Photography and the changing city

At the risk of sounding like a photography geek, hasn't the light in London been magical over the past two days? Crisp, clear blue skies and low winter -almost spring (hooray) - sun casting long, lean dramatic shadows. Perfect photography weather. I keep mumbling "the light, look at the light" at friends who agree, slightly bemused. I'm turning into a poncey twit. Although the very realisation that I sound like a poncey twit means I'm not one, surely. 

So I've been bombing round on my bike which I resurrected from the cellar yesterday (after accidentally deflating the tyres when I meant to inflate them at the local garage-doh). I biked over to Battersea Power Station which I'd never photographed before. Quite unbelievable when I live fifteen minutes away.

And of course the key to photographing anything, cities in particular, is to get to know your subject. Get out there with your camera and have an adventure. I've found that people often want to talk to you when you're taking pictures with an SLR. They're nearly always friendly, interesting and interested (apart from an angry shopkeeper in Brixton market the other month but she was an exception). So it's also a great way to interact with fellow London dwellers and we all know how tricky that can be in this city. I met Duncan from the Association of Photographers near the power station. He gave me tips on the best views and nearby bridges to shoot (cheers Duncan!).

Which brings me to the point of this blog. Four brilliant photographers talked through some of their London projects last night at the British Library. These guys have photographed the establishment (Mark Power had exclusive access to the building of the Millennium Dome and rebuilding of the treasury), the historical (Mike Seaborne captures an ever-changing London as senior curator of photos at the Museum of London), the overlooked  (Rut Blees Luxemburg's tower blocks and motorways have graced album covers - Hackney high rise "Towering Inferno" above was the cover of the Streets' debut Original Pirate Material), and the personal (Paul Halliday, leader of a photography MA in Goldsmiths, spent twenty years capturing memories of a poetic London, like this one below).

It was Halliday who advocated walking round London, quoting photographer Christopher Tilley "Walking is a process of appropriation of the topographical system, just as speaking is an appropriation of language." In other words, it's natural. But rather than wander round randomly taking pictures - like me - Halliday advises focusing on a particular aspect eg urban life, architecture, found objects to keep you engaged. Devising your own projects is key.

I absolutely love German photographer Rut Blees Luxemburg's work. Photographing mainly at night, she uses a large format camera on very long exposures (ten to fifteen minutes) which she says results in unpredictable colouring. She's inspired by literature and poetry which shows in her raw yet brutally beautiful pictures.

About the above shot of the Westway which graced Bloc Party album A Weekend in the City she said "The motorway is an emblem of modernity which we find difficult to come to terms with. So there's a tension between leisure and transport here."

Magnum photographer Mark Power is often very conceptual in his architectural work which I like. Again, he uses similar techniques to Rut which he said, sometimes made it difficult to photograph people because of long exposures (Rut never photographs people).

While Mike Seaborne made a good point when he said to teach yourself to think laterally. Everybody carries a camera today so it's about ideas. "Ideas present themselves all the time," he said. "It's just recognising them." You can view Mike's pictures taken from the top of a double-decker bus here.

And finally...'well I never' fact of the evening goes to Paul Halliday who told us that while it's not illegal to take pictures in public spaces, you do have to be mindful of bylaws. A tripod is thought of as a tent in the Royal Parks and can't be used. 

When Perry met Self

* Turner prize winning artist Grayson Perry was in conversation with the inimitable author Will Self last week at the British Library and, as a fan of both, I couldn't wait to hear the informed banter between these two opinionated characters. Neither I nor the packed audience were disappointed.

Self, cloaked in trademark head to toe writer-black, was the perfect foil to Perry's peach and blue graphic print dress, to his curly boots with bells and to Shirley, the doll on his knee.

To some Grayson Perry is still an oddball, that artist who dresses like a woman. Thankfully he's become so acceptable in the UK that even he is unhappy about it. "Now when I'm out in the street I'm not that annoying pervert anymore," he half grumbled. "They say, 'oh it's Grayson Perry, he can do what he likes'. It's quite boring now, unless I go abroad." You have to respect a man who says his definition of a good outfit is taking a deep breath before he leaves the house.




What I also like about Grayson Perry is his refreshing frankness about the meaning of his art and how he goes about it. Not for him a puzzling pretentious riddle hinting at how his work is created. "Well, I started in the left hand corner and worked across," he said of the Walthamstow Tapestry, a major new piece namechecking well-known brands, which is a wry, modern take on the famous Bayeaux tapestry. "I really see a difference when I work. I get better." As Self pointed out, it's rare to hear an artist admit that their technique isn't perfect from the outset.

"I grew up in public," replied Perry. "My first ceramics were incredibly inept. But people thought they were ironic." You have to laugh but there must be some truth in it. In fact, much of what Perry said was a serious point made in jest. When Self highlighted this, Perry was very clear about how and why he uses humour. "My job as an artist is to supply electrodes, not the sparks. I don't necessarily want to kill my art with explanation. The jokes are me dancing around it. When I'm in the studio, I'm deadly serious." He's now put in 10,000 hours of pottery practice to prove it.



Much of Perry's art is inspired by revered classical work. So, while from a distance his vases may look Ming, up close they often portray disturbing images or provide a commentary on modern life. Consumerism, religious iconography and text are all regular features. He'll go round a museum or flick through an art book for ideas and then think how he can make a relevant 21st century version that isn't a horrible parody.

He comes across as extremely eccentric but matter-of-fact. He said he doesn't like art about airy fairy things (themes such as sadomasochism certainly prove that) yet he's created an artistic cult whose leader is Alan Measles, Perry's childhood teddy bear (so called because Alan was his best friend at the time and he had measles -  how cute). But if that isn't airy fairy I don't know what is. Perry, as you might expect of a man whose alter-ego Claire famously collected his Turner Prize in 2003, is full of contradictions.

Picasso spent his whole life trying to draw like a child and in the same way Perry is interested in the psychology of childhood "Everybody has their own Alan Measles", he told Self, which is why he makes shrines to Alan and exhibits them.

Maybe I should reclaim and reshrine my childhood teddy bear, long since abandoned in the spare room back up North. "Karen Chickenpox" doesn't have quite the same ring to it though.
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*  Poptart succumbed to the seasonal lurgy this week and has been sipping Lemsip and popping Beroccas under her duvet while feeling guilty about not writing this blog.