Latest news with #MartinParrFoundation
The Guardian
18-03-2025
- General
- The Guardian
Did you catch that? On the boats with Cornish fishers
For a year and a half, photographer Jon Tonks journeyed around the coast of Cornwall, from Newlyn to the Isles of Scilly, Mousehole and Cadgwith, spending time both quayside and at sea. A Fish Called Julie: In waters off Cornwall and the Isles of Scilly by Jon Tonks is at the Martin Parr Foundation, Bristol, 3 April to 22 June. The exhibition is part of the nationwide initiative We Feed the UK created by the Gaia Foundation. An exhibition of the We Feed the UK project is at The Royal Photographic Society, Bristol, 3 April to 22 June Jon Tonks: 'I was fishing with a guy called Jacob on the Isles of Scilly where he grew up. He's 23 years old and has his own fishing boat. He was pulling in his pots to check for lobsters, and would throw back anything undersized or spawning. This one was undersized, so I asked if I could try and capture the return. I primed myself with the camera and flash in my hand, counted to three, and we went for it. I didn't see the gulls top and bottom watching the whole procedure until I developed the film' 'This image was made when I was out with Will, who was line fishing for mackerel. He is 21 years old and lives in Newlyn. He's taken me out to sea a few times over the course of this project, and this was during the second outing. The first time was unsuccessful by comparison, but here he pulled in around 70kg of mackerel by hand. As the boat filled up, I started to run out of places to stand that weren't covered in blood or mackerel. My boots glimmered for days from fish scales' 'I named the project A Fish Called Julie after I came across two sea bass in a container. I was making pictures at the fish market in Newlyn where fish are offloaded, iced and sold. Whether the fish were destined for Julie, who would cook them that night somewhere, or if they'd been landed by a boat of the same name, I was unsure. But to me it looked like a name tag you'd get at a networking event. It made me smile. And for those who might miss the reference, it also made me think of the 1988 British movie A Fish Called Wanda' The work of fishing communities is dictated by the elements and the seasons. Knowledge and respect for both are passed down the generations. This project is a continuation of Tonks' previous work telling the stories of people whose lives are shaped by geography and history. He was drawn to small towns and islands because by focusing on a microcosm, he could tell a wider tale 'Jof and his son Inigo live on St Agnes, Isles of Scilly. I visited Jof for the first time in January 2024, after a short flight from Land's End and a quick boat trip. He is well known for making traditional withy pots entirely plastic free, using locally grown willow. His workshop was amazing – his industrial design background was immediately apparent. You could see the whole production process: pots that had spent a year out at sea, and some that were brand-new, the warm orange willow fading to a ghostly white' 'This image was made off St Agnes, in Isles of Scilly. After visiting Jof in January 2024, I returned in May to fish with him. His self-engineered catamaran allows him to row in shallow waters. His methods are plastic-free and motorless – I followed him in a kayak. The silence of being at sea without the chug of an engine was amazing. Using my Hasselblad on a kayak was less relaxing, but allowed me to get close to the water. My most lasting memory was of the silence being broken by an inquisitive seal breathing behind me' 'Being a small-scale fisher in Cornwall is a metaphor for how to live your life. When the weather tells you not to fish, listen. Allow the seas to replenish. Sustainable fishing means something different to everyone, but real sustainability teaches us not to be greedy, to give nature a chance and leave enough for the next generation' 'David had spent the day fishing for cuttlefish and I bumped into him at the harbour as he unloaded his catch to the market. The ink across his face was from the fish, released as a defence mechanism when they are caught – apparently it's hard to wash off.' You can read more about this series in this Observer piece At a time when there is an increasing disconnect between the food we eat and its origins, Tonks's photographs show the communities that have fished off the coasts of Cornwall and the Isles of Scilly for generations, sharing their stories, traditions and challenges He captures the wind, rain and unrelenting swells; the nimbleness of the fishers navigating chaotic tumbles of nets and ropes on ever moving fishing vessels; yellow trousers punctuating the ocean grey Tonks heard the stories of fishers of 50 years, who have witnessed the cod moving north because of rising sea temperatures. He heard of pilchards thrown to the birds in thanks for guiding boats to the shoals as effectively as sonar; puffins starving for lack of the sand eels that have been overfished and fed to chickens. Giant commercial vessels are devastating populations and habitats through overfishing and bottom trawling, legitimised by laws that prioritise profit rather than sustainability Cornwall is a place of folklore and traditions. Tonks says: 'This is David, sat with a pint and a mince pie at the Ship Inn in Mousehole. It is December 2023 on Tom Bawcock's Eve, a celebration and memorial for a legendary villager who went to sea during severe storms, catching fish for the villagers during a period of famine' 'A huge stargazy pie is made at the pub each year, with fish heads poking out the top of the pastry. David worked much of his life for Trinity House, maintaining lighthouses around the country. He is sat next to a small plaque above an armchair commemorating his late brother'
The Guardian
16-03-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘Fishing in Cornwall is like a metaphor for life': photographer Jon Tonks on landscape, community and the perfect catch
Two figures bend over a ship's gunwale, busy with a net, their bright yellow oilskins in brilliant contrast to the inky night. A flock of gulls, eerily spectral in the camera flash, frenzied by the impending catch, flap and wheel in a void so black that sea and sky are one. With their backs turned, it is unclear exactly what the figures are doing, but their straining forms and the intensity of the scene suggests swift, coordinated action. Unlike the quiet serenity that characterises many other photographs in this series, made among fishing communities in Cornwall by Birmingham-born photographer Jon Tonks, this image reflects a precarious – and occasionally perilous – livelihood. 'Being out on the boat, you don't think you're in a dangerous situation, but you realise just how quickly it could all go wrong,' says Tonks, whose project A Fish Called Julie is the result of 18 months spent on the coast and at sea, between Newlyn, the Isles of Scilly, Mousehole and Cadgwith. 'If you slipped over, went overboard, or got your foot caught in a line, it could be really dangerous.' Fortunately, Tonks avoided any such calamity during his time at sea, his most severe injury sustained from long stretches holding his medium-format camera aloft. 'It felt hilarious at times, being on a fishing boat that's rolling around in the dark, trying to change a roll of film or make my flash work. And, of course, using a Hasselblad – it's a mirror, so what I'm looking at is inverted. It's amazing I didn't get seasick … ' The project, which goes on show at the Martin Parr Foundation, Bristol, next month, is part of We Feed the UK, a nationwide storytelling campaign by biocultural diversity organisation the Gaia Foundation, tasking photographers and poets to raise awareness of sustainable food producers across soil, seed and sea. From August 2023, Tonks made more than a dozen visits to the coast from his home in Bath. 'Fishermen are really hard to get hold of,' says the 44-year-old with a wry smile. 'It's not an email situation, it's a turn up at the harbour situation.' Relying on word of mouth and personal recommendations, Tonks quickly discovered a community willing to collaborate. 'First, I went down and had a really good meeting with some people working in the sustainable fishing world to discuss what is considered sustainable,' says Tonks. 'Some of the early conversations were about the size of the boat – people suggested sustainability is about a boat that's under 10 metres.' Deliberately choosing to avoid big trawlers – which with their superior size, manpower and technology can remain at sea longer, cast nets wider and locate fishing grounds more accurately – Tonks instead focused on smaller boats. These vessels supplied less than 15% of all fish landed in Cornish ports in 2021, yet represent a more sustainable alternative. Not only does their size dictate they pay greater heed to the elements, allowing fish stocks to replenish in bad weather, but with their ability to change quickly between fishing gear – from nets, to lines, dredges and traps – they land a more selective and sustainable catch. 'Fishing in Cornwall is like a metaphor for life,' explains Tonks. 'I love the notion that fishermen are completely governed by what the sun and wind are doing, what's in season and what type of boat they're going out on.' Working in harmony with the seasons and weather lends the series its rhythm. All-action shots at sea contrast with quieter moments on land; fishermen chewing the fat; Christmas lights in Mousehole on Tom Bawcock's Eve, the annual festival celebrating a fisherman who braved stormy seas to alleviate his village's hunger. This causal relationship between environment and culture has been at the heart of Tonks's practice since completing his masters at London College of Communication. While studying, Tonks visited Ascension Island, the British-governed territory, roughly the size of Disney World, in the middle of the South Atlantic. That trip became the catalyst for Empire, his 2013 book exploring vestiges of British colonialism on four remote islands. Tonks's second book, The Men Who Would Be King (2021), saw him once again investigating the legacy of imperialism via ancestral belief systems and the assimilation of Anglo-American ideals on the archipelago nation of Vanuatu in the South Pacific. Though local by comparison, A Fish Called Julie represents a similar dialogue between landscape and community, a place where, 'you'd wake up in the morning, open your curtains and look at what the sea's doing'. Indeed, the project's title stems from this close proximity: 'I'd been watching these guys off-load their catch all day, and there was this one box with two sea bass with a label on it that read 'Julie'. It just made me laugh,' explains Tonks. 'I don't know who Julie is – it could be the name of a boat – but it made me think the fish is for someone called Julie who asked, 'If you've got any sea bass, I'll take them.'' This emphasis on local, seasonal fishing and consumption represents the urgent policy required by the industry to safeguard its longevity. 'We shouldn't be able to walk into our local supermarket and say, 'What do I fancy today?'' says Tonks. 'You should be asking, 'What do you have?' We're too attuned to having everything we want, whenever we want it.' Yet in spite of prevailing customer habits, which Tonks hopes will change with rising awareness, the past 18 months have left the photographer with more reasons for optimism than concern. 'A lot of the younger guys I've been out with are really conscious about longevity,' says Tonks. 'They're very mindful about not catching something because they know it needs time to replenish.' 'I really didn't want this to be a series of weathered fishermen. Of course, there's a couple of weathered-looking chaps in there, but there's also signs of youth coming through. I think it's important for people in their 20s to see that it's a viable career option, and there's enough information and energy for a good future.' A Fish Called Julie by Jon Tonks is at the Martin Parr Foundation, Bristol, from 3 April to 22 June
The Guardian
23-02-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘Photography is therapy for me': Martin Parr on humour, holidaying and life behind the lens
About 20 years ago, I was on a judging panel for a photography competition, and one of the other judges was Martin Parr. He was charming and affable, almost teddy bear-ish. He was also utterly ruthless. When it came to deciding which photographs were worthy of a prize, he went through the selection swiftly – no, no, yes, no – without hesitation or doubt. His eye was impeccable. Has he always known what makes a good photograph? 'Oh yes,' says Parr. 'Right from the beginning. Total conviction. I knew I would be a photographer from the age of 13, 14, and I knew what was good even then. I was obsessive about photography. All artists are obsessive, I think.' We are in his agent's office, a small upstairs flat on a market street in east London. Parr owns the building, and this room used to be packed with his work as well as Parr-type things: his collections of Saddam Hussein watches, Soviet-space-dog ephemera, Spice Girls merch. He was obsessed with gathering all sorts of daft stuff, but he's stopped now to concentrate solely on his work. Though as he says, 'photography is a form of collecting.' His obsession now is the Martin Parr Foundation, headquartered in Bristol, which he established in 2017 and which is where all of his photos have been moved to (along with the watches, space dogs and Spiceys). The foundation is a collection of documentary photography of the British Isles, his own and other people's. Alongside maintaining Parr's huge archive, it buys work by lesser-known photographers, gives bursaries to those who are just starting out, has a library and gallery, curates shows, and is Parr's legacy, what he's most proud of. He's 72, is in cancer recovery and is conscious of his age. 'Hopefully it will be of some benefit,' he says. 'I'm not going to say I'm saving the world. I never expect photography to change anything.' Perhaps not, but the Foundation is clearly a good thing: the website is great and the current show, featuring Siân Davey's photos of family life, is excellent. 'Have you been to visit it?' he asks. I haven't. He looks a bit miffed. He's quick to pick up on things he thinks I've missed about what he does. When we go for a coffee after the interview, he says, almost triumphantly, 'You just missed me taking a photo with my phone, of that wall!' In my defence, there is so much of Parr's work to see that you could spend your whole life looking at his photographs. He's been working since the 1980s, has had well over 80 exhibitions all over the world, has published more than 145 photography books. He is madly prolific, with an archive that's endlessly recategorisable. 'If you want me to do a book on dogs, no problem,' he says. 'I can come up with 100 pictures straight away. Or cigarettes. I've just done a book called No Smoking, using my archive, edited by my gallery here in London.' Is he constantly thinking about work? 'More or less, yes. I'm either thinking about things I haven't shot, or things I've done. What's got to be done. What can I do next? Where can I go?' How would he define his style? 'It's the palette of bright colours, and getting in close to your subject matter. The colour helps to take it one step away from reality. I guess that's a part of my, erm… 'vision' sounds a bit pretentious. And humour. Life is funny. I try to bring that into the images.' His pictures are balanced between documentary, satire and commentary, serious stuff disguised as entertainment, turning the familiar into something alien, making you look harder. And they're highly populated: he loves taking pictures of people. When he's out and about, he approaches anyone he likes the look of – 'a bit of flattery is a very good entrée' – and then asks them not to smile. 'People always want to, but when I'm doing a portrait I want to show some sense of dignity and what they're in front of, their relationship to that.' Or he just takes a shot in the moment. He uses a digital camera and if someone gets upset with him, he shows them the photograph and deletes it, no fuss. He resists defining his work but has said, 'I create fiction out of reality.' What does that mean? 'It's the subjective nature of photography. The only thing that matters is your relationship to the subject. That's what you're in control of. It's all true, but it's my truth. My personal truth.' His star was launched in 1986 with his show The Last Resort, a series of pictures he took between 1983 and 1985 of people enjoying themselves at New Brighton, a litter-strewn seaside resort near Liverpool. 'It's still the work I'm most famous for. We keep republishing. It keeps selling.' In 1986 though, it caused some controversy. Some thought Parr's photos were condescending, though everyone in the photos seemed to be having a most excellent time. 'A lot of people don't like my work,' he says. 'I never quite understand what it is. I suppose they don't like the directness. They're blaming me for seeing shabby conditions. With The Last Resort, we showed the work in Liverpool in '86, and no one mentioned this idea of it being exploitative or cynical. But when it went to the Serpentine, that's when that all happened. People in the south-east, they don't know what it's like in Liverpool, because they've never been.' There was also snobbery, back then, about whether a serious photographer should shoot in colour, as opposed to tasteful monochrome. Plenty of older photographers were outraged by this, as we see in a new documentary, I Am Martin Parr, directed by Lee Shulman, which came out this month. Shulman takes Parr back to the scenes of many of his best known works, including New Brighton. 'Much less litter,' he says. 'It's been gentrified.' He also returns to Hebden Bridge, where he took his first-ever serious set of photographs, The Non-Conformists. These are not quite what you'd expect from Parr: they're centred around the village's chapels and are more traditionally observational, quieter, with less movement, shot in black-and-white. He and his wife, Susie, stayed in Hebden from 1975 to 1980 and became embedded in the community, especially with a particular Methodist chapel where the congregation was just seven farmers. Parr went to all of their farms and took photographs. Susie taught at the Sunday school, despite being an atheist ('It always tickles me, that,' says Parr). 'The thing that was weird,' he says, 'was they thought we were going to be there for life, and then we moved. One guy, Stanley Greenwood, got upset because he thought we should have stayed.' Is that the nature of the job? 'Yes, it happens all the time, more especially with films. You have such an intense relationship, they give a lot to accommodate you, and then you're gone. And you leave a void in their lives.' Parr was born in 1952 and grew up in Surrey with his parents and sister, who was seven years younger than him. It was a quiet life – 'boring', he says, though at the time he didn't know – with weekends spent with his parents, who were keen birdwatchers. 'I got taken to Hersham Sewage Works most Saturdays, to see the migratory birds.' In the summers he'd go to Yorkshire to stay with his grandparents, where he discovered both photography (his grandpa taught him how to use a camera) and community. He now thinks that his work in Hebden Bridge was partly about recapturing 'a lost childhood', searching out the social cohesion he found so appealing in Yorkshire, 'so strong, and very charming. Everyone knew each other, when you'd go down the shops, people would say hello. We didn't have that in Surrey.' His family never ate out or went to a seaside resort, just 'places like Pagham Harbour, looking for wader birds.' Today, he notes, resorts and beaches are a constant in his working life. At Surbiton County Grammar school his French teacher deemed him 'utterly lazy and inattentive' (now the title of his autobiography, out in September). Though, according to Parr, his lack of application shaped his life for the better, through two events. The first was him failing his History and English A-levels, which meant that out of the three art colleges he'd applied to, he only qualified for Manchester Poly. It was like a door opening: he met Susie (they later had a daughter, Ellen) and became lifelong friends with other photographers, including Daniel Meadows and the late Brian Griffin. 'I often reflect on this, when I think back on my life,' he says. 'What would have happened if I hadn't gone to Manchester?' The other significant academic failure was when he flunked a first-year theory exam and should have been kicked out, but his tutor, Alan Murgatroyd, argued to keep him on the course. When Parr did a big show in Manchester five years ago, he invited Murgatroyd to open it. Murgatroyd knew what he was talking about: ever since he graduated, Parr has motored through an outstanding career. The amount of books with his name on might seem as though he's casual about what he does, but that would be wrong: he's an expert on photography books and he spends a long time working on a subject, several years in many cases. Though he's speeded up recently: he was diagnosed with myeloma, a type of bone-marrow cancer, in 2021, which, as he says, has 'accelerated things', and made him want to do more work, more quickly. He's now in remission (he takes chemotherapy tablets), but it affects his back, and he uses a rollator – a frame on wheels – if he has to walk for a long time. 'The rollator makes me less threatening, I think, when I approach people,' he says. 'They think, poor guy, he's disabled.' He's got a disabled parking badge now, which he loves. 'I should put it on my CV: can park anywhere.' Time is running out, and there's still so much to do! His biography, more shows. He does the occasional fashion shoot (a collection of his fashion photos came out last year called Fashion Faux Parr – he's always been great with titles), and this summer he's booked to go to Cheltenham, as well as a week's Mediterranean cruise and also an airshow. 'I've never been to an airshow', he says. 'Can you believe it! Everyone looks a bit weird when they're all looking up, I don't understand why I haven't done it before… 'Summer is my big shooting moment. Everything's happening. People are out and about. We're good at all that in this country, hobbies and agricultural shows and festivals. We excel at it.' There are moments he feels he missed. He's lived in Bristol since 1987, but didn't take pictures there for years. 'And I wish I'd shot more in the 80s. The miners' strike, I didn't even touch, I thought, 'Oh, someone else is doing all that.' Then I started collecting miners' strike ephemera – plates, watches – and we did a show on the strike at the Foundation, featuring other people who covered it, like John Sturrock and John Harris. John Harris did the picture of the policeman on the horse, which is now how we remember the miners' strike. That really demonstrates what photography can do.' Parr's politics are more hidden than others, and he's loathe to discuss them, but you get a sense of them in his 80s series The Cost of Living and later, Think of England. 'We all hated Thatcher,' he says now, mildly. Over the years, he's examined the British establishment in detail, covering Harrow and Christ's Hospital public schools, the army, the City of London's livery companies. In 2015 he completed a whole series on Oxford university, but they wouldn't let him photograph the boat-burning at the end of the summer rowing competition. 'It's a secret life,' he says. 'And it's become more secretive.' He was appointed a CBE in 2021, and asked to go to one of the late Queen's garden parties. He took a small camera – 'I looked up the rules, checked it was OK' – and took photos, but then the Palace said he couldn't publish them. So he just shows the pictures during talks. 'I say, 'You're looking at censored photos!' It's always quite a thrill.' His politics are perhaps more recognised in France than here. Actually, his whole career is much bigger over there – 'they love photography more, they buy prints, they review shows' – even though Brexit has made it hard to send his books there. He will say he hates Brexit, 'but it's bit difficult to know how to actually articulate that in photographs.' 'In France,' he says, 'a guy is singling out the politics of my work for a show in Jeu de Paume. It's going to be quite different. Not risky, but edgier than most of my big shows would be. It will be called Early Warning.' Is it about consumerism? 'Well, we're all too rich, and we all consume too much. As the Chinese middle class come online, they have all the demands that we've had: air conditioning, ovens, fridges, holidays. Ryanair's just ordered 50 new jets. Since Covid, tourism has got even more crazy. No one is prepared to sacrifice their pleasures. I'm aware I'm contributing to it, of course: my air-mile record is pretty big, having flown to so many places. I'm a tourist as well.' Tourism is Parr's subject and, to his detractors, his technique. But that is to do him a disservice: Parr's approach to photography is far more serious and considered. It's about the relationship between him and what he photographs – usually the UK – and getting that into the pictures. And it's everything to him. 'It's what I do, it's how I function,' he says. 'My relationship to Britain, through photography. There's many things I dislike about Britain. Then there's all these other things – the hobbies, the fairs, the agricultural shows, the beaches, Radio 4, a cup of tea – those I love. Photographing it all is a form of therapy for me. It's defined my life.' I Am Martin Parr is in cinemas now
