archived2015

Giant

Text and photography by Patrick La Roque

We’ve rented a small cozy apartment on Via Tolemaide—a few minutes walk away from the Vatican—which means every day we navigate the street vendors, the ticket scalpers and the lumbering hordes crowding the sidewalk, inching towards the gates for hours on end, rain or shine. 

This morning it’s our turn. We booked a skip the line tour and we’re glad we did: some thirty-thousand visitors will enter today—a veritable circus; a gigantic, awe-inspiring, sweat-laced circus.

Tour guides walk around with flags held at arm's length so each group can follow its leader, but the human tide is relentless and we get separated more than once. You can’t even fight it: you just ride, lost in rooms and corridors bursting at the seams with frescos and paintings, massive sculptures above you, others just scattered around the floors like bargain items at a flea market. Museum and warehouse all in one—like some vault waiting for the end of days.

In Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel we’re herded like sheep, security guards shouting “No pictures!”, “Silence!”, “Move!” every thirty seconds. It’s downright military. And that picture ban? It’s not about reverence or respect: a japanese TV network owns the rights to any visual representation of the chapel. Part of a deal made when it was last restored; Yeah, money makes the world go ’round… The things you learn.

But it’s still grandiose and terrifying, and beautiful and excessive. Four hours spent wading through two thousand years of human achievement, cramed into every corner. When we end our tour at St-Peter’s Basilica, we feel microscopic, dwarfed by the gold, the stone and the towering dome. 

And as we leave, we welcome the rain.
We most certainly welcome the rain.

Obsession

“obsession
əbˈsɛʃ(ə)n/
noun - the state of being obsessed with someone or something.”

PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY KEVIN MULLINS

Every March, they march.  From every corner of the globe they trot.  

It's the "World Cup" of horse racing, they say.  Something like 50,000 people each day, for four days, pass through the doors of the famous Cheltenham Race course for the festival.  10,000 of those travel from Ireland.

It's an emphatic collection of souls, sods and lucky ladies.  Broke men, happy lads and tic tac hand signals litter the side tracks and walk ways.

One thing remains constant throughout the day; the obsessiveness of humanity but all a gallimaufry.  A £2.50 bet or a £10,000 accumulator yields the same anxious faces.  Nervous sups of beer, twitching hands lighting cigarettes until the first horse crosses the line.

And then.

And then, for a small amount of equine trustees, arms in the air, pats on backs and deep swigs of the drinks at hand before collecting their loot.

For the rest, the obsession continues.  And continues.

 

Camping for Education

PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY BERT STEPHANI

Flanders, the North part of Belgium, has a good and affordable public school system. That is: if you can get your child in. A lot of schools struggle with too little capacity for too many kids. And in more and more establishments, the only way to get your son or daughter in, is to camp at the school’s gate long before registrations open for the next year. My twelve year old son is very much looking forward to start high school in september, but to make that happen I had to go through the camping ordeal myself.

Last year people started to queue around midnight, so my plan was to drive by the school to check the situation the evening before registration. But at ten in the morning I received a phone call from a friend who told me that if I wanted my son in, I’d better jump in my car. I dropped everything and rushed out. Generally the atmosphere was relaxed as everyone present at that point was pretty sure to get their kid in. As the hours progressed more and more people, armed with sleeping bags, tents, camping chairs and food started to occupy the sidewalk. Food and drinks were shared with friends and strangers while laughter filled the air. 

As the sun set, the atmosphere stayed pleasant but some paranoia began creeping in. None of us knew the exact number of places available but we could guess by looking at the crowd that most spots would be filled by now—yet more people kept arriving. The first person in the queue had started a list and we all agreed that it was only fair to enter in the order in which we'd arrived. But would the latecomers respect this? Every parent knows how far a mother or father can go to get the best for his or her child.

 

Around midnight the temperature dropped to just above freezing and most retreated to their sleeping bags, trying to get at least a bit of uncomfortable sleep. After only a couple of hours, people started to get up, in desperate need to get their blood circulation going again. It was collectively decided to start lining up according to the order of the list. New people kept arriving and you could see some of them evaluating their options to bypass the queue; but people who have been waiting for a long day and a cold night can be a menacing crowd so luckily, none of the latecomers took the risk of being lynched. 

Eventually we were let in and one by one, we orderly registered our kids. I was exhausted but very happy I got my son in. The effort had paid off but I couldn’t help feeling sorry for all those people who would be told the school was full. My son got in because I have the freedom to arrange my own agenda, the local friends to let me know when the queuing started, the physical ability to endure a cold night and friends and family who brought me hot drinks and took care of the kids. But how would you do it if you were a single mom with three kids, had a boss who wouldn't let you take time off and nobody to help out?

I don’t blame the school or even the bastard who decided to start that line at eight in the morning. But I do blame politicians who don’t look further than the next elections. 

Behind The Scenes: On The Trail of Sub Bass

Setting up on the road, the production crew is very busy. A very cool unfinished bridge in the city of Odense is the venue.

BY FLEMMING BO JENSEN

I recently published the On The Trail of Sub Bass story here on KAGE. Join me as we go behind the scenes on the 25 image essay.

The "Bas under Buen" event itself is a classic in Copenhagen, and celebrated it's 5th year in 2014. It draws tens of thousands of people. I have photographed the event in Copenhagen several years in a row. This year was different though, this year for the first time, the whole show and concept was to hit the road and shake the foundation of the 4 biggest cities in Denmark with sub bass. I and my partner Charlene Winfred were hired to shoot all 4 events. What follows, are scattered thoughts from the road.  

Just before the first event is about to begin, packing my Fuji X-T1, Fuji X-Pro1 and perfect hair - image by Charlene Winfred.

Saturday 12th of July 2014

We show up about an hour before the event starts to say hi to everyone, friends and familiar faces and reunions, many people I have not seen for almost a year. The production crew is working furiously to finish the setup, for us photographers there is not much to do. Yet. Shooting the event for the third time means I have to think more creatively to avoid repeating myself too much. But, I also need to cover every artist. The location lends itself well to some fantastic images, the highway overpass has a grungy look that makes for a perfect roof of leading lines in the images. 

The Copenhagen event goes as planned and is epic as always. The last hour or so featuring 10,000+ people raving under a highway overpass is always a very impressive sight from behind the DJ booth. Towards the end the event is so overwhelming, the crowd so intense, the music and bass so loud - that it is easy to get carried away, forget everything about content and composition and create crap images. I have to listen carefully and get in groove with the crowd and music, but at the same time I also have to block it out whenever I shoot.

There is one big change from the previous couple of years - it rains! It lends a different more gritty atmosphere to the event and creates some nice situations of people raving in the rain. It also means the photographers get absolutely soaked when they ride their bicycles home after the event. 

Normally, this would be it for Bas Under Buen - not this time, because one week later we do this:

A bus full of artists and crew, on our way to the first gig on the road.

Saturday 19th of July 2014

"The future, always so clear to me, had become like a dark highway at night. We are in uncharted territory, making up history as we go along."
- Sarah Connor.

Well sort of. We're not hunted by a Terminator but taking this show on the road is indeed uncharted territory, and the world may very well experience Judgment Day when the sub-bass kicks in around the country! 

It's 10am and all artists, photographers and some crew are piled in a bus heading towards the town of Odense. 10am is an early roll call for musicians, and some of the guys nearly miss the bus. The rest of us get to sit and laugh as they struggle to catch up on bicycles.

We are all tired but excited. And slightly anxious. Will anyone show up at all? Does this event have a life outside of Copenhagen? We have no idea. 

Summer has kicked in, finally. It's a warm sunny day and as we arrive at the Odense site an hour before the event starts, our fears are silenced. There are already people here hanging out. Slowly, people arrive during the afternoon and bask in the sun, soaking up the rays and the sub bass.  Turnout is good and the crowd is into it. I have a proper diva my-ego-stroked moment when people in the crowd recognize me and say nice things about my pictures.

Later in the day, the sun dips below the bridge and shines through sand kicked up in the air by the dancing crowd, lending everyone a golden halo. The night creeps in and brings darkness, the proper light and setting for this event. The music intensifies and the crowd responds. Submit to the sub bass, there is no place to hide. This works, taking this show on the road actually works!

A completely normal view inside the bus. Image by Charlene Winfred.

Friday 25th of July 2014

We are driving further, to Aarhus the 2nd largest city in Denmark, so we are leaving earlier today. Amazingly enough, everyone shows up on time. The bus ride is a blur. Everyone is tired. The fun happens when we arrive in Aarhus and discover the 2nd largest city in Denmark is doing road construction on half the inner city roads. Our bus driver swears and breaks a lot of traffic laws getting us to our hotel. He's a proper bass pirate too, living entirely on coffee and pipe tobacco.  

Eventually we manage to get checked-in and our driver swears some more and gets us to the event site at the harbour. It's quite a setting but it is wide open, on gravel, with nowhere to sit and chill. What little crowd has arrived is getting toasted by the sun and walking further away to find something non-gravel to sit on. I shoot a few images here and there to cover all the artist but it's clear the good shots will be coming around sunset at 9pm and later. 

One of the transport vans is parked behind the stage. It will be a great platform to stand on and capture an overview of the scene. I figure my non-existent parkour skills will be plenty to get me on top of the van. As gravity betrays me, I just manage to think 'alcohol may have played a part in my judgment', I come crashing down with my arm under me, bending two ribs and causing a fair bit of pain. As I dust myself off, master electrician Johan (clearly knowing more about gravity than me) comes running over with a ladder. I need a new ribcage too, and my ego repaired.

Apart from not being able to breathe well, the ending is especially epic here in Aarhus. A ship in the background has a huge search light turned on, making for some dramatic scenes. I have my ladder and climb carefully onto the van. Mission accomplished, with bruised ribs and ego. 

Saturday 26th of july 2014

After we got back to the hotel last night we had to backup all our cards and charge all batteries. That and the fact that our hotel is right smack on the biggest party street in Aarhus, it's hot and there's no aircon - meant sleep was a luxury not included in the room price. Oh yeah, my ribs hurt too. Life on the road is hard for a grumpy old man! 

We wake up early—well, we were hardly sleeping in the first place. Today the sub bass bus show will take us to Aalborg. I'm tired but quite excited about this. It is close to where I was born and part of my family have agreed to drop by and be exposed to the bass. 

We arrive in Aalborg with time to spare, so we walk around the city a bit. I used to go to school here when I was a young 17-year-old IT-geek. I have not seen the town in decades. It looks a lot nicer now, they really re-did the city center and harbour area well. We have lunch at Jensen's Bøfhus (steakhouse), you cannot get anymore authentic Aalborg than that.

Aalborg is notorius for being rock-oriented but there is a surprising number of people at our event. The stage is under the famous brige 'Limfjordsbroen', the crowd is baking in the sun and really getting into the beats and the bass. The mannequin doll leg turned beer bong is proving especially popular here in Aalborg. The best moment is when most of my family drop by to say hi to us. 

The evening is a blur. Time seems to have stalled. Tired. I am so tired by now. Ribs hurt. I also have a feeling of deja-vu, like I have shot every image I shoot already. Need. Sleep. Now. That subwoofer suddenly looks very comfortable. Just a little nap. The sub bass will rock me to sleep.

POST TOUR 

At the hotel the next morning, most of the crew meet up over breakfast. The tour was a success and people are happy but tired. Dead tired. We all agree that we need to sleep for a week and not hear any bass at all for a while.

My cameras performed a lot better than I did. I always use a setup of two cameras, wide angle such as the 14mmF2.8 or 23mmF1.4 on one of them, the 35mmF1.4 or 56mmF1.2 on the other. I love working with this setup, light weight, fast, low light awesomeness. The cameras did not miss one beat on the entire tour.  

It is the first tour I have worked for. The shooting does become repetitive on day 3 and 4, and the pile of images to develop stressed me out - my old laptop is as grumpy as the owner when I feed it this many images. Overall, it was a great gig and lots of fun with awesome people and music. I am happy and proud to have been part of the very first Bas Under Buen tour in Denmark, bringing the bass to the people. The crew and artists do an amazing job: this is not a U2 style armada of people - this a small crew and hard working volunteers that made this a success. And thanks most of all to all the people who showed up and raved!

Mikael is the audio wizard and the reason the Funktion One system sounds so awesome. He also gets to sit down, lucky bastard!

Armed with a 56mm Charlene Winfred stalks us all from above.

Beer is served in the background while DJ E.D.D.E.H. drops bass-bombs on the crowd, in Aalborg.

Tim Driver, DJ and member of the Ohoi! crew behind the events leads a bunch in crew members and volunteers, clearly all of them working quite hard at this point at the Odense event!

Speaking of working hard, here is yours truly working on some new moves and award winning documentary images at the same time! 
I'm here to shoot, but when the bass grabs you, you gotta dance! Don't ask me what my wrist is doing.  Image by Charlene Winfred.

The dancing backstage is as epic as it is in front of the stage.

DJ Tim Driver drops the last tune of the night, the crew celebrates a successful event by doing the One Finger Pointing Bass Dance.

A massive thank you to all the ravers. See you next year.

Alizarine Frida

Photography and text by Vincent Baldensperger

"- Tu t'appelles comment ? 
- Marie 
- Marie comment ? 
- Marie A."

Marie a les cheveux rouges 
et c'est leur couleur naturelle…

Marie n'est pas une coiffeuse, Marie a l'âme d'une artiste,
le regard flamboyant lorsque l'on évoque Frida Kahlo. 
Ne cherchez ni le détail ni l'artifice ordinaire, 
traversez le miroir sans retenue 
vous êtes l'invité de son cabinet de curiosité capillaire 
où se marient objets, symboles et bestiaire silencieux. 
Passions, histoires et contes d'autrefois réunis autour de quatre murs...

Derrière le rouge flambeau souffle une voix sucrée, 
vous êtes un enfant, Marie saura vous apprivoiser.

"-What's your name?
- Marie
- Marie who?
- Marie A."

Marie has red hair
& it's her natural colour...

Marie isn't a hairdresser, Marie has the soul of an artist,
her eyes burn with fire when someone mentions Frida Kahlo.
Do not look for the mundane or the ordinary,
walk through the looking glass without hesitation
you've been invited to her cabinet of curios
where objects, symbols and silent bestiaries collide.
Passions, stories and ancient lore within four walls...

Behind the red torch a sweet voice whispers,
you are a child
Marie will tame you.

 

Everything Powerful

By Patrick La Roque

LAROQUE-wheel-01.jpg

There’s little doubt that 2015 will be considered a dark year in the long history of the venerable World Press Photo association. This week’s Charleroi incident—culminating in the withdrawal of the prize for violation of the rules—was nothing less than a series of blunders and incomprehensible decisions that have severely tainted the organization’s credibility. 

I published the text below on my own blog earlier this week amidst a landscape that kept changing every single day: a press release was first issued confirming the prize in spite of the town’s allegations of staging; then a clarification was added to explain why staging had been accepted in this particular case, to many photographers’ dismay; the case was then reopened following even more damning accusations of falsification of events; the decision was overturned and the prize revoked after it was found that one of the images in the essay hadn’t been shot in the city of Charleroi, despite indications to the contrary.

Given our group’s vocation, the importance of these events and the fact that the text was also a follow-up to an article which can be found on this very blog, it felt logical to publish it here as well now that the final verdict has been rendered. The text below is reprinted in full including the updates that were added as the case evolved.

We feel very strongly about the importance of non-intervention in a documentary context and the distinction between journalistic work and visual storytelling. There must be a clear delineation between what is real and what is fiction. Both have their place in our visual world but their identity must be clear at all times. As the saying goes: we’re allowed our own opinions but we’re not allowed our own facts.

If you’re interested in what I consider the definitive response to this entire story, former WPP chair Jim Colton has published his thoughts on the matter in an open letter. It should be required reading for anyone pursuing this line of work.

NOTE: This post was written before World Press Photo rendered its verdict on March 1. Their decision stands and they accept that this work is indeed a fiction and that the staging of the images was part of the photographer’s process. In many ways I find it liberating to see an acceptance of new, less factual forms of storytelling and Troilo explains the work as being a metaphor, which is exactly what I speak about in the following text. That being said, I see no mention of this symbolic approach anywhere the story appears officially; On the WPP website I still see it being presented as a straight up photo-journalistic reportage. And the statement issued by the WPP on the matter is in my opinion beyond strange and confusing given their rules and usual stance. If change is indeed coming it needs to be transparent. If a photographer is waxing poetic for the sake of argument and art it needs to portrayed as such.

Tragedy sells. Tragedy yields awards.

A few months ago I wrote a post entitled On Visual Truth, for Kage Collective’s Chronicle blog. Today I’d like to revisit the subject in light of something I read over the weekend: the latest potential scandal surrounding yet another winner of the World Press Photo awards. At issue this time isn’t manipulation or doctoring of the images after the fact, but the much more insidious staging of events, something quite similar to the Pellegrin/The Crescent confusion in 2012. I’m not taking sides here or accusing anyone of anything. I do however see an ongoing pattern in the mere existence of these very similar situations.

Here’s the gist of it: The Dark Heart of Europe—the winning essay in the contemporary category by photographer Giovanni Troilo—is being challenged by the mayor of the town of Charleroi, the Belgian city at the centre of the photo series. Basically, he’s calling bull%# on the entire gloomy portrayal and asking for the prize to be revoked.

Regardless of intentions or where this eventually ends up, I think there’s a reason we’re seeing this sort of problem year after year: we’ve built an environment that essentially rewards nothing but drama at varying levels of intensity. So we can’t be surprised by the temptation to twist reality in order to fit the competitive mold, to assign some deeper meaning when the truth isn’t “interesting” enough to warrant a judging panel’s scrutiny. To compete, the photographer’s world has to be a hard and cruel place or envelop hope in utter darkness, that it may shine a little brighter when the curtain is lifted; to be considered, photography needs to elevate the everyday into the heroic. Blockbuster material, always.

It’s a conceit. I can make anything heroic and I can spin drama from the most innocuous scene should I wish to do so. I can turn snapshots into a Homeric tragedy with a few simple words scribbled in just the right order, the right rhythm; it’s not hard—all you need is the proper intent, capture and camera exposure to set the tone; selecting this moment instead of that one. What we see and what we choose to see… In every case these are points of origin that can drive us in any direction. The question is: do we embrace it or not? Do we base it on honesty or not?

Playing the caption game: "On his afternoon walk, Giovanni escapes what has become the most troubled neighbourhood in Venice. Crime rates which were once non-existent have risen sharply in recent years making life increasingly difficult for long time residents." This is of course completely made up. I shot this on a late afternoon stroll in the beautiful Giardini district. The natural contrast provides the tone. Honesty and clarity is up to me.

We’ve come to expect cinematic grandeur in a world of mundanities, we reward the extraordinary at all costs in a reality that is in fact made up of millions of beautifully insignificant moments we usually fail to notice. We want facts that entertain, to pull at our heartstrings and make us shiver. We want to be privy to secret dealings and rituals, to dark motives and Herculean feats. It’s either triumph or the deepest of despairs. There is rarely any middle ground, there is rarely room for a quiet flowing river making its slow, tedious way to the ocean. We want hurricanes.

Even the beautiful and haunting winning image by Mads Nissen is framed within a story of persecution—the trials of the homosexual and transgender communities in Russia. Which is an ABSOLUTELY LEGITIMATE AND IMPORTANT ISSUE but… I have to wonder if the image would’ve won the judges’ admiration without that context to surround it, without that aura of tribulations. If it had simply been about the everyday lives of homosexual couples in a part of the world where issues are non-existent. Perhaps so; I certainly hope so. But how much of the recognition in these contests depends on the sensational nature of an essay is something we should probably question if we want to get at the root of the problem. I’m not arguing against the portrayal of the extraordinary; it’s the pressure to make everything powerful that can become its own trap.

“There is no sense in expecting a photograph to be a mirror image of reality,” says Cozien. “Reality is not the same for the frog who perceives only movement, or for a dog who sees in black and white. A photograph will only ever be the vector for a story, for a reality described by the photographer.”
— Roger Cozien, eXo maKina

The line between truth and fabrication is incredibly thin and always at risk of being erased; the lie is often but a single flourish away, because none of what we show is ever truly objective. None of it. But to reiterate what I said in that original article: if we turn inwards as photographers, if we speak of our own perceptions and our own thoughts at that precise moment of capture and we make that fact clear, then there is no lie. Our truth, this one truth as witnesses and interpreters of events, if it’s isn’t putting words in the mouths of others, if it isn’t assigning any intentions other than our own—what we see, how we feel, what it means to us—this truth is incontrovertible. Because in such a context, we’re expected to be subjective and nothing else. Yes, the process will be self-centred and ego-driven but this doesn’t equate egotistical—there’s a difference. We can still reveal the other through this approach. It doesn’t exclude being an observer or understanding the world beyond our camera, quite the contrary: if we respect who we are, there’s a much better chance we’ll respect our subjects as well. Photography simply becomes more of a philosophical journey than the pursuit of some fabled overlying truth.

When it’s steeped in research and respect of reality, fact-based documentary work is essential: social issues need to be exposed, the plight of the oppressed denounced, the struggles of the human condition celebrated when it gives rise to betterment. But the dark side is that it can all become a form of theatre, of spectacle: These are the tortured souls of our world. Please confirm your presence—beer and wine will be served.

When I look at the images in this disputed essay, I can easily hear an internal monologue that would’ve suited the subject just as well without allegedly stretching the realities on the ground. I can imagine a personal reflection on the changes facing a small tight-knit community, an editorial voice using these images as an illustration of future possibilities, of trends and transformations; something based in the same present situation but used as a metaphoric pretext instead of a sensationalistic exposé.

It wouldn’t have been seen in the same light though; it probably wouldn’t have won this award. (UPDATE: as mentioned in the opening note, it has, in spite of the context)

If the Charleroi story turns out to be more fiction than facts, it won’t just be sad because of the treachery involved but more importantly because it’ll hightlight a perceived need for embellishment on the part of the photographer that we should all consider symptomatic.

Of course in the end it all comes down to honesty and professionalism—none of the above is meant as an excuse for deceit in any form. But perhaps if we start accepting the value of photography as a momentary and subjective passage through events, without need for high and mighty conclusions or backstory; if we allow for honest, personal impressions to stand alongside hard facts and extraordinary circumstances, perhaps we’ll diminish the need for falsification. If we accept the photographer’s truth, not as empirical but flawed and coloured by everything he knows and everything he is and was at the instant the image was taken… Maybe we can ease the pressure a bit. Maybe we can start seeing life as it is and drop this pretence of somehow always being on the cusp of some new earth-shattering-larger-than-life revelation.

Maybe we can stop fooling ourselves and change the world, one ordinary moment at a time.

On The Trail of Sub Bass

Photography & text by Flemming Bo Jensen

Every year thousands of ravers assemble under a highway overpass in Copenhagen. They are here to worship electronic beats organized by Ohoi! - Copenhagen’s original sound killers and bass pirates.

They call it ‘Bas Under Buen’ - Bass under the Arch. The event showcases Danish electronic artists with sub-bass as the common thread that threatens to awake the Kraken from the icy Nordic depths. The theme is music by the people for the people. The DJ is on street level with the crowd. There are no special lights. And everyone plays an equal amount of time. 

The Copenhagen event is a classic, but now it is just the opening. Now we travel to 3 other cities in Denmark, leaving behind a trail of low frequency induced mayhem. 

,

Behind The Scenes : Fashion Consciousness

,

BY DEREK CLARK

If you take a look in the Stories section of Kage, you will find an essay by me called Fashion Consciousness. That project came about in a rather unusual way, so I thought I would use Chronicle to give a little behind the scenes look into how I ended up shooting backstage at a fashion show.

Every couple of weeks I meet with two photographer friends (both called John) to put the world right and talk about photography—mainly because our other halves don't listen to us (!). John 1 asked if we'd be interested to shoot some pictures for the fashion department of one of the big colleges in Glasgow. There was no budget, but the deal was that we could shoot it any way we wanted with no outside interference. John 2 and I both saw it as an interesting opportunity, so we jumped in with both feet. Gaining access is the key to all documentary projects, so for me this was a way in to who knew what.

The first visit involved shooting models wearing clothes the fashion students had designed. These students are on their way to a career in the fashion industry, so the standard is pretty high. I would point out here that I'm no fashion guru, but we each chose a model and wandered off to wherever location we found interesting in the building, with the idea that we would come back together at some point and switch models (I think we were working with five girls that day). 

The college building was fairly new and the architecture was modern with lots of glass and wood. I used the frosted glass of the front entrance revolving doors to frame the shot above, moving higher or lower to get more or less of the model in shot. I had brought lights, softboxes and umbrellas, but was lucky enough to actually get decent natural light. There were a few areas that had floor to ceiling windows that were a couple of floors high: combine this with white walls and you get the type of soft beautiful light that you see in the photo below; no need for a softbox or reflectors.

We shot for two days at the college, not only covering the models, but also the details too. On the second day we were asked if we would like to shoot the upcoming fashion show that the college puts on every year, to which they invite members of the fashion world looking for new talent. This was exactly what I was hoping for. Unfortunately the Two Johns had other jobs booked and wouldn't be available on the date of the show, so it was down to me... And I got full access.

I showed up on the night of the show with my small Fuji kit of two cameras and three lenses and went straight to work. Backstage was hectic and no one could care less that I was there with a camera, which is perfect for a documentary photographer. The two dressing rooms were quite a distance apart. One should have been for the guys and one for the girls, but there seemed to always be girls in both. I moved between each dressing room, not speaking too much, just observing and getting what I felt would be useful. Every now and then there would be a flurry of excitement as one group of girls came off stage and had to do a quick change to be ready for the next catwalk. I cursed the backstage lighting which was mostly fluorescent tubes, but hey, you just have to get on with it and get the job done with whatever you're given. 

I also moved out to the front of house to shoot some of the catwalk, but to be honest, my heart was backstage amongst all the hustle and bustle, the panic and safetypins and anticipation. The atmosphere in the corridor where the models stood in line, waiting for their cue to pull back the curtain and strut out into the lights was electric. It was fairly dark, but there was a shaft of light coming from another room and each girl had to walk through it to get to the catwalk, almost as though they were having the final touch applied as they moved through the beam. A bit of glow. A bit of power. 

A few words about the picture above because it always manages to raise a smile. The girl was helping put the finishing touches to the guys' clothes and one of them asked her what was on her finger: she said that she had got a tattoo while on holiday. When they asked her what it was, she just raised a finger under her nose to reveal a moustache tattoo. I grabbed two shots in quick succession. This is the second one, and although both were ok, it was this that seemed to show the humour best. The moment was over in a flash—they always are—but I was happy to have captured it.

I love how documentary photography takes us on a journey, not just for the viewer, but also the photographer. We need to have our eyes and ears open at all times, ready to pluck the slightest thing out of the air that could possibly be a story. I'm constantly scanning everything to see if it could result in a documentary shoot. I could have looked at this with my business head on and dismissed it because there wasn't a budget for photography, but I looked at it in the longer term and it paid off.

My aim with this story was to show the hectic backstage pressure cooker of a fashion show. There is no room for modesty and there is no time to be self conscious. Everybody needs to pull together or the event won't work. I hope this won't be the last time I shoot behind the scenes at a fashion event, as I feel I have just scratched the surface. I have an idea how I can move this into another phase, but I need to do some research first. Stay tuned.

Fashion Consciousness

TEXT AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY DEREK CLARK

There is only seconds to go until catwalk time, but corsets need laced, shoes are being buckled and a safety pin is being strategically placed on the front of a dress to ensure all eyes are on the clothes and not exposed body parts. 

It's chaos backstage, but as the curtain opens and the lights kick-in, one by one each model struts gazelle like down the catwalk. They hit their mark at the end of the runway, give it some attitude then turn to make the final walk before exiting.