july. 2022; Shadowy Figures in Doorways

Locked in a haunted house. A bed full of spiders. Needles in your eyeball. Sharing a prison cell with an inmate named “Hungry Randy.” There’s plenty of things that give us the shudders and make our hearts beat with fearful anxiety. But, for teenagers here in China, there’s a single word in the mandarin language that can literally scare them to death. Gaokao. Yep, it’s the time of year when teenagers across the country take the most important/difficult/terrifying test of their tender years, the gaokao. I guess most countries around the world have a similar test/examination for people of around that age, but many aspects of our structured education systems leave me perplexed. The idea that you’re at an age where you have to make huge life choices, like what subjects to pursue in university and therefore how you’re possibly going to make an income for the rest of your life, seems so incredibly at-odds with common sense to me. Nearly all 16/17 year olds are still being dragged through a very unsettling and problematic time of their lives, full of hormones making them think and act differently, trying to deal with puppy love, sex, pimples, peer pressure, unreasonable parents and a whole lot more. It’s really not a walk in the park.

When I was at high school, around about 14 or 15 I guess, we had the careers advisor come to our noble worship halls of study, and each of us has to have a sit down with him. Their aim is discuss your strengths and weaknesses academically and personally, your likes and dislikes, then attempt to ascertain what might be a good career choice for you. When I was that age I was a cheeky little shit, and although I was never “the class clown” as such, I liked to show off as much as most insecure spotty teenage boys do. When I had my turn with the careers advisor gentleman, he asked me questions about what to do with the rest of my working life. I said “I want an easy job where I don’t have to think too much, pays alright, and I only have to work office hours, no weekends.” He asked do I have any jobs in mind that might fit those high requirements, and I replied “yeh, I want to be a careers advisor, just like you.” You can imagine how the rest of the time with him went.

As I’ve written about before, when I was at school I was particularly useless with the core subjects like maths, science and history. To this day, my maths is laughable at best. But I was always well into the more expressive subjects. I loved English literature. I adored drama and textiles class, and desperately wanted to be a fashion designer (until the teacher told me “only gay boys are fashion designers,” which put an end to my thinking about that.) I actually looked forward to music and art class, and I skipped those classes the least. In my end of school examinations I completely flunked maths and science, unsurprisingly, but did alright in the expressive subjects. I left high school at 16, and a couple of months later started playing bass guitar (I remember I sold my motorcycle and bought a bass and an amp, and I had absolutely no bloody idea how to play it.) So I taught myself with a couple of books, and practised 6, 8, sometimes 14 hours a day. Within a month I was in a band, and within a year I was regularly playing live and earning a crust. And that was to be my “career” (haha) for the next 20 years. Musician. Sounds glamorous, but it’s actually far less so. Driving for hours to play a gig where you earn next to nothing. Saving up months and months to afford studio recording time. Band mates egos. Your ego. I once did a tour in the UK, and we were earning so little we had drive around whichever place we were after the gig, and find an abandoned house to sleep in because we couldn’t afford even the cheapest of hotels. On another tour, I had to sleep on the floor of the bus for 2 weeks, in January weather. Not lovely. But those times carved out who I was going to be, what I could deal with and what I couldn’t. It certainly taught me a lot about human nature and perseverance. But, getting older, playing in bars night after night took its toll on me. The booze, the smoke, the hours. There’s only a certain number of times you can play Smoke on the Water before you crack. So aged 38, I quit full time music. But, it certainly left a void.

Living in Hong Kong for a couple of years was truly an experience, and I found that I fell back in love with photography. I’ve always loved images. I love street art, I love comic art, I just love wine labels and company logos and nice letter fonts. If I had more talent I would love to have been some kind of designer. I’m no painter, but I can stare at a creation by Francis Bacon or William Blake all day long. Thankfully, photography is easy enough and accessible enough for even the dimmest light bulb to get into, such as myself. And as much as people/parents may scoff at kids wishes to want a career based on self expression, it’s absolutely undeniable that we need art. We just do. From the cave paintings of Maltravieso in Spain, dating back some 64,000 years, right up to grown men drawing knobs on public toilet walls today, we need art. We need to express ourselves with pictures. The first time I went to the Beijing 798 art district with a very dear friend of mine, I was blown away by the imagination and creativity of the graffiti art there. I remember a few years ago I was doing a kids photo camp, and two little monsters (1 girl, 1 boy) had a bit of a punch-up. The little girl, who clearly lost, was still angry and very upset afterwards, but she wouldn’t speak to me about it, in my attempt to both calm her down and cheer her up. So I said “okay, fine, if you don’t want to talk to me about it, then draw me a picture how you feel.” And she did. And after she drew a rather graphic picture of the aforementioned little boy impaled on a rather long spear, she was laughing happily and back to her normal, bubbly self. A picture did that. We need art.

One thing I’ve always said about photography, and indeed most creative art, is that there’s always 2 subjects in the picture. The subject, and the person creating the image. When you see a picture of something, instead of concentrating on the actual subject in the photo, think about who took it. Why they took it. What was going through their mind. What kind of person takes this photo. This may sound simple, but this can give you a lot greater insight into the artist than the actual photo/picture/piece of work can. There’s so many seedy guys who, as soon as they buy a camera, try to use it as an “artistic” excuse to take photos of naked girls. Ugh. So what kind of man thinks this way? A real artist who purely admires and adores the female form? Or some grubby little perv who just wants to see a pair of tits? When you look at an artists work, it’s so much more than a picture. It’s a mirror. If you’re a photographer, or any kind of artist yourself, look at your own work. Not look at the subject, look at the mirror. This is an inner reflection. You made this. This was your choice to create this. But why. Why did you choose this. Are you proud of this work? What does it say about you? What does it say to you? And what do you hope it’ll say to others? When you create art, this is saying to the world “This is me. This is my thought process. This is my likes and dislikes.” In just a few short decades we’ll be long gone from this earthly plane, so is the work you’re creating what you want to leave behind? Because this is exactly how the world will remember you. By what you left. What you created. Taking a photo of something “because I like it” is not much of a legacy to leave behind. I like food, but that doesn’t mean I’ll make paintings of beans on toast for the rest of my days. Your name is not “who” you are. Your face is not who you are. Your job is not who you are. What you create is who you are. The amazing Salvador Dali once said “I don’t do drugs. I am drugs.” You are what you create. What you create, is what you are.

So, what will you create? Does your work have any kind of theme or common similarities? When I look at my own photos, I can clearly see they often convey solitude. Not loneliness as such, but being alone. I grew up mostly alone, and to this day I can feel alone even if I’m surrounded by others. I’m not wallowing in self pity, but I know I sometimes feel like people don’t accept me as I am. I sometimes feel like people like aspects of me, but not the whole thing. And if you’re not accepted, then you feel unacceptable. Solitary. A stray dog. I grew up in London. I’ve lived my whole life in cities. Show me a photo of a bikini girl basking in the beach sunset, and I find it about as interesting as a photo of a house brick. Beaches and sunsets are not me. Flowers and landscapes are not me. Dark streets and rain and shadowy figures in doorways, that’s me. That where I came from, that’s who I am. And it runs through all my photos like a black vein. A stray dog in a huge city. 

So, the ultimate question is…

Who are you?