By the Seaside @ the Photographers’ Gallery

The Photographers’ Gallery in Soho has a Print Sales Room downstairs, next to the book shop. Here they stage rotating exhibitions of works by the 40 or so photographers whose work they’re licensed to print and sell. Since their roster of artists includes some big international names, and because they always select the best of the best, it’s always worth paying a visit. Smaller and less pressurised than the main exhibitions in the galleries above, these discreet and petite displays regularly come close to pure visual pleasure.

Currently, they’re hosting photos by seven photographers, all on the theme of the English seaside. After the gruelling horrors of the Ernest Cole exhibition about apartheid South Africa and the strange and mysterious Mexican culture photographed by Graciela Iturbide (also currently on display and reviewed in forthcoming blog posts), it’s a relief to stroll into the ‘Carry On…’ simplicity of possibly the quintessential English subject.

John Hinde (1916 to 1997)

Hinde is in a way the most interesting snapper in the show because he is a historical figure. Born in 1916, he developed an interest in photography at the start of the war, from which he was excluded as a Quaker conscientious objector. He had a big hiatus in his life between the mid-40s and the mid-50s when he worked in a circus (!). In 1956 he set up a company to take photos of Ireland where he’d settled. The company wasn’t about high art but a commercial operation designed to sell postcards wholesale to shops or resort owners who sold them onto tourists and visitors.

At the time most postcards sold to tourists were in black and white, since this was felt to convey the misty romance of the landscape and quaint village ways. Hinde set out to find a way of achieving the same effect in colour. His experiments led him to develop a stylised and distinctive approach. His shoots were carefully posed. Anything ugly was covered or moved. There’s a variety of colour in the shots but they feel, at the same time, somehow bleached or dated. Partly that’s due to the colour technology available at the time which played tricks with colour. I remember the holiday snaps my dad took which were converted into slides having the same effect, which I can’t quite put into words.  They looked colourful but faded at the same time. According to his Wikipedia article Hinde achieved a 1) idealistic and 2) nostalgic style, which can maybe be attributed to 1) the careful posing of the shot, and 2) the discreetly faded colouring.

His most famous set of images was from Butlins in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Billy Butlin hired Hinde to provide postcards for the hundreds of thousands of working class families who took advantage of his fun-for-all-the-family camps and low prices.

By this time, Hinde worked more as an art director than an actual photographer, so he hired two German photographers, Elmar Ludwig and Edmund Nägele, and one British photographer, David Noble. They toured Butlin’s camps and took great pains to compose and light each shot for best effect. The result is a peculiar combination of people in relaxed situations which somehow still feel formal. Apparently, Hinde enhanced the colours in post-production to give the shots a more vivid feel.

Despite the care he took, Hinde set no great store by the artistic value of his postcards and sold the company in 1972. But photography critics have taken them very seriously, and in 1993 Irish Museum of Modern Art held a retrospective of his photos and postcards in Dublin. I love it that the show was titled Hindesight.

‘Butlins Bognor Regis, Lounge Adjoining Heated Indoor Pool’ by John Hinde (photographed by Edmund Nagele) (Courtesy of the artist and The Photographers’ Gallery)

Sirkka-Liisa Konttinen (b. 1948)

Born in Finland, Konttinen moved to London to study film in the late 1960s at the Polytechnic in Regent Street. In 1968, she co-founded the Amber Film and Photography Collective, which moved to Newcastle in 1969. From 1969 Konttinen lived in Byker, an area of Newcastle, and for seven years photographed and interviewed the residents of this area of terraced houses until her own house was demolished. She became a real member of the community, capturing locals in all moods, before the entire area was destroyed to make way for the Byker housing estate, which was to become notorious.

This work resulted in the book, Byker, and, today, this body of work is considered by UNESCO to be of high national value as a profound account of the working class and marginalised communities in the North-East of England. In parallel she created a series depicting people on the chilly beaches of Whitley Bay and Tynemouth, titled Writing in the Sand (1978 to 1998) and it’s a couple of images from that album which are on display here.

‘Whitley Bay’ from ‘Writing in the Sand’ (1980) by Sirkka-Liisa Konttinen – £3,000 + VAT (Courtesy of the artist and The Photographers’ Gallery)

These, to be a bit harsh, are good enough, but don’t have the same power as her urban shots, which are quite stunningly brilliant.

Martin Parr (b. 1952)

Parr has become very famous for capturing the ungainly, graceless aspects of everyday British life in big colour-saturated photography. In fact it was seaside photos that really brought him widespread recognition, namely the images in his breakthrough series ‘The Last Resort’ (1985), which captured the exploits of working class people on holiday in the seaside resort of New Brighton, Merseyside. The show features three prints from that project.

Whereas the human brain picks out only the leading actions in any scene, Parr’s photos show an immense attention to every detail in the frame, which is one source of their power and almost overwhelming impact. The gallery says this makes him a great satirical photojournalist and that’s true. But years ago I read a critic who described his capturing of the fat and ugly, the graceless and ungainly, the clumsy and awkward in British life, as ‘cruel’, and I’ve never been able to forget that word. If Parr’s work feels like this, it’s partly because the size and brilliant clarity of his images have a kind of unrelenting quality which, in me at least, creates a negative impact. They’re visually merciless.

‘Ice cream kids, New Brighton, England, 1983-85’ by Martin Parr – £2,750 + VAT (©️ Martin Parr, courtesy of The Photographers’ Gallery / Rocket Gallery)

Anna Fox (b. 1961)

Fox is, apparently, known for her ‘combative, highly charged by the use of flash and colour’. According to Wikipedia she’s part of the ‘second wave’ of British colour documentary photography. Seeing her use of saturated colour to capture scenes of ‘ordinary people’ (meaning working class people) in a not totally flattering way, it comes as no surprise to learn that one of the tutors on her degree course was Martin Parr. He has, apparently, spawned a tradition.

Similarly secondary was her decision to spend two years photographing Butlins Bognor Regis. Surprising really. Wouldn’t it be a tad more modern to cover somewhere like Center Parcs, let alone acknowledge that anyone who can these days, and for some time past, goes on holiday abroad? Brits made 55 million holidays abroad in 2023, mostly to Spain, with 17.8 million trips. Sun, sand and sangria long ago trumped the sad holiday camp. Not to be too critical, the choice feels a bit retro and, if it was chosen in order to capture proles at play, a bit patronising.

‘Hair and Make-up Shop, 2010’ by Anna Fox – £2,200 + VAT (Courtesy of the artist and The Photographers’ Gallery)

Simon Roberts (b. 1974)

Roberts is known for his interest in identity as the titles of his books – Motherland (2007), We English (2009), Pierdom (2013) and Merrie Albion (2017) – suggest. Pierdom, as the name suggests, is a comprehensive survey of Britain’s pleasure piers, contrasting their historical significance with their modern contexts. For me, the widescreen, long-distance nature of his shots here made them feel flat and empty. I think I can see the effect he’s striving for, but the architectural features of Blackpool Pier just aren’t distinct or striking enough to justify the treatment.

Blackpool South Pier, Lancashire, 2008 by Simon Roberts (Courtesy of the artist and The Photographers’ Gallery)

Rob Ball (b. 1977)

Ball has been photographing the coast for fifteen years, viewing the coastline as an intrinsic part of British identity. He examines the rhythms of seaside resorts and the changes that arise from seasonal and generational shifts. I found his images of just buildings, bereft of the people who give them meaning, sad and depressing. They have a kind of stark power, maybe, and usually I like photos of bleak architecture, but for some reason found these soulless.

‘Slots of fun, Blackpool, 2022’ by Rob Ball – £600 + VAT (Courtesy of the artist and The Photographers’ Gallery)

Luke Stephenson (b. 1983)

Stephenson records the quirks of the British character. He combines demotic i.e. popular subject matter, with the studied formality of not just studio portraiture but a fine art approach. 99 x 99s does what it says on the tin, being a collection of formal portraits of the legendary 99 whipped ice cream, complete with Cadburys flake and a variety of colourful sauces, which he took on an extended road trip round the seaside resorts of England. Part of the culinary heritage which explains why 70% of British men and 60% of British women are overweight, and about a fifth of British children are obese. Taste yummy though, don’t they?

#97 Dawlish Warren, 2013 by Luke Stephenson – £850 + VAT (Courtesy of the artist and The Photographers’ Gallery)

In the studied isolation and formality which converts them from real life objects to icons, they reminded me of Andy Warhol’s Campbell soup tins or Coca Cola cans. You can easily imagine them being arranged as grids of images, maybe given the Warhol silk screen treatment, and sold to adorn board rooms and meeting rooms or, like one TV company I worked for, the canteen. Or, for a joke, placed next to an actual Mr Whippy machine with racks of cones and flakes in some cool advertising or tech company.

Other seasides

To give this fun little display more seriousness than it intends, it made me realise that there are plenty of other kinds of English seaside. A friend is a naturist so I immediately thought of nudist camps, not so much for the bare bodies but the joie de vivre she always glows with. Another friend works for the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds and he spends a lot of his time at the coast counting seabirds. Twitchers, they’re everywhere. There’s a lot of nature-watching goes on at the British coast, and not just birds but pond-dipping and rock-pooling for, crabs and such, and spotting the dolphins and seals and whales which are sometimes visible. At Croyde in Devon my son and I learned to surf and there are surfers and windsurfers all round the coast. We admired the rock climbers we saw ascending the perilous cliffs. And of course, sailing. Lots of sailing. The English coast is littered with docks and quays and marinas and all manner of pleasure boats from humble dinghies to swanky yachts.

So I enjoyed this little display, and I know it’s only meant to be a piece of light-hearted summer fun, but it triggered thoughts of how much more varied, active and interesting our engagement with the coast is than when John Hinde made his postcards of Butlins in the 1960s. Although there are seven photographers in this show they have, I think, been curated to depict a very narrow and rather dated vision of ‘the seaside’. Surely there’s a lot more to it than chilly beaches, shabby piers and amusement arcades.

For sale

All the prints are for sale, at prices starting from £600 + VAT but quickly rising to the thousands. If you could only have one, which one would you choose? For me it would be a toss-up between the Butlins lounge and the old lady on the beach with a dog.

All profits from print sales support The Photographers’ Gallery public programme.


Related link

  • By the Seaside continues at the Photographers’ Gallery until 8 September 2024

The photographers’ PG pages

The photographers’ websites

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Antony Gormley @ the Royal Academy

In the late 1990s I edited a what’s-on-in-London, arts and entertainment TV show for ITV. Mostly it was movies and stand-up comedy and West End musicals but I slipped in occasional blockbuster art shows.

We interviewed him for his 1998 exhibition show at the Royal Academy, the one where he positioned life-sized iron casts of his own body in various postures all round the forecourt, lying, standing on the rooftops, dangling from ropes.

What came over in the interview was his extraordinary fluency. He can just talk, in a calm mild voice, clearly and rationally, about art, for hours, without using jargon or difficult ideas. Here he is, in a short video explaining some aspects of this exhibition:

In his sensible calm voice he makes his art, modern art and its approaches, see seem eminently sensible and practical and interesting and, very often, blindingly obvious. Why didn’t I think of that?

For example, positioning a hundred or so iron casts of his own naked body across a two mile stretch of Crosby Beach in Merseyside. Seeing the figures dotted at random across the sane, some submerged in the sand, and then watching them be submerged and then revealed by the ebbing and flowing tide, is a wonderfully simple, but extremely evocative idea.

Another Place by Antony Gormley (2005)

A few years earlier Gormley had filled Great Court of the British Museum with 40,000 handmade clay figures. As soon as you heard about it, your realised it was a big blank space just crying out for some kind of intervention or installation.

Field for the British Isles by Antony Gormley (2002)

His best-known work is obviously The Angel of the North, erected in 1998, a vast steel sculpture of an angel, 20 metres tall, with wings 54 metres across, placed on a hill overlooking the motorway at Gateshead, Tyne and Wear. Yes. Yes the ‘North’ should have some kind of symbol or icon, something to mark it off from the soft South but give it pride and regional identity.

The Angel of the North by Antony Gormley (1998)

This big retrospective at the Royal Academy confirms that sense of his amazing fluency: there are recognisable themes (cast of his own body, for example) and plenty of other ideas and themes: and yet they all share this same quality of feeling just so, clever but not pretentious, just seeming like good ideas, good things to do, to have a go at.

Of course there’s a room of his trademark life sized casts of his own body, replicating the weirdness of all those bodies hanging all over the courtyard 20 years ago.

Lost Horizon I by Antony Gormley (2008) © the Artist. Photo by Stephen White

But he applies the same technique to other shapes and objects, though all distinguished by the same rust red iron finish, and the odd circular nodules which were originally part of the casting process but have become a visual and tactile signature. Having acquired such expertise at making huge iron casts of bodies, why not experiment with applying the same approach to other organic forms, with things as simple as fruit.

Body and Fruit by Antony Gormley (1991/93) © the Artist. Photo by Jan Uvelius, Malmö

But several rooms contain striking departures from the idea of the solid – the rust-red solid bodies and orbs we’re familiar with – a departure into explorations of the flimsy and the flexible and the peculiar sense of space this completely different approach can create.

Clearing V by Antony Gormley (2009) © the Artist, photo by Markus Tretter

I love industrial materials, I love stuff made from industrial junk redolent of factories and warehouses and the smelly, oily, petrol-soaked culture we actually live in.

I love Arte Povera and Minimalism and Mark Leckey’s current installation of the underside of a motorway bridge – and so that’s what I read into these wonderful ropes and tangles of thin but obviously taut and tremendously strong steel cable. Electricity pylons striding the countryside, motorway viaducts, overhead cables of trains and tubes and trams. Those complex metal grids which concrete is poured over to create tower blocks and tube power stations.

Our world is saturated with huge and immensely strong, durable industrial materials and designs.

The curators claim many of these more experiential sculptures are designed to make us aware of our bodies and the space we inhabit, but they reminded me of the vast, inhuman industrial processes which underpin our entire civilisation.

Matrix II by Antony Gormley (2014) © the artist, photo by Charles Duprat, Paris

The most experiential piece is The Cave, created this year. From the outside it looks like a Vorticist jaggle of angular steel blocks, which we are invited to go inside to discover a forbidding dark and angular space.

Cave by Antony Gormley (2019)

Some of the rooms change scale completely to show us much smaller early works from the 1970s and even change medium altogether to display a range of pocket sketchbooks and drawings. Even these have his trademark sureness of touch, a kind of radical simplicity, the human body against thrillingly abstract backdrops, and often made in the most primal materials, like this wonderful drawing which is made of earth, rabbit skin glue and black pigment. Rabbit skin?

Earth, Body, Light by Antony Gormley (1989) © the Artist

And then we’re back to a massive, radical and yet somehow entirely ‘natural’ feeling installation, Host, like Cave creates specially for this exhibition. One who huge room at the Royal Academy has been sealed watertight, the floor covered in sand-coloured clay and then covered with a foot or so of Atlantic seawater.

Host by Antony Gormley (2019)

What does it mean? Is it the image of a flood, of global warming and seas rising, of a drowned world?

On the whole I shy away from big ideas in art, and am more interested in an artwork’s actual tactile presence, the brushstrokes on the canvas or the shape and heft of a sculpture or, in this case, a purely sensual response to the smell of the seawater and the look of the rubbled clay just under the surface. Humans came from the sea and, all round the world, display the same wish to live on an eminence near water (as described at length in E.O. Wilson’s book The Diversity of Life).

And so Host had little or no ‘meaning’ for me, but conjured up all kinds of primal responses and longings from deep in my once-water-borne mammalian nervous system. I wanted to wade out into it. I wanted to swim into it.

Conclusion

No wonder the exhibition has been sold out since it was announced. Gormley has a genuine magic touch – everything he makes has the same sureness and openness and confidence. Although much of his sculpture sounds or looks like it should appear modern and forbidding, somehow it doesn’t at all. It all feels light and accessible and natural and unforced and wonderful.


Related links

  • Antony Gormley continues at the Royal Academy until 3 December 2019

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