one can’t help but imagine the beauty that could be noticed within Gloria’s lockdown clutter.
- Alexa Fahlman
Continue below for our interview with Gloria and her full series!
How have you been coping amidst the global turmoil and pandemic?
G: It’s been a strange season for sure. I graduated from Emily Carr just at the start of the pandemic so it’s been weird trying to navigate post-grad in the midst of all of this, I definitely feel like any creativity was “on hold” for a while and I’m just starting to get back into it now.
It’s been interesting to reconsider my work within this context though. Although most of my images are situated within household spaces, I found that being at home during the covid lockdown kind of stalled any impulses to photograph for me as the setting of home was kind of forced upon me rather than by choice.
Your photos show immaculate detail and care. In so many of your photographs–whether it’s the stillness of laundry hanging in the washroom, or the fresh pears wrapped in cushioning foam–you’re able to capture a collective, diasporic identity made entirely out of household effects. Could you speak more on the peculiarities of this?
G: Someone’s home is usually one of the most intimate places that you could photograph as every corner has the ability to reveal so many hidden details about a person and their life. Much of my diasporic experience has been mediated through the home and my relationship to my own family and so in trying to create photographs that could speak to a “Hong-Kong-Canadian” identity, I often found myself returning back to the domestic space as a site for that. The family home was often the one place for me where these two seemingly different, disparate cultures converged. A number of these photographs depict familiar, household effects situated in ways that I remember from my childhood, from my grandmother’s nylon socks that have been worn through to the hanging of laundry. In photographing these objects, I was aiming to find things that could speak to this “in-between” and the intersection of both of these identities rather than just one or the other. Although these items might seem ordinary or everyday, the different nuances in them speak to my complicated cultural identity.
Now more than ever, contemporary photographers seem to be drawn to documenting ordinary or mundane objects that seemed to resonate meaning, whatever their context may be. Do you think that this is becoming a new way of communicating? What is it about the mundane that draws us in so deeply?
G: I think that photographing the everyday has become a new way of connecting, not just for photographers but people in general. Documenting the everyday or mundane is something that has been very present from the very start of photography but it has probably been heightened even more so now with the current accessibility of the medium. Photographs of the most basic and ordinary aspects of our environments are shared so much online now too that it has made us realize how universal some of these objects and settings are despite maybe existing in different contexts.
I think the everyday holds a lot of possibility for image making as there is so much potential to imbue these seemingly insignificant objects with meaning. Some of my earliest influences were photographers like Stephen Shore and William Eggleston who were able to create incredible images out of very ordinary moments and places. There’s something really fascinating about how even the most generic objects can contain some measure of beauty worth photographing. It’ll be interesting to see if this interest in photographing the mundane continues after the pandemic or if staying at home or in quarantine has turned people’s interest away from the everyday and towards more dramatic or sensational scenes.
How has photography helped you navigate your cultural experience?
G: My images are, in a way, an attempt to create a sort of “family album” and archive that has been lost through the process of migration. Growing up, I often tried to dissociate myself as much as I could from anything that was related to Hong Kong and so in photographing these same things that I tried to distance myself from, I’ve been able to reconcile these two identities for myself. Photography also gives me a language to express my feelings around my identity that I’m not sure how to express through words, standing in for things that might feel unspeakable. The medium acts as a way for me to process my own experiences in the diaspora and find the different intersections of these two cultures. Making images of my own family and home has allowed me to create a space where I can be comfortable in the liminality and “in-between.”
Could you tell us more about your creative process?
G: My creative process is quite slow actually, I probably spend more time reading and researching than I do actually making an image. A lot of my research just starts with having conversations with people with similar backgrounds or experiences to my own, finding the similarities and differences between those. Using these conversation as a starting point, I’ll often read different essays or books that can fill in gaps and provide context to themes that I’m working with. I also spend a lot of time on my own looking at images by photographers working around topics of identity, family and migration. Although there aren’t that many artists exploring a specifically Hong Kong Canadian diasporic identity, I find that this type of research is important in helping me understand where my work is situated within contemporary photography.
While I usually have an imagine planned out in my mind before I take it, I also try and stay open to any ideas that emerge in the process of making it. The nature of the 4x5 camera and the very slow process of it also means that I spend a lot of time setting up for the shot, allowing for a comfortability to develop between myself and my subject.
To finish things off, do you have any upcoming projects we can keep an eye out for? Are you planning to stay based out of Vancouver for the next little while or will your future plans take you elsewhere?
G: Im hoping to expand sik teng mm sik gong (pardon my Chinese) outside of my immediate family and make it into a phonebook soon. I’m also planning on finishing a project in Hong Kong when it’s safe to do so as the rest of my family is in the process of immigrating over to Vancouver. I would love to be able to document the transitional nature of their spaces there during this as well as the places they are moving to here. Im also hoping to do my MFA at one point in the next few years, maybe in Europe, but I’ll be based out of Vancouver for the next little while at least!
Stuck in Canada during the height of the pandemic, Belgian photographer Annemiek Hofer spent months rediscovering her heritage through the vast scenery of the Albertan prairies. Her series Wild Rose documents her time of stasis and peace in a world which otherwise feels void of such calm. Continue below for some beautiful words by Hofer alongside her full series!
- Alexa Fahlman
These photographs were taken while I was stuck in Canada during the pandemic. I went at the beginning March and made it back to Belgium (where I live) in early May. I initially went to Canada to learn and document more about my heritage. My father was born into a Hutterite colony (a religious community) in Manitoba. I had taken time off and planned on staying for 3 weeks. Although my mom had warned me against going to Canada in March and the very long and boring drive to the Colony, I was very insistent about going that specific month. However, my plans quickly changed once I arrived. The colony where my father was born, is very strict and started having doubts about my arrival (they are against photography) and with the pandemic, things just made it so I couldn't go anymore. I was very disappointed to say the least, but I still felt grateful to be there; I hadn't been in Canada for 5 years.
My dad is nature fanatic and loves the mountains, but for some reason its beauty never seemed to resonate with me. For my birthday my dad decided to take me on a drive to a lake, which left me much more in awe with the drive than the actual lake. All of a sudden, everything just clicked. The fog and the vast emptiness of the land held so much beauty and sadness that it finally resonated with me. My flight got cancelled and the soonest I could book a flight was in May. Rather than feel down, I decided to take advantage of my situation. Almost every day we drove around the Albertan province. Those long drives made me feel like I was transported to a different era. Everything was so open and vast. It came across as empty, but it wasn’t. I felt a richness and heaviness; as if so much was buried deep into the soil, but never got the chance to thrive. So much of the land looked deserted, and there were so many traces of abandonment. I felt it represented the pursuit of my whole trip. The history I was hoping to learn more about, ended up being discovered in the land.
While the whole world was worried about the pandemic, I found solace in the Prairies. Some of the scenery was very apocalyptic with so many ghost towns and abandoned farming towns. I had never seen anything like it before. It felt like time could sit still for a while, and I could shuffle between present day and back to some strange old time where the worries of today had no place of being. Even though a lot of the scenery doesn't inspire beauty, I felt at peace, and to me there is nothing more beautiful than that.
Lubusz region of western Poland is one of the most neglected and unknown in the country. Being a border area for hundreds of years it moved between Poland and Germany and this complicated history left its marks in many aspects of life. Towns are laid on German architectural plans, people often use Germanised words and a majority from younger generation emigrated to the more prosperous economy next doors. Meanwhile, the culture and visual landscapes stay distinctly Polish - chaotic urban design, decaying social-modernist buildings, countless adverts, figures of Virgin Mary and an unexplainable kind of Slavic melancholy.
After the War a significant part of the population was resettled to Lubusz from nowadays Ukraine. People still seem to struggle to find themselves in a new reality and establish their identity. This could be both because of the resettlement and the fall of communism. Before, the region’s income depended mostly on state agricultural farms, which fell into ruin with the new political system. With no governmental support, industry or large cities the unemployment, alcohol abuse and emigration became parts of life.
Despite socio-economical situation, the atmosphere of Lubusz has a very specific charm of a border area, a forgotten in-between place, where the otherwise gone culture, of what reminds me of Poland from my childhood, is left almost undisrupted. Locals, who although may struggle economically, seem to live slowly and often enjoy their lives more than in the so apparent frantic race for money and career in large Polish cities.
We Came Here for the View is a collaborative project shot on one camera between photographers Tom Lyon and Pauline Vanden Neste. Set within the Aurore neighbourhood in Brussels, Belgium, their project explores former industrial zones as centres of immigration and transformation. The neighbourhood, developed in the sixties, is a succession of seven towers which have stood through several waves of the area’s immigration. Yet, like many industrial zones, the Aurore neighbourhood’s inevitable future lies in the hands of privatization and gentrification. In the mean time, however, life goes on, and it this passing of life which Lyon and Neste seek to capture; the banalities, solitudes and particular lives of Aurore residents such as Vivianne, Sami or Daniel. Continue below for the full series!
- Alexa Fahlman
In Chronicle I combine 1/2” and 1” square pieces cut from found photographs to examine the fragmentation of memories. When recalling our childhood, we may remember the shoes our father always wore or the way our mother held her hands: a part represents the whole. Photographs function in a similar manner. They do not show a whole person or an entire life, but instead capture a single moment. These keepsakes help determine some of the pieces of memory that stick with us.
This series started as an exploration of the overwhelming scope of humanity and human history and the insignificance of the individual. I wanted to find a visual representation of the approximately 6,393 deaths that occur every hour in the world. I made the piece Chronicle: Passing (6,393 Per Hour) to try to comprehend this staggering figure. I moved on to other subjects that are more about the nature of memory. The themes of death and loss are present throughout the series – most blatantly in the images of funerary flowers and disembodied shadows – as the source photos I use often have a built-in sense of history and sadness.
Gestures Detail
Grief
Locale
Mementos
Multitude
Passing
Setting
Harriet Moore is a fine art photographer based in London. Her series Takeaway is an ongoing exploration of the stagnating interiors of takeaway shops around London. Her photos, nostalgic and void of any human presence, contemplate the future of these family-run, often first-generation immigrant, takeaway shops. Takeaways, Moore writes, “are peculiar spaces that not many people see inside of anymore. Nowadays we tend to order food from an app or over the phone.” With the rise of delivery apps, the interiors of takeaway shops now evoke a bygone era, one in which we can briefly step back into, that is, if we decide to pick up our food in person. Continue below for Moore’s on-going collection!
- Alexa Fahlman
My memory is not particularly good.
A couple of years ago I received some rolls of film in the mail that I had left at my photo lab some time ago. Everything was as I expected, except for one roll of medium format film. I had absolutely no memory of taking one of the photos on that roll while the rest was totally familiar. The more I looked at the photo, the more I got lost. I couldn’t understand where or when it was taken. It didn’t look like anything I’d shot before. The image is out of focus and blurred in only one corner where a man seems to be walking towards the camera and a woman follows him. Their clothes recall the ’50s, and their faces are unclear. The place looks like the entrance of a mansion and reminded me of a post-funeral scene, or maybe a wedding. Even though I continued looking at the image for months, I couldn’t figure out where it came from.
I was at war with my memory. Photography had turned against me. My efforts at capturing the situation had turned inside out, leaving me with confusion and ambiguity. A moment of clearness gave way to skepticism. Once again, I started reflecting on why I photograph and on the scenes and subjects that I get immersed in.
I often find myself attracted to the in-between situations in the landscape of isolation and detachment in society. There is something that fascinates me about how we handle those moments of daily purgatory. I don’t usually photograph people but when I do, I find myself in some ways looking for their “ghosts”. This time, they seem to have found me.
Kyler Zeleny is a Canadian photographer and researcher based in Edmonton, Alberta. His most recent photobook, “Crown Ditch and the Prairie Castle” (The Velvet Cell, 2020), takes place over four years and travels across 15,000 km of North America’s prairie lands. As rural communities are being forced to grapple with uncertain futures clouded by mass urbanisation, the moments that Zeleny photographs offer a portrait of what he calls “a beast upon itself”; an understudied region where there is a unique meeting of landscape, industry, and most importantly, people who are a resilient breed created by generational lessons in fortitude and fortuned circumstance.
It’s late August when we first talk with Kyler about his project. He’s been travelling in between Alberta and British Columbia, and now, in the quiet of his parent’s farm, he sits on a stool in their garage, typing his thoughts on his laptop. Kyler tells us, “It’s a cool day on the prairies, overcast and cold, the mosquitos have gone but the wasps are still out in full force. I’m imagining an early Winter.”
Continue below for the full interview!
- Alexa Fahlman
You’ve published quite a few photo books, despite the increased digitization of culture, what is it about print that makes the process feel worthwhile?
The more we move to a digital world the more important physical objects become. I am keen on sharing my work through books and so I conceptualize my long-term projects early on as book projects, they could be shown in gallery spaces but for me, their primary resting place is in a book that can live on people’s shelves wherever they are.
The photobook is the medium that, more than others, allows us to express our ideas clearly, of course, we are bound by certain parameters within it, cost, size, etc. but we can decide sequence and intention. It also allows for a number of creative outputs than sending images into the ether of the web or placing them on location-based gallery walls for a short period of time. Because of this I think a lot of photographers are now embracing the medium of the photobook which is good and bad, good for the practice of photography bad for selling books as competition is tough.
Let's talk about your latest publication "Crown Ditch and the Prairie Castle", what was the initial inspiration for your project?
My first book—Out West (2014)—was about documenting towns smaller than 1,000 inhabitants in Western Canada (British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba). Out West focused only on the towns themselves and their aging structures and not the people or landscapes that make these communities what they are. So Crown Ditch & The Prairie Castle became the second chapter of a prairie trilogy where I looked at rural communities of 10,000 or less and only on the prairies. This project was really about trying to have a better understanding about who are the people calling the prairies home, what do they think, want and do. I’m not working on the third and final chapter that looks at my small-town comprehensively and uses community archives, found objects and my own photography to make an alternative history of a familiar place.
You mentioned that the Prairies is a particularly understudied region of North America, especially the Canadian Prairies – for those of the readers who are unfamiliar with this region, can you give a brief run-down of the area? If you could describe the Prairies in three words, what would they be?
We could go with ‘Big Sky Country’ or ‘Wide Open Space’
The trope of big sky as a psychological and spiritual boundary is a common feature when describing the prairie landscape. The prairies are home to the largest skies and the longest horizons. It is these two very simple elements that make the prairies what they are, a giant sky pressing down on an expanding and flat horizon. To some it will feel like an unfinished landscape and to others it will feel like beauty in the simplest terms.
With that being said, what was it about the Prairies that made you think "this is something I need to photograph"?
It's a vast region and yet there are very few photographers that are documenting it. My journey with photographing on the prairies began almost ten years ago and was a way for me to understand my home region. It has evolved from that to be about documenting a region that receives very little visual coverage. This is a problem for the prairies but is also a Canadian problem in general. It is an identity issue. We know what the American West is and the American South, but we have a hard time discussing what makes the Canadian prairies unique and different from other regions of North America.
For centuries, the Prairies were the domain of Indigenous peoples, did you feel that historical presence while travelling through the region?
That’s a tough but good question. Thomas King talks about the concept of the Dead Indian. For King, the Dead Indian is rarely actually dead but exists as a stereotypical Indigenous individual who conforms to well-worn Western stereotypes (war bonnets, beaded shits, etc.). The colonial-settler culture that exists on the prairies often thinks about indigenous individuals this way (as opposed to Living or Legal Indians that King also discusses) so their presence is sometimes felt or acknowledged but often in very coded and limited ways.
I think in a number of ways; rural folk share a closer relationship to the land than you would find in urban spaces. That is of course a generalization but exposure to open land and land-based industries suggest a stronger working understanding and an affinity to the land. I’m not sure if prairie dweller is overly cognizant of this and whether this is directly influenced by indigenous knowledge or culture.
Have Indigenous cultures of the Prairies been preserved at all?
This is a question better suited for Indigenous experts, I have read a fair amount on the subject (one of my areas of teaching is Critical Canadian Studies), but I would still say I’m a far way from knowing the answer to that and other questions. There are some very knowledgeable Elders in indigenous communities that would hold this knowledge.
I can, however, speak about this from a photographic perspective. Historically, Indigenous populations have been photographed largely in stereotypical ways, often very false ways as discussed at length in The Imaginary Indian by Daniel Francis. There have been a few contemporary photographers who have photographed indigenous communities and individuals but no accounts of Indigenous photographers working on long-term projects that document their own communities on the Canadian Prairies. I myself have stayed away from photographing communities I feel I do not have the right or authority to capture and although I’ve included photos of Indigenous individuals in the book I’ve been highly aware of how and when they are being represented.
Did you have a favourite moment throughout your shooting for the project?
Not sure any one moment sticks out, it’s been a lot of work and every day being able to produce images on the region has felt like a privilege. Sadly, this is a region where very little happens and the status quo often dominates the culture of the region. There are a number of moments that definitely stick out, like the time a small-town business owner invited me in for beers and then let us stay at his house and cooked breakfast in the morning, or the countless occasions these folk shared their ideas and thoughts on how they live and the place they call home.
How has this experience shaped you both personally, and professionally as a photographer?
It has helped solidify my interest in recording the region. It has also helped me understand my home region and it has sustained me artistically by gifting me a topic I care very deeply about.
And to finish off, what are 5 things you think everyone should do if they visit the Prairies?
Love this question!
1. Visit a small town with a large and whimsical monument
2. Witness a prairie sunset
3. Chat up a local in a small-town bar
4. Go to Torrington to see the Gopher Diorama Museum (entry is only $2)
5. Drive to the West edge of the prairies, where the mountains meet the plains and flip-off the mountains
We’re bringing back photographer Carl van der Linde once again to feature his latest series Bagliore Solare. Shot in 2019 during a European summer, his photographs transport viewers to a world of pre-pandemic conditions–closeness, heat, and salt crystallized on the hairs of our skin. Van der Linde’s images were captured on 120mm and 35mm film during his extensive travels through the Mediterranean, covering Italy, Croatia and Montenegro. The title of his series translates from Italian to “Solar Flare”, a fitting title that epitomizes the extreme heat that so many can agree is synonymous with a true European summer. Carl’s photograph can be seen exclusively on the cover of SUITCASE Magazine’s Vol.31: The Freedom Issue.
Continue below for a written excerpt from Van der Linde’s travels, and his full series!
- Alexa Fahlman
"We were sitting on a regional train and just passed Santa Margherita Ligure. It was the summer of 2019 and we'd set out to explore the Mediterranean after a couple of weeks working and studying in bustling Milan. She was annoyed with me like on most of the train trips, staring out the window, gazing at the moving Italian landscape. I'd never before seen the Mediterranean, but have nonetheless chased blistering heat and crystal waters across the world. The train screeched to a halt at a small train station on the Italian Rivera. An older man was nodding off on the bench by the lavatory. Painted on the wall above him, written in cursive, I read "Stazione Zoagli". We were greeted by spiralling stone stairs that descended into the coastal town, around the corner from Rapallo. We dashed into different ally ways trying to find a restaurant, bar, cafe or any place we could put our bags down and have a drink. The towering Roman arch bridge cast a cooling shadow - a momentary relief from the sweltering sun. The overloaded backpacks were crushing and contributed to the tension between us. I had recently cut my hair into a bob with a fringe, which was a tremendous mistake seeing that the sweat almost permanently licked it to my forehead. Finally sitting down we had a cigarette, a coffee and a few glasses of prosecco - followed by a few more glasses of prosecco and Aperol spritz. She had a green and red scarf in her hair - she wore Italy well. Still not talking, she gazed out over the piazza while I was staring down the panting poodle at the neighbouring table. We settled the tab and with a bubbly buzz, we hoisted our bags onto our backs - hers first as I had to be the crane to get it over her shoulders. It's a miracle that my camera wasn't damaged during the trip as it proved bulk and clunky and was mostly flailing around in the tote strapped to my backpack. We set off once again down the road in search of a spot for us to get into the water.After a few more arguments, increasingly amplified by Italian inspired hand gestures, we saw Zoagli beach. It was strange that it wasn't a mirage. Sunseekers were flattened onto the rocks - their brown leather hides laid to dry on the pebbly Mediterranean landscape. We shed our bags and clothes. Like synchronised divers, we entered the ocean, finally feeling the healing Italian water. The salt crystallized on our hair and skin. Steam rose from the rocks where our wet feet touched. The hissing cicadas complimented the lapping of the water against the side of the pier. Out the water, we melted onto sun-hot stone, face first. I opened one eye, meeting hers. A solar flare emitted. Drawn curtains couldn't keep the sunlight out any longer."
Modern Cavalry photographs the cliché of one of the most visited beaches in Menorca: Playa de Caballería. Winking at the name given to the beach, the photographer plays with the meaning of the word cavalry, understood as a constituent weapon of an army made up of different bodies that roam the known land. For the photographer, the alienating bodies on the beach are part of a contemporary cavalry.
The artist immerses herself in the blinding light of summer, combining the bright and vivid colours of the Mediterranean with a distant and formal vision to search for the essence of the place and photograph its most current identity. With fine irony, this series of images hold up a mirror of modern society and reveal something about the people who pass through this place; their behaviour on the beach says something about the culture and traditions that a country supports. As Martin Parr says: "The beach is that rare public space where all the absurdities and strange national behaviours can be found."
Sandra Mickiewicz is a Polish documentary photographer who lives and works in North London. In 2007, her family immigrated to the United Kingdom. Inspired by people and their stories, Sandra works within various communities, portraying the ordinary and conventional moments of their otherwise unique lifestyles. In Proud of the Origin she captures the members of the Travellers minority living in the United Kingdom, underlining the essential fact that Travellers and Roma people are not their living stereotypes–but are people. In the United Kingdom, and across Europe, Travellers and Roma’s—what English speakers often call “Gypsies”–have been casually stigmatized, persecuted, and perceived by many as petty criminals and thieves for as long as they have been idealized as a romantic nomads.
Yet, while the lifestyles of Traveller and Roma people are indeed manifested in nomadism, each group is guided by their own distinct languages, cultural traditions, beliefs and customs that have been passed on through generations. Breaking these contemptuous stereotypes became the impassioned force of Sandra’s on-going series, “My aim is to capture the resolute, spirited nature of the people I have met and the pride they rightly feel towards their ancestry.” Through her work, Sandra hopes that she can contribute to changing the dominant point of view and thinking about Traveller communities. Most importantly, she adds, “I want the audience to realize that the subjects I photograph are valuable members of British society.”
- Alexa Fahlman
This Friday we highlight the work of David Avazzadeh. His submission grabbed our attention with its understated humour and visual playfulness which is needed more than ever before in the challenging times we’re currently facing.
Born out of his reaction to the forced lockdown caused by Covid-19, Lorenzo Zerbini’s Motherly Details contemplates the shared familial space as a radically changed, and alienated new locus. The series specifically focuses on objects of maternal intimacy; a pair of pantyhose, loose hair on the bathroom counter, and a disorganized sewing kit. His photographs are unmistakably voyeuristic, as Lorenzo seeks to create a visual portrait of his mother made entirely from moments of habit, personal objects and corners of her home. In a broader sense, Lorenzo reflects on “how much our personal affections speak to our person without the need of our physical presence–our objects, and their daily uses are all part of a relational system that forms our person, our image and the impressions that will outlive us.”
- Alexa Fahlman
"Street life" is a collection of street photography pics shot in London in different times I lived there between 2011 and 2019. The pics weren't initially taken with the intention of doing "street photography" or a series. They are more snap-shot taken while I was on my way to go and do something else. Taken in the street or in the buses. It’s a mix of analogue and digital pictures taken with compact cameras and some taken with very low-fi first phone cameras.
A selection of images from “A Step Frozen in Time”, by Cincinnati-based photographer Kelcey Mucker. Kelcey, a current journalism student at the University of Cincinnati, uses photography as a way to familiarize himself and his viewers with the world and experiences around him.
“A Step Frozen in Time” focuses on the protests in Cincinnati, Ohio during the summer of 2020. The summer’s smog this year has been thick–saturated with death, injustice and global agony. As we enter into September, many of us are questioning how to make sense of it all, and if it’s even possible to do so when time feels so relentless. In “A Step Frozen in Time”, Kelcey pieces together the moments that seem too difficult to grasp–a global pandemic, the nation-wide protests, and amidst it all, the human desire to survive.
- Alexa Fahlman
For centuries, black Americans have had to fight for their basic recognition as a human– the want and the need to live every day without having the fear of being crucified for being black. After the death of George Floyd in May of 2020, peaceful and non-peaceful protests began around the world. What made this death different? Was it the boredom of the COVID-19 pandemic? Was it the pressure building from Donald Trump’s presidency? Was it the hundreds of years' unfair treatment of black people? Or was it the thousands of deaths caused by police brutality? These protests are fighting for the same rights as everyone else. The same issues have been fought for many years, but now there are more people; more people with different ethnicities fighting for equal rights. As a gay black photojournalist, it is difficult to stay neutral for a country that has been choosing a side since the beginning.
When I approach taking a photo, I sometimes don't think, or I do the complete opposite. I apply my skills learned in my photojournalism courses and techniques from photographers I look up to. I like to capture "moments." The way I think of a photograph is that I believe that every single photo is telling a story. I could have submitted this series of photos without a caption and a story would have been told thoroughly. These photos could have only been portraits, but with the current climate in the U.S., the story would have been just as strong. Every photo is taken with so much thought or none at all.
These pieces are from my project ‘Rosier’. The idea of ‘the real’ in philosophy, specifically Cartesian dualism, the mind and body experience of life, how we try and differentiate between the two, was the main point of departure for ‘Rosier’. The project speaks about our experience of, and relationship with, nature in the 21st Century, specifically how we can, in postmodern society, lack a physical experience of the natural world. This was amplified even more so during lockdown, as we were only allowed limited time outside and the rest was spent experiencing life (and nature) through our screens.
Inspired by their mutual desire to collaborate together, create freely, and elevate BIPOC artists around the world, Dre Gutierrez Reyes, Duncan Alexander Gray, Ricardo Rodriguez, Caleb Asfaw, and Christian Maradiaga formed No Label Art Collective.
While NLA is still in its early stages of development, the team is already working a series of projects that will be up for display both online, and locally in Victoria, B.C. Later this year, they plan on releasing a publication dedicated to supporting and providing them with a voice, and a platform, to speak their mind and display their work. NLA will be seeking content throughout the year, but if you'd like to pitch an idea, a feature, or would like to display your work, you can contact them via Instagram or through their Contact form.
For their first ever interview as a collective, Alexa Fahlman talks with No Label Art Collective about keeping sane during a pandemic, the creative happenings on their island, and why what they’re doing matters so much. Continue below for the full interview!
Chris: I’m very happy to chat with you again, always love what Broad’s got displayed on their IG, and the website. Honestly, it feels quite surreal being a part of a collective? It’s literally been a dream of mine for a few years now, since I first moved to the island, so it’s nice seeing this finally come to fruition. Everyone in the group has shared this dream for years now, so when we finally connected and said “man, we should do joint shows or start a collective”, it all just clicked and made sense.
Christian Maradiaga
My name is Christian Maradiaga, and I’m a photographer/graphic designer. For fun, I typically either have a coffee and see what’s on the Criterion Channel, or visit my local record store to see what they’ve got cooking in the jazz/ambient selections. Patiently waiting for YMO reissues, but that’s a story for another day. As for food, honestly, I could eat a bowl of fresh strawberries and pineapple everyday, all day. Throw on Ebo Taylor’s self-titled album, and that’s heaven for me. For films, or the most impactful film I’ve watched, has got to be something from Godard’s filmography. After watching Contempt (Le Mépris) for the first time, I sat there and asked myself how films like this were made, along with Breathless. Godard really enjoyed creating films with organic and realistic subject matter, but the way he approached his ideas was refreshing to me and is by far the biggest source of inspiration for me. Maybe throw in Downtown 81, too.
Finally, the one thing that’s kept me sane has been, without a doubt, working on shoots with a smaller circle of friends that eventually turned NLA. Also, shout out to the Criterion Channel again, and NTS Radio.
Ricardo Rodriguez
-Artist, model, photographer and I work as an animator and technical artist for a game development studio
-I enjoy skating and playing video games. Having drinks at the beach with friends, etc.
-Nothing beats a nice rib-eye cooked medium rare
-The only non-nerd answer in can give is Do The Right Thing by Spike Lee. I don’t think the costume and set design of a movie has ever affected me the way Do The Right Thing has. I love the colours and silhouettes but mostly the cohesion that every individual outfit has and how perfectly they fit into the setting of 1980’s Brooklyn. My nerd answer is Lord of the Rings: Return of the King. Greatest movie ever made.
-What kept me sane during the pandemic was staying busy. Pretending my small apartment was much larger than it was. My dining room became the office, living room floor the gym and my bedroom my home. This way I could pretend I wasn’t trapped in here for 3 months.
Dre
My name is Dre Gutierrez Reyes, I am a tattoo artist and illustrator. I work as a barista at Habit part time and work on my art the rest of the time. I really enjoy creating and I spend most of my time drawing for fun and also on projects for clients. My favourite food is tamales, and I’m so excited that I’ve found a great place to get them again at the Mexican House of Spices on Douglas. The most impactful film I’ve watched recently was American Honey, it was released in 2016 but the cinematography soundtrack and overall rawness is the film has really stuck with me and I watch it every 3-4 months. During the pandemic I started a portrait project, I think I drew about 30 portraits for people. I have a hard time doing nothing and having a project really helped keep me grounded. As well as going on long walks and exploring parts of Victoria I’d never seen before and watching Netflix documentaries.
-Model, Stylist, but a DJ and full time Computer Science student
-Learning more about music, fashion and video game history, hanging out with my dog Mojo, window shopping on Japanese markets
-Probably a traditional Ethiopian dish... but I'm going to have to go with fries as an all timer.
-Chameleon Street: A late 80's independent film by Wendell B. Harris that was the first black winner of the Sundance Grand Jury for Drama... A profound art flick that satirically follows the life of African-American con man William Douglas Street Jr. while being a case study around race, class, and social identity. A mesh of Spike Lee-isms, Catch Me If You Can and Sorry to Bother You, well worth a watch if you can track down a DVD copy.
-The adaption of in-person events to virtual media, thankful to be able to attend so many gallery exhibits and concerts from the comfort of my own bed, as well as just rolling over and opening my laptop to attend school.
Duncan Alexander Gray
-Photographer & artist
-long walks, shooting hoops, reading magazines, are art galleries open again?
-Pierogi Pizza.
-Might have to be Taxi Driver, the cinematography & art direction has always been a huge inspiration for my work and is one of the reasons why I wanted to shoot film. The soundtrack is so calming and plays on repeat in my head when I’m out shooting
-My Madagascar Palm, Big Woo; even though I spend an hour a day stressing and researching the best ways to keep him alive and blooming. My girlfriend keeps me sane too I guess.
Duncan: I’ve always been into design, and originally wanted to go to a fashion school, but lost motivation sometime after high school. I just jumped into photography with no actual knowledge of it whatsoever and have been enjoying it ever since.
Caleb: I grew up with a background of music education, playing classical instruments but with a disdain for common mediums of the arts as they're traditionally taught in school, if even taught whatsoever. As I graduated high school, I changed up and grew fond of them by finding differing styles and genres that appealed to me, progressively discovering more within their architecture. Coming from a math and coding background, I never found myself to be much of a creative but grew to love the history and stories of the arts, as well as an appreciation for curation/conservation as an important pillar of its own.
Ric: I’ve always enjoyed making things and coming up with ideas. As a kid I would attempt making my own video games, taught myself Photoshop and had a general fascination with digital arts but since I’ve never been any good at drawing/painting I didn’t consider myself an “artist”. Since then my definition of what makes an artist has changed a lot. At the end of the day I just love creating and trying out new ideas.
Dre: Growing up I was always doodling on any paper I could find. I am a big time daydreamer and visual thinker and drawing became a way for me to sort through the imagery that was in my head. Between reading Archie comic books and being surrounded by catholic iconography I became really obsessed with color pallets and symbolism. I went to Langara college for art and the course structure really challenged me to work on my technical drawing skills. I ended up being fascinated with the elements and principles of design and started exploring how to incorporate them into my body of work. For the past 2 years I have been tattooing it’s been a really amazing learning curve in a whole new medium. I really like to combine my love for Chicano style tattoos with elements of American traditional. Creating art has been so healing and it has given me a way to express myself everyday
Chris: It’s been quite the change, both negatively and positively. If I had stayed in Vancouver, I don’t think I would’ve gone through so much growth? Everyday looked the same, everyday felt the same, I had little to no friends, and as an artist, my vision was growing stale. Once I moved here, I wanted to really grow and look inwards to see what really inspires me and what’s my primary objective. I took up film photography more heavily, started shifting away from everyday shots to more cohesive bodies of work, and started to find peace with myself.
Caleb: My environment left me somewhat isolated within a pre-dominantly non-black society, even more so within the schools I attended, yet it's what led me to spending my high school nights on the internet learning about facets I hadn't known of before; Pop Art, New Wave music, Japanese fashion and the like. They allowed for personal expression to flourish and me to meet and engage with some of the wonderful creatives and avid enthusiasts that I call some of my best friends today. Although these shaped me into a more confident and self-accepting individual, they also brought a personal appreciation for both the local scenes as well as the traditional culture and expression of my Ethiopian background.
Chris: Biggest adjustment at first was being thrown into this community when everyone had already established their social circles, or creative circles? It also felt like there was an asterisk above my head because I’m not a white individual in a smaller city, so everyone would look at me more carefully. Also, everyone loves brunch here? And now I love brunch? Lord.
Duncan: Three things people overlook:
-The ethnic restaurants, nobody does Caribbean food better than people from the Caribbean. Period.
-Artists of color, there’s a lot of talent here that doesn’t get the recognition it deserves.
-Chinatown, it’s a gem of the city that gets overlooked greatly
Ric: I’ve lived in Victoria since I was 8 years old and I don’t know if I have three things that people overlook but I do have one big one. Vic, as I already said, is a very white but also very left-wing liberal city. Which is great because people are very progressive but the large downside is that it creates a toxic narrative that there’s no room for it to improve when it comes to race relations. The amount of times I’ve heard something along the lines of “that would never happen here, it’s Victoria” is astonishing and when something does happen then people are very quick to ignore it because they don’t want to face the fact that racism can exist even here. It is very easy for people here to pat themselves on the back for being open-minded but when a BIPOC person tries to speak about an experience they’ve had or something they’ve witnessed they are met with a lot of hostility because it makes the non-BIPOC people face the fact that their liberal paradise isn’t as perfect as they previously thought
Dre: the biggest adjustment for me is learning to prioritize my art and seeing it as a legitimate career path. Prior to living in Victoria art was a side hustle and kind of a second thought. But when I moved here I met so many creative people who have become really close friends and they inspire me to work harder on my art practice.
Chris: I feel like we were running in familiar crowds, plenty of mutual friends, etc. I’ve personally wanted to work alongside creatives and establish a collective since I first got here, so all of this is a blessing really. We’ve all had our successes here and there, but often overlooked for white artists/groups. There isn’t very much representation within the arts industry here, or in general really, so we’re wanting to band together and create bodies of work for the public to see. Seek those opportunities, present a piece and say “hey, this is what you could’ve gotten years ago if you gave BIPOC artists a chance.” We’re working together to create, inspire both ourselves but also those around us, and begin paving a way for other BIPOC artists here in Victoria, and hopefully outside of the island too.
Ric: For the next question I think it’s simple enough to say we did a couple shoots as a friend group just for fun, we all noticed the difference of working with other BIPOC folks in comparison to previous experiences of working with artists here and thought why not give this a shot!
Chris: I agree! I feel like we've all created solid work, and we work together efficiently, so what would happen if we just merged the two and see what we could come up with? Plus the support we provide for one another, and giving the green light for other BIPOC artists to create and push their creative agenda/aspirations. The support's out for their work and goals are out there, and we're putting that on display
Duncan: No exclusivity with who we work with.
Dre: We want to create a platform where we can elevate other artists regardless of how they identify, who they love, this is a place for anyone who respects themselves, their surroundings and other people.
Dre: I would like to see more opportunities for black artists that aren’t just political or to increase diversity in someone’s feed.
Chris: Honestly, I’m wanting creative teams to finally diversify their staff, and include BIPOC artists. Not just models that they can display on their feed, or on their website, for the sake of promoting this “progressive” image of theirs when it’s not truly genuine. Yes, it’s beautiful seeing representation in the modelling industry, but some brands use this as a temporary method of promoting their practice and snag brownie points for being “diverse” yet they’ll return back to their problematic practices once the tension (ie. civil unrest, social injustices, etc) simmers down. Oh, and pay Black creatives.
Ric: Don’t settle would be my advice. Finding a group of people you work well with isn’t easy, and it’s worth more to build yourself as an artist than prioritizing finding those to work with.
Dre: Also reach out to artists that inspire you. IG has made it so accessible to communicate with other people. I have so many friends online who I’ve been inspired by and I finally just bit the bullet and started talking to them. Community can be created anywhere.
Duncan: Don’t be afraid to reach out, don’t put too much pressure on yourself if you’re not at a level you expect yourself to be on.
Ric: I think we all come from different cultural backgrounds, different inspirations, use different mediums.
Chris: Honestly, I don't think a creative team can really grow if we all agreed on the same ideas, same things? It's nice that we've all got this extensive, multi-faceted history with art (ie. sketch, painting, photography, etc).
Chris: My peers, @lichennyc, @leoneski, @mrbianco, @herberthofmann and @yuthanan_, and Italian Cinema tbh. Currently working on a few ideas for shoots, and maybe a short film, after watching Michelangelo Antonioni’s trilogy (L’Avventure, La Notte and L’Eclisse).
Dre: @coloralamexicana, @mythsooka, @pinche_kid, @nina.lepapillon, @estevanoriol, @inkthediaspora.
Duncan: @organiclab.zip. I don’t think theres a day in the last 3 months I’ve missed a story dump from them.
Duncan: Short films, art exhibitions, zines, interviews with likeminded artists, and collaborations.
Chris: We are working on a publication right now, under the NLA team, and we’ll be having artist spotlights, work from artists that we support. A short film is in the works, still fine-tuning those little details, but expect more and more work soon.
“I grew up on the border of the Forest. In this landscape, I am both a Forester and an outsider. Through Vorest, I endeavour to better understand this land and our place within it.” On the English side of the Welsh border is the Forest of Dean. It is described by photographer Phillipa Klaiber as an ancient place– a forest of plantation and ancient woodland, of farmland, heathland, quarries and mines. Locally it is known as the Forest and its inhabitants, Foresters.
Among the Foresters exists a collective desire to maintain the ecological balance of their land. Historically, the Forest of Dean has a rich culture of land use. Its woodlands are mysterious in their allure, and the ancient land-based rites that continue to be upheld are particularly unusual. Most fascinating to Phillipa is the rite for Foresters born within the historic boundary to train for a year and a day (or more) to become a Free Miner and open their own mine of coal or iron ore. Traditions such as these form the foundation of the Foresters’ culture and collective memory. The title of Phillipa’s work, Vorest, comes from the Forest dialect, a broad West Country accent with rapid speech. An amalgamation of Celtic, Anglo-Saxon and old English, the Forest dialect has been shaped by the insular lives of mining communities. Many of the words and phrases are details or action of the land, as well as real working class life:
Vorest - forest
Hain - enclosure of land
Moot - to root as pigs do
Vern - trainee miner
Scowle - areas of ancient, shallow, open cast iron ore mines
Embedded within Vorest, are archive photographs taken from the local museum’s collection. As much as Philippa focuses on capturing the Forest’s environmental present, she pays homage to the narratives long past, researching deep into archives to show the enduring folk and rural traditions that remain ever-present in the Forester’s memories. For Phillipa, the landscape is tactile and material; a place in which the human role is reduced, but still present. Using maps to locate the landmarks of local folktales, historical task-scapes, and contemporary environmental project, Phillipa walked in all of the landscapes of the Forest; the ancient woodlands, plantations, heathland, quarries, and underground mines. Often alone on these journeys, the rhythm and pace of walking became a meditative hymn which allowed the memories of each collected story to influence her photographs. These the routes, Phillipa notes, “were chosen in the moment, defined by the topography of the land.”
- Edited by Alexa Fahlman
Featured alongside Vorest is a lock-down conversation between photographers Phillipa Klaiber and Joseph Horton. In a running email thread, they discuss their work, projects made during their time on the UWE photography MA, and the theme of landscape in contemporary photography. Both of their projects were made within a 40 mile radius of each other and revolve around the relationship between people and the environments they inhabit. Their approaches, however, are entirely separate, as are their landscapes. During their conversation, Joseph and Phillipa took turns proposing questions, allowing for connections to be made between their projects, and exploring how these themes are related in a wider context.
JH: When creating your MA project “Vorest” what was it that inspired you to make the work? You, like myself, have a lived experience of the landscape you based the project in, but what other elements drove you to look deeper into it? And did you become further invested in that personal connection as the project went on?
PK: For years I have been intrigued by the landscape of the Forest of Dean and its rich culture of land use. Its woodlands have a mysterious allure and the ancient land-based rites that are still upheld today are particularly unusual. The one I have always found most fascinating is the rite for “Foresters” born within the historic boundary to train for a year and a day (or more) to become a Free Miner and open their own mine of coal or iron ore. It is traditions like this that form the foundation of the Foresters’ culture and collective memory.
I had made work in this Forest twice before. They were long term projects during my most formative years as a photographer. I still felt a need to continue photographing there, to walk in the woods and the common land I had not yet discovered, and to dig deeper into the cultural history of the Foresters. I grew up on the outer edge of the border to this Forest that I have always wanted to call home, but never quite belonged. I am in some ways a Forester and an outsider, able to move between the two. The personal connection I have with this place has grown immensely with the development of this project. The two are so intertwined, that I can no longer be sure where one begins and the other ends.
JH: It took me some time to find an isolated portrait within the work, the relationship between the people in your images and the landscape is enveloping. There is a sense of entwining between the two parties which is presented in your photographs. Was there an intention to develop the tactile nature of the landscape toward the viewer?
PK: Absolutely. Landscapes are material. They are something we dwell in, act in, think in. The material elements of landscapes create different experiences for us. Here, for example, there is a particular feeling of being surrounded on all sides when you are far from the threshold to an old woodland, and straying from the beaten path. Or, in the heathland, where the gorse is sharp and rough, and the ground is soft beneath your feet. You choose the clearest path, and probably regret wearing shorts. All of these elements are material and tactile. I have tried to capture them in detail and in expansive panoramas that place you within the landscape.
JH: Having spent such a long time with the “foresters” who inhabit this environment and researching its ecology, what are your thoughts on its role within a modern society? For example, does the work fall within the issues facing climate change?
PK: This work does contribute to those wider discussions on climate change. The term “climate change” is vast and often daunting (and rightly so, it is terrifying). I believe the urgency doesn’t always reach people on a personal level. Which I think is necessary to really promote change.
In this Forest, there is a collective desire among the inhabitants to maintain the ecological balance of their land. It is the foundation of their culture and collective memory. Recently, there has been a shift towards promoting activities and education within the local environment. There has also been a vast project to restore heathland and wetland, which is still ongoing. Large areas of this Forest, the common land and nature reserves, are open to be freely explored.
I do see the way this place is managed and inhabited as an example of what is possible when a community promotes education and conservation. When we really experience our natural surroundings in our everyday lives and form lasting memories, we are more likely to develop a life-long relationship with our environment, and to care more deeply about its well-being.
JH: WIth a lot of British history and folk tradition there is often an element of spirituality connected to it, whether that be religious or more individual. The landscape in your images evokes the corporeal component of this, do you see the landscape in your work as one of the same as its inhabitants? What role does spirituality play in the work?
PK: The landscape of the Forest of Dean is certainly rich in folk tradition. In my research, I read many of the local stories, some very real and others more fictional. I mapped the sites of historical significance, with their picturesque names. Titles which often alluded to the subject of the folktales that surround them, and sustain their mysterious allure. Photographing these places corrupted the aura that their names and associated tales created. They were disappointing and banal. It was on the solitary journeys to these sites, and in the other places I sought for their topography, that I found that aura of spirituality or myth.
The Foresters and the landscapes they inhabit in this work are certainly very closely connected. The archive photographs I selected from the local museum’s collection show the actions of the land and how it used to be managed. My own photographs show the landscape as tactile and material. A place in which the human role is reduce, but still present. Together, they form a visual dialogue that considers the narratives of the past with the environment in the present.
Throughout this project, I was very conscious of the connotations of the rural idyll and a desire to actively avoid such idealism in the narratives I created. Which brings me to my first question. In your own going project “Terrain Vague”, how have the visual and literary ideas of a traditional and pastoral Britain featured in your work and your research?
JH: The division between urban and rural perspectives and the mythology of the countryside played a big role in the making of this work and really served as a way to contextualise it. Like a lot of myths, there is often some truth to them and with the British countryside that is also the case, it is idyllic and it is tranquil. However for me, what makes a story interesting is using those associations to help counter the argument and tread that fine line between the myth and reality and this was a balance. I really tried to strike. In order to do so I made myself very aware of the culture that has transfigured our real landscapes whether that be movements in painting such as the Romantics and Naturalism or their literary counterparts like Keats or William Blake. So as to be able to acknowledge them and use this iconography to guide a new narrative without getting too close to nostalgia. I chose to photography all along the road in question as I wanted to pull in sciences which are normally connected with this real tranquility into scenes more associated with industrial decline. These pastoral scenes associated with romance and aristocracy are so strong that contrasted against more “urbanised” scenes, I hoped to cause a tension which could run throughout the work and allow for questions to arise.
PK: Some of your landscapes seem to reflect the style usually associated with the banal American landscapes of the New Topographics. The British and American landscapes are two very different places; historically, culturally, and topographically. How have you been influenced by the real and suburban landscapes of other countries? Has looking outside of British photography helped you to subvert those stereotypical ideas of the rural idyll?
JH: In my opinion, what Americans are very good at is using photography as a critical lens and playing with its transformative abilities. I have a real fascination with the evolution of photography in America because it is so intertwined with their history, each step of American idealism has been witnessed by photography. This may be why they have such a deep connection to the medium as a critically descriptive tool, however that is not to say that we do not. But when looking to break away from the rigidity that can be found in photography, the contemporary American practitioners for me, are a very good place to start looking. When I was thinking about how to confront the stereotypes of the rural idyll it was a real awakening to look at how the American photographers were using their real narrative of “The West”, as they were able to bring vernacular life to a position of power from which individual lives and narratives could be used to discuss the inequalities of their nation. Generating that power within a subject by not describing an accurate photographic depiction but elevating that person or object from banality as you put it. It is an evolution in the concept of “photographic truth”, how do you truthfully document a landscape in a medium which is founded in aesthetics? Anyway, it is getting to phenomenological, the transformation from the everyday to metaphor is where documentary is beginning to sit comfortably and is where photography has its power to me. When looking at our landscape, this lived and known space, I wanted to achieve a similar goal hat the photographs of The West do, in that I wanted the iconography and the reality to communicate.
PK: As you mentioned in your first question to me, we both have a lived experience of the landscapes we based our projects in, so I would like to ask you the same question. What was it that inspired you to make the work? What other elements drove you to look deeper into it? And did you become further invested in that personal connection as the project went on?
JH: What I was trying to accomplish at the start of making this project was to help form an updated perspective on what it meant to live in a rural area in the UK. Having spent a lot of time travelling along the road and having grown up on the east end of it, I felt I had a ground view perspective on the nuances that could be found. While working in London, the interest grew as I came across peoples’ interpretations of the countryside, often very idealized and surreal. It didn’t fit with the depth that I had seen in such areas and to an extent, it frustrated me. I was always reminded of the film “Withnail and I”, I’m not sure if you’ve seen it, but it’s such a brilliant representation of the urban/rural divide within pop culture. When I began the work, I really didn’t know how to contextualise it and how exactly I was going to communicate the complexity and diversity. As the project went on, I began to be able to formulate and understand the work a lot better which drove the interest in the project further. I am now more than every really fascinated by how we categorize and build our sense of place via the culture and sociology found within it.
PK: The complexity of real life is often overlooked. The stretch of road you travel in “Terrain Vague” is an example of the ever changing British landscape. The landscapes you have photographed are often the in-between places, the ones deemed of little value to development. What do you believe gives these spaces significance? And do they have a place in the formation of local identity?
JH: I have a bit of a love hate relationship with “labels” which makes me sound like an angsty teenager, but the problem I have with very defined aresas, or understood landscapes, is that they are just quite boring. They are also really hard to reimagine and because of that my eye tends to wander much more towards the spaces which are hard to categorize. When you look at areas which form on the edge of these constructed or known spaces you find a lot more conflict and interaction between opposing elements and that really interested me. It took a long time to find a way to understand these areas and during my research I came across a couple of books which really helped me put it into words; The Anthropology of Landscape by Christopher Tilly and Kate Cameron-Daum and Non Places by Marc Augé. Both of these texts brought my thoughts to a more structured place and actually generated more confidence around the project. I’d like to add a little quote which presents the thinking behind a lot of my photographs.
“ …conflict is a vital part of what landscapes are and in a very real sense this gives landscapes their vitality and makes them into a living presence, something that matters, and gives them dynamism and emotional presence and value in people’s lives. A harmonious landscape would be one that is socially dead, meaningless and irrelevant: conflict both engages and empowers in profound ways.”
I think those spaces in-between really do contain the most vitality and as a photographer it is where you can find those symbiotic relationships which can be brought to metaphor.
JH: As we’ve discovered through this conversation, even though our projects relate so closely geographically and in genre, they are distinctly individual in their presentation and influence. Both of us use the photograph as “document” in a way that only briefly meets, which is of huge credit to the flexibility of the medium and the future of documentary photography. I wondered where you feel British documentary photography might be headed next? Do you see it developing its own identity procured by the landscapes we reside in? What would you like to see more of?
PK: British documentary photography has quite a distinct identity, when you look back at the most renowned photography of the last 50 years. As we have both discovered, even within our own sub-genre of “landscape” or “place” based work, the possibilities for the photograph as “document” are immense.
I think, for several years to come, what it means to be British on both a global and personal scale will be studied, discussed and contemplated even more so than before. So it is a very interesting time for photographers documenting life in Britain right now. I would like to see this period of time explored diversely and for new voices to emerge. Uncertain times often inspire the most memorable movements and trends or subcultures. It would be really interesting to see a new visual language or style emerge that is attributed to British photographers.
JH: Keeping these last questions directed to the future (which could include any number of catastrophes if we look at how 2020 is currently going), do you have any future plans for new work? Or career objectives you’d like to share? How do you see your practice evolving post graduation?
PK: Towards the end of June I finished photographing for “Vorest”. At the moment, I am working on a book edit and looking for a writer to contribute a piece to it. I always imagined this work as a book, so contracting a visual language for the page has been my main focus. I am also working on two new projects. They are in the early thought and research stages at the moment, so I think it is too soon to reveal anything about them. I can say though that my practice will continue to be within those broad topics of landscape.
My practice has rapidly evolved over the last two years, with incredible tutors and peers guiding and challenging me. I discovered a lot about myself as a photographer and visual artist during this time. So, I think over the next few years, I will continue to make work, research and write about landscape and our relationship to place. I really feel I have barely skimmed the surface of these subjects, and there are many more aspects that I want to delve into. In the long term, I want to position my work within the wider contexts of our relationship to land, outside the world of photography and contribute to the wider conversations on ecology, climate change and land use.
PK: Firstly, thank you for recommending The Anthropology of Landscape. It is true, landscapes are alive with conflict. Whether they are rural, urban, suburban or industrial; there is always a conflict in the purpose or value of spaces. Particularly in the Global West, where nature is an exploited resource and bound by land ownership. The pandemic and events of this year have shown us that there are many possibilities for change. One of the innumerable things that comes to mind is the likelihood that many people will continue to work remotely. Jobs that previously meant living in a major city, could now feasibly be done from anywhere with a wifi connection. What changes do you think the British landscape itself might face over the next few years? And for the people and in-between places in “Terrain Vague”?
JH: This is a really hard question that I’m not sure I have the answer to. I would like to see a broadening of perspectives toward which regions matter. I think London as a hub is of great benefit to creating, curating and building art, but it is an exclusive environment. And so, I would like to see photographs from outside of London be able to sustain their practice and their merit without the burdens of relocating. It is hard to say whether that will happen as I’m not entirely sure that people (Londoners) see it as an issue. The event of social media has allowed for some levelling but it has not gone so far as creating much regional equality. Unfortunately for the landscape itself I feel it will continue to be cultivated and curated to fit the confined roles we have attributed it to and it will continue to be organized to fit these roles. Our perception of landscape and our attitudes toward the environment are really intertwined but are not often acknowledged. The area in “Terrain Vague” will continue on as it has done since the fall of the coal mining industry in the 80s, it has an incredibly strong sense of community that will always be the case fortunately. Local and small scale farming is in decline with many family run farms going out of business because of our disconnection with the source of our food, so I expect parts of our countryside will be bought for housing development or possibly go to scrub land. I have been working on a small series around my parents’ farm over the last few years and when making the work, it became really apparent how much the countryside is home to an ageing population and this is only going to increase as jobs are centered in towns and cities. It is actually quite a serious threat to these areas, that one they may be of no use. Maybe that’s a little beak.
PK: As we write, “Terrain Vague” is an ongoing project. What are your plans for the final phase of the work? And have the events of the past few months reshaped these plans? Lastly, do you have any career objectives you would like to share? How do you see your practice developing over the next few years?
JH: I am looking to build from this project and continue digging deeper into the complexities of rurality. I feel that there is still more to be said int he project, more stories to share within it, and for it be realized as a book. The project was always intended to be seen that way and I really feel it will be presented as such. So I think if all goes to plan I’ll be back out in the landscape toward the end of summer and into autumn and then I’ll be working on a dummy book. I would like to have continued it over the summer, but like you mention, the events since the end of March have prevented this so I ’m keen to continue once it is safe to do so.
Working on this project really helped me to navigate the steps it takes to create a long term body of work and I hope to take those lessons into the next project. It also showed me that it is possible to weave complex narratives together by using the flexibility and ambiguity of photography and this is an element that really excites me. It has given me more identity in photography and my next project will hopefully build on that idea. I have applied to a couple of grants to work on projects abroad and I have another idea for a series in the UK which I ’m hoping to start photographing for next year. The crisis we are going through has really rocked the boat for the industry and so I think we’ll be feeling the effects of it for some time, especially in the commercial sector.
