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After witnessing heterosexual male on male relationships growing up and during his time at University, photographer Ben Sharp wanted to explore the balance between straight male intimacy and how society and culture within the west impacted on these relationships forming and their longevity. We recently spoke with Ben to explore these themes that come to play in his body of work, No Homo.

Interview by Harry Rose

The work follows your own experiences and outlook on masculinity and male intimacy, what made you want to explore this?

The work established from a close but complex relationship I formed with a straight male during my time at university; this friendship inspired my project ‘pretty boys’, an exploration into masculinity, but the investigation into male intimacy and the relationship between straight and queer males wasn’t fully explored until ‘no homo bro’. 

I struggled to create and sustain close bonds with straight males, so this friendship was interesting for the pair of us as neither of us had never had a close friend of the same sex with a different sexuality to our own. Whilst our opposing sexualities wasn’t a factor which impacted the initial friendship, it became apparent as we grew closer, through our discussions, that highlighted our upbringing and experiences in life differed massively; one of these points being that our views and experiences of male intimacy were polar opposite. 

Whilst he didn’t necessarily conform to every traditional masculine stereotype, I remember us having a conversation rather early on about how he wouldn’t open up about hardships or personal issues to “the lads” from home, and nor did he have the desire or need to do so. I, however, being someone who had grown up to be both physically and emotionally intimate with my close friends found this fascinating, and this really begun my exploration into masculinity, before focusing specifically on male intimacy between men.

What were your observations of ‘lad culture’ growing up?

Within my research for the project, there was an extract from R W Connell’s Masculinities which touches upon male friendships, discussing how heterosexual men don’t predominately have close 1:1 bonds with other men, likening these friendship groups to that of a wolf pack – and I think this is something that I would relate to through my observations. The research suggests that within heterosexual male friendships, men are more likely to form a bigger group of friends with a leader, without any of these bonds being built upon substance or depth, whereupon the individuals within the group are disposable and can be easily replaced by another figure. To an extent, I agree through my own experiences - If you are to differ or challenge the cultural norms of the masculine ideal, then you aren’t accepted, and subsequently excluded, from the ‘pack’.  

Growing up, for me, the majority of male friendships that I witnessed, which conformed to traditional masculine archetype, were bonds built from their passion for sports, interest in girls or humiliation/intimidation of others – which in some cases can manifest into misogyny and/or homophobia. At the time, I was rather intimidated by these individuals but as I grew older my I emphasised them, because my understanding of ‘lads’ evolved to realise that for some, their actions mask their insecurities which have be indoctrinated by society. There’s a quote from Nan Goldin’s introduction in The Ballad of Sexual Dependency that I’ve cited throughout my practice which epitomises this notion; “For many years, I found it hard to understand the feeling systems of men; I didn’t believe they were vulnerable and I empowered them in a way that didn’t acknowledge their fears and feelings” (1987).

You mentioned that growing up queer and being unable to obtain and sustain close relationships with straight men. Do you feel this was more based on societal pressures on straight men to maintain a level of masculine dominance? It often took a lot during the 90s and 00s for a straight guy in school to openly form a friendship with a Queer person. 

I would definitely say it was a contributing factor; I think because I didn’t conform to the masculine ideal, not having a huge interest in sports for instance, and that generally speaking I was rather sensitive and attentive, it was difficult for me and straight men to bond because of the societal pressures placed on them to remain masculine. And in the case that I would begin to form a close bond with a straight male, there was the possibility that they would also likely be labelled as ‘gay’ - a term, during this time, deemed as negative - so understandably rather than being possibly ridiculed for this, they were more likely to distance themselves from queer individuals.

Your photographs show a deep and clear connection between each subject, with a boundary between bromance and homosexuality being explored. How much of these images reflect your own experiences growing up as well as society today?

For me, I’ve always felt my practice has been a form of therapy or self-exploration, and this project is definitely an example of this; as I mentioned above, the work stemmed from a friendship at uni and to an extent the imagery reflects my journey of exploring the limitations and boundaries of this relationship. The dynamics of our friendships were complex over the years because the boundary between bromance and homosexuality between the two of us was explored and challenged. 

Subsequently, my physical and emotional experiences with ‘straight’ men has occurred on multiple occasions and I think it does reflect the times we live in; we live in a time where sexuality isn’t demonised to the extent it was even a decade ago. However, on the other hand, with an increase of acceptance, there’s this new territory I think we’re currently exploring where heterosexual men are more comfortable with queer individuals, but because of  ‘toxic masculine’ ideals being deeply rooted into society, a form of internalised homophobia can still prohibit their relationship with queer individuals – whether that be sexual or not. 

Tell me more about some of the people you photographed, their connection to you and one another.

So, the four guys I photographed for this project were studying the same bachelor’s degree as me at Falmouth uni, but funny enough I wasn’t overly close to any of them before the end of our final year. During my interactions with Sam and Matt in particular, I had noticed how their friendship defied the stereotypical male bonds I had observed and researched into, so I approached them about modelling and being fellow photographers were happy to do so. Unlike other straight male friendships, the pair were comfortable to be physically and emotionally intimate with one another yet still very confident in their heterosexual sexuality – I remember finding this friendship inspiring and how this is, or should be, the true representation of masculinity.

It was really lovely to see that over the course of our final year we all became very close friends and I feel this is reflected within the work. Even though the project was founded upon a different relationship, the series also begins to examine my relationship with these guys, and explores not only the boundaries of their own friendships but also their relationship with me; a duality of photographer and subject, but also of queer individual and heterosexual group of ‘lads’. 

Lad culture has also impacted the Queer community in different ways. The fetishisation of ‘lads, scally’s and chavs’ are prominent in porn and dating apps. Why do you think the culture has been adopted in such a sexual way?

I remember during my research for the project and my dissertation (an analysis on Laura Mulvey’s male gaze within contemporary culture), there was an essay which hypothesised that the reason some queer individuals have fetishized masculine men it that, on some subconscious level, it is way of regaining power from their oppressor; stereotypically speaking, lads, scallys and chavs all fit this masculine archetype, and are associated as being homophobic, so it could be argued it is a way queer individuals overcome homophobia they’ve face. I don’t necessarily agree whole-heartedly with the theory, but I think it’s thought provoking and raises questions as to why the queer community objectify and are allured to masculine characteristics and traits. 

I also, think that society on a broader scale idealise and objectify male beauty who appear to have masculine characteristics and attributes - particularly in western culture. With this in mind, it is incredibly difficult to break-down the queer communities’ complex relationship with fetishising masculinity without analysing society’s relationship of beauty and masculinity. 

I grew up attending an all-boys school. Any form of affection or simply caring for another boy you’d be branded as gay and thus the onslaught of insults and demonisation begins. Do you think this embedded part of lad culture means it's hard for those relationships to form?

Yes definitely! This is how the title of the project came to fruition; even though men seem to be more frequently comfortable with each other, there’s a point where it’s too far, “too gay” – and I remember on several occasions where I was in a setting with a group of ‘lads’, and two would be rather intimate before one of them turning around saying “no homo bro”. There always seems to be a degree of resistance when men are too physically or too emotionally intimate with one another, highlighting how ‘toxic masculine’ ideals of male intimacy still seep into society. 

From my own experiences as well, I think the environment and context also plays a massive role in men forming close relationships. For instance, I’m more likely to form conversation or friendship with a ‘lad’ in a 1:1 setting as oppose to being in massive group of guys, because usually in large groups of ‘lads’ a form of animalistic competition to impress others, through humiliation of others, begins to occur. Alcohol and drug use can also be a big contributing factor– men who do so, have lowered inhibitions, so care less about their masculine appearance to society and are therefore happy to confide in one another. 

Do you think it’s gotten better for straight men within lad culture to open themselves up to someone else in a deeply personal way?

Yes, I think it’s definitely improved, men are more likely to open up and confide in others, more than they would have done even 5 to 10 years ago. Within recent years, there has been a massive light shone on gender and sexuality and there’s been numerous really important discussions about the problematic aspects of masculinity, such as self-reliance and emotional repression, and how this can effect people’s mental health and that confiding in other men isn’t a sign of weakness nor negative thing to do.

However, I think that gendered social constructs are so deeply rooted into our society that it’s going to be really difficult to create systemic change when it is built in the foundations of our society. As recent reports have cited, male suicide rate last year was the highest it had been in almost 20 years, highlighting that even with progress in the mental health sector with programmes in place to prevent suicide, there’s still a lot to be done. But I’m an optimist at heart so I believe that with artists, researchers, councillors etc. studying and challenging the gender and sexuality norms, problematic ideals will dilute and factors which can restrict male friendships will deplete. 

Instagram: @ben.ashley.sharp

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“I’m interested in how when an individual or a community is able to represent themselves, the stories they have to share can shake up preconceptions and open up new information about their lives than can be observed by an outsider looking in.”

One of the important roles within photography is being a representative and visual voice for your subject. However, this can sometimes travel a very fine line between exploitation and representation. Anthony Luvera’s practice, on the other hand, demonstrates the representative abilities of photography. Giving autonomy to his subjects, he acts not only as a photographer, but a facilitator and collaborator. Working with his subjects in creating a self-representation that honours, and gives a three dimensional look at who they are, Luvera’s work has positively utilised the photographic medium, bringing attention to various issues and communities, including homelessness and the LGBT+ community. 

Luvera is also recognised for how he documents his projects, highlighting how the research and development stages of a project are more than just background work, and are equally important as - or arguably, more than - the final outcome images. So much so, that the process becomes a vital component of the final body of work, as is evident in Residency, Assembly and Not Going Shopping, to name a few. This documentation gives a real insight into what Luvera and his collaborators explore, giving the viewer a rare and privileged look at more than just the “surface” of the project. “The process of a participatory project or a socially engaged practice, is as important, if not more so, than the finished pieces presented to an audience.”

I caught up with Anthony to dive into representation within collaborative practice, and get an exclusive look at his latest project made in collaboration with Sarah Cromie, She / Her / Hers / Herself. Described as “an evolving portrait of an individual’s experience of gender transition”, it was due to be exhibited at Belfast Exposed in April and May of this year (2020), but like many, was unfortunately put on hold due to the CoronaVirus pandemic, and we look forward to seeing the full project exhibited in 2021.

Alice Turrell (AT): From your body of work Not Going Shopping, to the Young People's Guide to Self-Portraiture for National Portrait Gallery, to your role as a photography educator, you clearly have a passion for facilitating the creative expression of others and collaborating in your work. When and how did you first get interested in this form of photography? 

Anthony Luvera (AL): My practice took a collaborative turn in 2002. I was invited by Crisis, the charity for people experiencing homelessness, to photograph at their annual shelter event over the Christmas period. I declined the invitation saying something about preferring to see what the people I met would take photos of. A short time after this I was doing some consultation work for Kodak on their single use cameras, and I found myself in a position to access a large donation of cameras and processing vouchers. I went back to Crisis and proposed to create a project in their activity centre, Crisis Skylight. It became clear to me that a straight documentary approach wasn’t the only way to tell other people’s stories using photography. Alongside developing this project, I continued to teach photography and facilitate community programmes for community photography projects, museums, galleries and cultural spaces.

AT: Your work often highlights issues and subjects within communities, for example Assembly which is a collaboration with people who have experienced homelessness which was recently exhibited as part of Taking Place, at London’s The Gallery at Foyles. Why is it so vital for communities to be given the chance and space to represent themselves and have their work seen rather than a photographer fully taking charge? 
AL: I think one of the wonderful things about photography is the many different kinds of ways the medium can be used to speak about the world. Early on, when working with people experiencing homelessness, and other groups of people from marginalised or overly-spoken for backgrounds – such as children from lower socio-economic households, people with mental health issues – I quickly realised that their experiences and the things they were interested in saying about their lives were much more interesting, nuanced and enlightening than the stories I could convey on my own. Even when a photographer fully takes charge, as you say, their work is still contingent on a range of contributions by other people – subjects, assistants, technicians, friends and colleagues – and usually this input is hidden and goes unacknowledged. I’m interested in how when an individual or a community is able to represent themselves, the stories they have to share can shake up preconceptions and open up new information about their lives than can be observed by an outsider looking in.

AT: That is a really interesting point to make, there are so many people who are often overlooked who’s work goes into any project other than the photographer.  When it comes to starting up a new collaborative project, what is your initial approach like? Do you find people are quite open and welcoming or cautious? 

AL: When starting a new project, there will always be a number of practical considerations to work with, in relation to things like budgets, resources, and timing. There also will be the agenda of the commissioners, funding bodies and partner organisations to take on board. I think it’s important to have a clear understanding of how these factors will play a part in how I determine the way I conceive the invitation I present to participants. For example, when beginning a project with people experiencing homelessness in Birmingham, I spent around a year or so getting to know the staff and individuals associated with SIFA Fireside, a charity for people experiencing homelessness, before inviting participants to use equipment with me. One of the ways I approach this is to spend time volunteering within the organisation, meeting as many people as I can, and having informal conversations about my plans. You might say this is a kind of consultation. It’s a really useful way for me to find out about how people feel about what I hope to do and to find out the best way to go about it. Some people are curious and enthusiastic, others are not interested, but there’s never any point trying to convince someone to be involved in a project.

AT: Your process and approach seems really considerate, with you flexible and moulding to what you learn from getting to know the participants and situation better. Really letting them guide you in a way.  Do you ever feel that when facilitating people's creativity there is a danger of it becoming exploitative? Or see it in the work of others? If so, how do you avoid this? 
AL: These are really interesting questions you ask. They strike at the ethics of a collaborative practice. I think it’s important to be as clear as you possibly can about the invitation you’re asking people to take part in and to share as much information you have about your intentions, the conversations you have with individuals and organisations that commission, fund or otherwise support the creation of the work, and decisions you make about its realisation and presentation. I think often there can be a misconception that if a project is collaborative, participatory or co-produced in some way, this a good thing in itself. However, it seems to me that questions ought to be asked about the intentions of the artist; the intentions of the participants; and how the power balance of their engagement plays out in the process of making the work.  

AT: Both photographers and audiences can have a tendency to focus on the finished project, the end result, and gloss over the process and journey to get to final pieces. Arguably - especially in participatory projects - the process is more important. What is your stance on this view? And if in agreement, how do you make sure the process is seen? 

AL: I entirely agree with you. The process of a participatory project or a socially engaged practice is as important, if not more so, than the finished pieces presented to an audience. Over time, I came to realise this through my practice and have attempted to represent this in a number of ways. In Residency I included the Polaroids from the creation of the Assisted Self-Portraits and documentation of the participants and me working with each other, alongside the photographs and Assisted Self-Portraits we made. In Assembly, I included screen grabs from the software we used with a laptop tethered to the camera equipment, and audio recordings of conversations between the participants and me when making and editing the work. In other projects such as Not Going Shopping and Let Us Eat Cake, the participants and I created blogs throughout the making of the work. I think it’s interesting to find ways to enable participants to be part of the recording of the process using various kinds of media, so that it’s not just me doing the telling of what happened and how it happened. 

AT: Your work demonstrates perfectly how photography can be a catalyst for social change and awareness. Did it take a lot of experimentation, trial and error to find what works best for you? 

AL: I’ve been working in ways described as collaborative, participatory or socially engaged for eighteen years now, and I have learnt a lot about collaboration through each project. And each project informs the next. In this sense, my practice has been an ongoing experiment of trial and error, and I think this is what keeps me interested in working in the way that I do. 

AT: What advice would you have for photographers interested in pursuing collaborative and participatory bodies of work? 

AT: Listen carefully to the people you work with. Ask questions about what you hope to do with participants, and take on board their answers. Find ways to share decision making with participants. The most important part of any collaborative or participatory body of work, is the relationships you develop with participants and the trust that will hopefully emerge through this. This can’t be faked – certainly it shouldn’t be – and often this takes much more time than you expect. But it can sometimes take you down a different creative path to the one you expected, and this can be an exciting way to learn more about the people you work with, yourself, and your practice. 

I also think it’s important to be aware of other artists and researchers who also explore collaboration and participation, and not just in photography. Get to know about who else is working in this way today and to find out about practices of the past. From the 1970s to the 1990s, photography projects carried out by many individuals and organisations across the country are described as being part of the community photography movement or involving collaboration in many different kinds of ways. Just a few of these people include Jo Spence, Rosy Martin, Judy Harrison, Paul Carter, Andrew Dewdney and Martin Lister. Their practices and writings, and the work of many others, is a rich seam of learning and inspiration to draw from. This is one of the reasons I set up Photography For Whom?. The periodical looks seeks to shine a spotlight on the important yet overlooked work that was done in the past and to generate critical discourse about contemporary practice. 

AT: As an educator, what do you look for most in projects? What, in your eyes, makes a body of work stand out? 

AL: Commitment by the artist to developing the technical, aesthetic, conceptual and ethical basis of the work. This process is often called research, but really it’s a process of experimentation, reading, thinking, and trying things out. It seems to me, even with the apparently simplest idea, when all of these elements are in sync a body of work will stand out.

AT: Are there any up and coming artists or projects you think we should be keeping an eye on? 

AL: There are so many. A few that immediately spring to my mind, including Arpita Shah, Maryama Wahid, and Nilupa Yasmin. Their work was exhibited in the group exhibition Too Rich a Soil, curated by Nicola Shipley, at the New Art Gallery Walsall earlier this year. I really appreciate how each of these artists, in different ways, explores cultural identity and celebrates the roles of women in their families and communities. The work of Dawinder Bansal also made an impression on me recently. I saw her video work Asian Women & Cars: Road to Independence at the Blast! Festival in 2019. It’s a marvellous composition of oral histories, film, photographs and sound that tells the stories about the relationships between South Asian women living in Sandwell and the Black Country, driving, and their cars. It’s a thoughtful piece about cultural identity, patriarchy, and independence. 

AT: Could you tell us about your exciting latest body of work that was meant to be shown in Belfast recently but was placed on hold due to the pandemic? 

This project is called She / Her / Hers / Herself and is made in collaboration with Sarah Cromie. I first met Sarah through the making of Let Us Eat Cake, a collaborative body of work made in 2017 with queer people living in Northern Ireland, commissioned by Belfast Exposed and exhibited in their gallery that year. Sarah began to accept her trans identity around this time and when Let Us Eat Cake culminated we continued to work together. She / Her / Hers / Herself  is comprised of a mixture of elements including images made by Sarah on her mobile phone, and photographs and video we create together. It is an evolving portrait of an individual’s experience of gender transition, the expression of femininity, and the broader changes taking place in Sarah’s life as she establishes a new career as a beautician. An exhibition was scheduled to take place at Belfast Exposed in April and May this year but has been postponed. We are now looking at some time in 2021. 

AT: What is next for you and your practice? 
I’m continuing to develop She / Her / Hers / Herself with Sarah. I’ve also been working on the new issue of Photography For Whom?, which will be out within the next month. And we have some exciting plans for public events and future issues of the periodical. I’m also progressing my work with people experiencing homelessness in Birmingham, commissioned by GRAIN in association with SIFA Fireside. I’m just as excited about exploring issues to do with community, collaboration and representation as I was 18 years ago.

You can see more of Anthony’s work at http://www.luvera.com/

Words and Interview by Alice Sophie Turrell

This article contains image descriptions in the captions to help those with visual impairments.

Max Miechowski transports us to the nostalgic British seaside in A Big Fat Sky

What springs to mind at the mention of the British seaside? Days spent at the beach as a child? The nostalgic noises of arcade games and smells of fish and chips? Or maybe the more recent decline some of these areas have faced? All too often nowadays imagery and reportage focuses on the later, highlighting it as lesser and looked down upon. A Big Fat Sky goes against this frequent narrative, standing up for the beauty and magic the east coast of England has to offer. “Within the documentary tradition this part of the country is so often depicted as tacky or gritty, and as something to be made fun of. I wanted to paint a much softer and more delicate picture, showing that the quirkiness of the British coast is actually very beautiful.” 

With a natural flow, genuine interest, and dreamy aesthetic, the project explores the different layers of the British seaside, celebrating it and capturing the beautiful everyday. It feels like A Big Fat Sky exists in a time somewhere between the past and the present. At first, you can’t quite put your finger on when it was shot as the images are timeless and simultaneously in a dreamy world of their own. 

As well as showing the beauty of the east coast landscape, Miechowski’s body of work provides us with a visual breath of fresh air in a time where it is all too easy to feel trapped, “the coast provides a break for all of us”. Reminding us all of how beneficial it is to not only escape our hectic built up lives, but revel in childhood nostalgia with a more positive outlook. 

Miechowski shares with us the organic process in which A Big Fat Sky came about, his personal pulls to explore this part of Britain, and how he approaches and creates connections with subjects. He also hints at the unfamiliar path his next project is leading him.

What was your aim and intentions behind A Big Fat Sky?

My previous projects were focused heavily on life in London, so I was keen to mix it up a little and get out of the city. I wanted to experience the more open landscapes and the different pace of life that I was used to growing up. I decided to travel along the British east coast with the intention of revisiting holiday spots from my childhood and simply enjoying exploring this part of the country with my camera. I really like to work in this way - picking somewhere to go, and just making images. I find that ideas often come to me whilst shooting, and slowly I can begin to piece the bigger story together.

Your aesthetic and choice of colour palette hints at nostalgia and memory. Do you have a personal and emotional pull to the East Coast of Britain which drove the project?Growing up in Lincolnshire my family would often take trips to Skegness, or little holidays to the Norfolk and Yorkshire coast. My grandad also used to keep an old boat at Southwold. I don’t remember seeing it, but I have pictures of it now. I have a really early memory of a holiday to Wells-Next-The-Sea, fishing for crabs and having my first can of Dandelion & Burdock. It was definitely these memories that inspired me to visit the coast originally, and the contrasts between them and my experiences now that kept me interested in going back.

Something synonymous with the British Seaside as a whole is the idea that it is frozen in time. Both in negative and more nostalgic ways, be it become run down and overlooked or grasping onto its heyday. Your depiction of the East Coast reflects the notion of it being frozen in time, the images feel like they could have been taken today or twenty years ago almost. Was this timeless effect intentional, or organic?

I didn’t specifically intend for the images to feel timeless, but I did want them to feel different to other images I had seen on the coast. Within the documentary tradition this part of the country is so often depicted as tacky or gritty, and as something to be made fun of. I wanted to paint a much softer and more delicate picture, showing that the quirkiness of the British coast is actually very beautiful.

In comparison to London these towns and communities can feel a little like they’re frozen in time, and it may well feel that way long into the future. The coast provides a break for all of us, to get away from the city and to get some fresh air, but to also be reminded of our time as kids when things seemed a little more simple.

The British seaside and the concept of the staycation is more prominent now than ever, do you think from your experience and time spent around the coast that the influx of tourists will pose helpful or detrimental to these coastal communities?

As with the vast majority of places around the world, the global pandemic has impacted life on the East Coast in a variety of ways. Some of these are immediately obvious, while others may become more clear over the coming years. The towns that rely heavily on summer tourism were at first hit hard by the lack of visitors during the lockdown, but then inundated with more than it could accommodate for once it began to lift. A glimmer of hope for these towns is that they will begin to receive a more regular and manageable flow of British holidaymakers in the future, causing a long term boost to the local economy.

How do you intend for the viewer to respond to A Big Fat Sky? Personally, when I see these images I feel a wave of calm and nostalgia, reminiscing my childhood beach holidays along the Suffolk and Norfolk coast. Seeing landscapes that are quite familiar to me. While also on the other hand I note how these familiar backdrops are changing, and falling behind. Is this a response that you intended?

It’s really interesting to hear what you get from the work, and I’m glad that it reminds you of your experiences of the coast. As I mentioned before, I really just wanted to show this part of the country in a different way - I wanted the places and people to look familiar, but for them to feel more like how I remember them as a kid. I really wanted to celebrate the coast and not make fun of it.

A lot of your imagery revolves around portraiture, not just in A Big Fat Sky but also for example your project Burgess Park. How do you approach the subjects? Do you integrate yourself and make deeper connections, or operate as more of an outsider taking a photograph and moving on, so to speak? And does the approach vary from subject to subject/ project to project?

Portraiture is a big part of what I do, and I think it may always play an important role in my practice. My relationship to the subjects varies from person to person, and project to project. I always keep in touch with everyone to an extent - I’ll send them the picture and thank them for their time. Sometimes that will be that, and other times we’ll keep talking for years. Other than friends or family, I hadn’t ever returned to take a portrait of the same person twice. I was always more interested in serendipitous moments, where I would bump into someone at just the right time, and everything would come together perfectly. The idea of going back and trying to create a moment with someone somehow felt disingenuous and uncomfortable to me. I am currently working on something new where this isn’t the case, and I have been taking multiple pictures of one person in particular. I’ve formed a really good relationship with him, and I can see now how this way of working can really help to tell a deeper story.

Where did the name A Big Fat Sky come from?

It’s from the first line of a poem by John Cooper Clarke, called ‘Our Coastal Poem’. It’s a lovely poem and sums up a lot of the ideas of the project. After photographing a lot in London, the title really summed up my experience of shooting on the coast.

What is next for both this project and yourself?

Whilst making this work I came across another story that I’m currently working on. I loosely touched on it within this project, but I felt like it needed more focus and much more time to really do it justice. I see it as a book project, which is exciting as it will be my first one. I’m keeping it quite close to my chest for the time being, as it’s still evolving a lot. I’m enjoying doing more research and revisiting people and places multiple times, rather than just gliding through as I have before. It feels good. I think it’s a step in the right direction.

To see more of Max’s work, visit https://maxmiechowski.com/

Words and Interview by Alice Sophie Turrell

This article contains image descriptions in the captions to help those with visual impairments.

Hidden within an abandoned cinema, families live side by side as a result of the 1988 conflict between Azerbaijan and Armenia. Photographer Alessandro Perchiazzi spent time with documenting their lives and hearing their stories and produced his project, In Limbo.

Can you tell us more about what drove you to make this body of work?

I travelled through Azerbaijan for one month in September 2019 to conduct my research trip. I was fascinated by the strong sense of ambiguity I felt when I first visited the country. In the city centre of the capital Baku there has been a massive investment into its modernisation and yet it doesn’t take much to see its outstanding level of poverty. I was also fascinated by the fact that as many other ex-soviet republics, Azerbaijan holds one of the lowest places in the ranking of the human rights watch. Initially I wanted to collect multiple personal stories creating a narrative based on my first impressions. However, when I went to Sumgayit, Azerbaijan’s third largest city I met three internally displaced families living in an abandoned cinema for decades. I realised that the issue of the Nagorno-Karabakh frozen conflict is incredibly relevant to the past and present of Azerbaijani identity. To me it was just remarkable how united these families are. Despite being forced from their homes, they have managed to build their nests in the cinema whilst waiting for the conflict to end and being able to return home. I believe the issue of displacement is as relevant now as it is ever been before and what draws me the most into this work is the resilience showed by the families despite living in such ambiguous conditions.

The families are displaced as a result of Nagorno-Karabakh frozen conflict, can you elaborate more about the conflict?

The 1988 war conflict between Azerbaijan and Armenia caused the displacement of over 600.000 ethnic Azeris. Those affected are from Nagorno-Karabakh and seven surrounding districts which have been taken over by Armenian troops. This figure also includes ethnic Azeris from Armenia, all of which have been forced to flee to Azerbaijan. Although a minority achieved good living standards, others are still in a limbo; waiting to return to their homes. While the peace process between Armenia and Azerbaijan is still in stall, many have been occupying unfinished or abandoned buildings.

The images focus on the living conditions and also a sense of dread felt in the eyes of the families there. How did you go about making these images with the families?

During my research trip I met the families and spent with them few days. On my return I instantly decided to go back and spend longer with them. Whilst living in a room next to the cinema, I would spend almost every day with the families. Despite being a privileged outsider, I was welcomed and allowed to be part of many family dynamics which unfolded before me and my camera. At first, I didn’t immediately used my camera. It was important to me to establish a relationship in order to photograph. While sharing meals and stories during my time with them I tried to understand what it is like to be forced away from home. Eventually, everyone felt quite comfortable with me and the camera. 

I was able to observe their inner strength which allowed them to coexist with their predicament and witness their somewhat optimistic outlook towards their future. 

Are there any particular stories you heard which resonated with you?

Perhaps the one that resonates with me the most is that of Abulfaz, the man drinking tea. Abulfaz has managed to find a job as a security guard now and he and his wife Konul have two children. When he fled Qubadli, one of the districts taken over by Armenian troops, he lived in Russia and Ukraine for 20 years. In doing so he now has a Russian passport and because of this the Azerbaijani government does not grant him a full citizenship. Consequentially he and his family are not allowed to receive any help in their relocation until further notice.

The portrait of the young man in red is really striking. His eyes tell so much of what he is going through. Can you tell me more about his story?

The young man in red is Murad. Murad is now 14 years old and he was born in the cinema after his parents moved in it in 1998. He is one of the people whom I bonded the most with. Even though we would always need a translator to communicate, Murad would often sneak away from his family to share a cigarette with me or invite me over for some tea. Murad to me represents the strongest of all, a really decent kid who shows a unique inner strength.

What is the future for these people? Is there any support to get them into safer places to live?

Out of the three families, only one has been offered relocation which it should happen by the end of the year. None of them receives help from the government and they are all self-reliant but of course that still mean remaining poor. The main hope for them is the end of the war and the possibility of returning to their homes.

DARWIN is happy to announce a new FREE mentorship program. Lasting 6 months and taking on 5 photographers, the mentorship will support photographers at key stages in their career. Led by our editor Harry Rose who has 10 years experience in the creative industry from commissioning photography to launching global branded content led campaigns with some of the world most recognisable brands. The mentorship will cover portfolio support for both personal and professional work as well as help with commissions and pitching your work for paid jobs. 

We recently caught up with Harry to find out more behind the mentorship and what to expect.

Hey Harry, what made you want to launch a mentorship program?

Hello! It has been on the cards a long time since wanting to bring Darwin back. Since COVID19 and lockdown, I’ve been in contact with so many creatives who’ve been hit really hard yet they were able to just get by. Thinking about the photographers who were early career and then being hit by this pandemic, my heart really went out to them. It’s not easy in photo land, even without a global pandemic. Everything stopped, and I wanted to do something which would help move things along for some photographers. It also felt right as I’ve just finished up an 19 month contract where I was representing photographers as an agent and producer, I really want to keep that side of my life going as I find it really rewarding being the person behind the scenes making things work.

What can people expect from the mentorship?

They can certainly expect a lot of support and weekly catch ups with myself. I will be providing insight into help with editing work, putting projects together as well as opening doors where I can. People can expect some special industry guests to give one off portfolio reviews and I will be working closely with each photographer to help secure paid work as well as commissions. Throughout the 6 months, I expect each photographer to go in different directions and I’m really looking forward to seeing how we can work together to help out in uncertain and challenging times in the creative world. 

What are you looking for from a photographer when taking on a mentorship role?

I’m looking for people who have a drive and are passionate. Also for photographers whose work and approach I connect with and feel I can help with. I wouldn’t mentor any photographer out there, I would have to be able to visualise being able to get them meetings, paid work ect. Seeing that raw potential with the right support and resources they’d be able to achieve what they want to under the 6 months. 

If the photographer has had paid work in the past and won awards, should they still apply?

Absolutely. Even though I’m looking for an early career, if they have won awards and secured paid work, I’d still want to hear from them and see how I can help.

This mentorship is for photographers only. If you'd like to be considered for the program, email your portfolio and a brief statement of where you want to take your creative practice to : Harry@darwinmagazine.co.uk

Applicants will be selected based on where they are in their career and knowledge that our team can bring to your progression as a creative.

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Once a year, in the dusty beaten plains of Almonte, Southern Spain a tradition over 500 years old takes place. Proud cowboys saddle up, squint under the beating summer sun and ride across the landscape, looking for their prize. The prize itself, over 1,000 horses which are owned by the men yet live freely in the wild spaces of Almonte’s national park. 

This tradition allows the men to connect with one another at their camps in the evenings, drinking, playing guitars and singing songs, setting scenes which jump our brains to imagery from classic westerns. Documentary photographer Foggitt took part in one of their round ups in his project titled Yeguerizos - The Horsemen of Almonte.

Horses play a huge part of day to day life, Foggitt explains how the bars themselves are the same height as a horses mounted saddle, so you can enjoy your cool beverage without leaving your trusty steeds back. This connection to animals and landscape is one to be celebrated, which is felt within Foggitt’s photographs which themselves feel like an open love letter to tradition and a level of respect for this way of life, and those who keep it alive. We see young and old men, horses charging towards the camera, men laying on the earth together tired from what can be back breaking work. These photographs feel not only a documentation of tradition, but a celebration of it, with warmth and respect bouncing from image to image. 

The purpose of this great ride out to find all of the men's horses isn’t just to have a good time with your friends on horseback. All of the horses once herded up are led back into town and rushed through the streets as locals clap and celebrate the sight of 1000 horses thundering past their homes. Once the applause dies down, the horses are either branded according to who owns them, manes are cut back and some are sold to those who wish to purchase. When all business is done, the horses are led back into the wilds, left safe to graze and live until the next round up begins in a years time. 

See more of Leon's work here - https://www.leonfoggitt.com/

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Drawing influences from the classics, Alecsandra Dragoi approaches subjects falling under the subject of documentary photography from both distant yet intimate positions. There is an urge to penetrate but also a strong restraint to not come too close to the point of attachment, that way creating a safe clear space amongst both sides of the story. Personal backgrounds have no trouble coming forth though: this series of portraits, each speaking from its own experience, constituting parts of a bigger picture, that of rural life and whatever comes along with it. And though “banality” would probably be the wrong definition, no other word could catch the essence of such circumstances. 

Alecsandra Dragoi’s “Ritual” is set in Romaina’s countryside, by most considered to be the heart and soul of its old tradition, “where peasant culture remains a strong force and medieval life prevails”. Divided in two parts, it tends to document and pass through such occurrences, traditionally stuffed with strange meanings and symbols from another era. At first it attempts to introduce the “bear culture” concept via citing the differentiation between man’s masculinity versus the femininity found in the women’s costumes. Secondly, it digs deeper; what’s the benefit of all this? It must have some kind of impact on people’s everyday lives, outside the period these traditions take place. Alecsandra yet comes off with this: “they evoke death but bestow fertile life.” And she’s right, considering the fact that these occurrences all happen in a modern era with no clue as to why, other than paying tribute to old customs. The whole thing is a celebration of the sheer existence of any for of animal instinct left and found in today’s mechanical way of life. 

“Accompanied by their Gypsy trainer and a youth beating a tambourine-type instrument, the animals crawl through the crowd. Reaching the centre, they perform a dance until eventually, the bears fall dead on the ground. After their hearts are taken by the trainer, they return to life: theoretically, a more gentle one. Even today, more bears exist in Romania’s Carpathian Mountains than any other place in Europe and this ancient rite siggets the power of man to take nature.” 

Go through Alecsandra’s body of work and you’ll find plenty of scenes of such instances. A somehow picturesque aggregation of moments documented with high concern and serious affection. Having recently graduated from the University of Portsmouth and with not few awards/exhibitions already on her side (she recently won first place at Sony World Photography Awards 2013), the now 21 year old UK resident Alecsandra has quite a bright future in front of her. “Ritual” has turned into a photography book with the help of the IdeasTap arts charity and also on its way is “Success Without Borders”, another one of her projects - in a way quite autobiographical. Having left Romania herself, her projects deeply explore notions of migration while honoring Romania’s rich tradition, always through a nostalgic touch and an ever evolving interest to experience its offerings. Why not join her? 

Words - Panagiotis Meletis / Volume Six, European Photography: Looking for the Black-box

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The title of Nicholas Albrecht’s first monograph has been respectfully poached from the 1926 novel of the same name by Italian writer Luigi Pirandello. In it, Pirandello (1926) elaborated about the decomposition of life and the deconstruction of the self through his central character Vitangelo (whose name can be translated as ‘life of an Angel’). After being led to the edge of madness Vitangelo finally arrives at a state of inner peace, no longer desiring anything and endeavouring to follow life moment by moment with no history or past to weigh him down. 

The initial heavily vignetted photograph of a young boy posing in his school uniform alerts us to the possibility of a work centred on the idea of identity. The clear lack of a school tie and tightly collared shirt suggests a constrictive lack of care, or perhaps poverty. Is this the forced smile of the author, a found image or an early snap of his Salton Sea subjects? Having spent three months getting to know the community before he started to photograph has resulted in some tentative and respectful portraits. This is the respect of an outsider whose place in the community is new and uncertain. 

In effect Albrecht is presenting to us the result of an organic process. The fictional essay that acts as a forward and introduction to the book follows and summarises, what we must assume is Albrecht’s introduction to Salton Sea and his subsequent 10 month stay there. The story  an he read as a subtext to the images as it eloquently seeks to extrapolate from the chaotic flow of photographs a narrative of Albrecht’s experiences. 

This is quite useful as the various visual styles, consisting of intentionally constructed scenes, composted portraits, documentary and tonal landscape studies, initially confuse the senses as we struggle to find a place to situate Albrecht’s work. This ambiguity only adds to the unsettling nature of the disparate and chaotic flow of content that appears more like a visual puzzle we are being challenged to solve. 

There is also an unsettling psychological tension to the work that hints at an implied violence. Absence and silence permeate the pages giving the work a sense of uncertainty and mystery. The double spread of impenetrable black hills set against a dark blue starless night sky informs us of the solitary nature of the desert, a place devoid of the extraneous. Here there are only the hopes of a young girl pinned to the wall as a statement of intent, harshly lit by desert sun; here the vegetation looms like a crazed animal as the landscape conspires to engulf you in its moisture bereft soil; here are only flies, snakes, insanity and death, and a community held together by God and the threads of shred experience. 

Albrecht seeks to break down the superficial and familiar through presenting his narrative as a series of seemingly dislocated images. In contrast to Vitangelo chasing his true self through reason alone, Albrecht hints at the absurdity of constructing an idea of place through obvious or over representation and presents the liberating irrationalism of his narrative as an antidote to reason and a guide to the unravelling of self. Recall the young boy confined in a tie-less school uniform compared to the final image: a brooding young teen, bare-chested and psychologically dark but stripped of pretence and captured in the hard contrast of harsh desert window light. The filters of our pre-conditioned selves, in some way like the window blind, no longer act to prevent the revealing of the true, and somewhat terrifying, raw inner self. 

Albrecht’s work impels you to look again as, like a mirage, the images ebb and flow, sometimes obvious, sometimes not, weaving together a narrative of tension of place and belonging, of isolation and emptiness, of ordinary lives bleached bare by the scorched and hostile landscape. These images are arranged to cut through falsely reassuring outer appearances to reveal a more internal and disquieting process of self-withdrawal and the questioning of identity and place. Compared to the ubiquitous and cliched arty snaps of water engulfed telegraph poles and aesthetic decaying trailer homes, Salton Sea has never looked so interesting. 

Nicholas Albrecht: One No One and One Hundred Thousand

Printed by Schilt Publishing 

ISBN: 9789053308219

19X24cm Hardcover 84 pages 

£35 

Volume Seven: Analysing the Evidence

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“We can never have enough of nature. We must be refreshed by the sight of inexhaustible vigor, vast and Titanic features, the sea-coast with its wrecks, the wilderness with its living and its decaying trees, the thunder cloud, and the rain which lasts three weeks and produces freshets. We need to witness our own limits transgressed, and some life pasturing freely where we never wander.”

— Henry David Thoreau, "Walden"

Our core connection with nature has been with us since our ancestors first took steps the sunlight and examined the world around them. Yet in 2020, you won't be wrong for thinking that our respect, care and duty to wild spaces has somewhat been depleted. Through consumerism, profit and hollowing out the ground beneath us, it can be argued that we have lost sense of the true power and resolve of the wilds. With this in mind, Luke Browns project 'Wooded Heights' documents and explores the ecosystem of the ancient Caledonia forest and Grampian Mountains of the Cairngorms National Park in Scotland.

The Caledonia Forest is not special just because it's a wild space that has been relatively untouched by man. It's special because it's a natural species to Scotland. With many forests across the UK being American imports, this ecosystem boasts its own conifers, pines and birch which have been dwelling in the Scottish wild lands longer than we have. With this in mind, Brown's work reminds us the importance of these natural spaces, photographing them with care and respect. Spanning forests, giant mountains covered in snow, the work feels like a love letter to mother nature. A beckoning call that these places are important and need our protection.

With the climate crisis growing out of our control each day, these photographs may become a living testament to what was there, how they once looked. Lost in time, yet preserved within a photograph.

See more of Luke Brown's work here - http://www.brownluke.com/

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As babies, Alex and his twin brother Harry were unable to see. Stumbling around their tiny worlds, unable to communicate that they were living in a blurry world. The It Stares Back explores this time in their lives, as well as the relationship between two identical twins and their own self identity. Far too often, the rhetoric with identical twins is how they think the same, act the same, are the same. Forming your own sense of self with this additional pressure from the outside world is challenging, a challenge which The It Stares Back explores in forensic set pieces. 

The It Stares Back leans on the theory that in the first 18 months of a child's life, they are autonomous with their environment, simply living with no sense of self. Inspired by the psychoanalysis Jacques Lacan who coined the term ‘The Mirror Stage’ , which is given the early stages of a child’s journey to self expression and finding one's identity, Colley’s work explores the sense of self and vision, in a staged and archival series of images which digs at the question, what makes us, us? Is it how we see ourselves? How do others see us? How does vision and our understanding of the world around us from formative years impact on the adult?

Within Lacan’s theory, he pushes the narrative that even we are detached from ourselves and what it is to be human, simply playing out human characteristics yet being detached from our early, original programming. With this in mind, Colley’s work feels like it is trying to connect to being human and a relationship with his twin, whilst also pushing forward with this clear visual identity of the self. 

The work itself is a performance, with Colley both behind and infront of the camera, creating cinematic stills which feel like they’ve been lifted straight out of a Stanley Kubric or David Lynch feature. Although Harry is not seen in the project apart from archival imagery, it is easy for the mind to be tricked into thinking Harry is appearing without us realising (Colley assures me it's only him in the portraits). 

To me, there is also an underlying darkness to this work. The giant machines used to test our vision, encompassing the subject seem brutal and unforgiving, I’m reminded of images of twins during 1940s Nazi Germany where the Nazi fascination of twins and their ability to combat diseases, led by Josef Mengele were carried out. Perhaps this isn’t Colley’s intention, yet through screaming faces, a clear discomfort, these ideas are brought forward. 

With these images which seem distressing, perhaps Colley and his twin battling with machines of vision to find their own self, that sense of breaking a mould, pushing, gnawing and clawing his way out if a pre-prescribed reality, The It Stares Back poses more questions than answers when it comes to our each unique individuality and how our vision of our surround informs us, which any good photographic work should do. These questions are left open, like a beading eye through the lens of a camera,  scanning the world around itself, processing the information. 

See more of Colley's work here - https://www.alexcolley.co.uk/