Plus Four Four

April 8, 2013
by Admin
6 Comments

The Roma Portraits

Recently I’ve been revisiting some of my previous work from my multi-year project photographing in two Roma camps in Romania. I photographed in these camps from 1990, just after the fall of the Romanian dictator Ceaucescu, through to 1997. Working in black and white I tried to document the traditions, the looks and styles, the daily life and festivities of the camp inhabitants. Bit by bit as the project progressed little changes began to appear, it was obvious the Roma lifestyle was to enter a period of transition. When I returned to the camps in 2004-2006 these changes were fully apparent, gone were the tents, the horses and carts, and instead there were BMWs, and 15 room mansions built only with dreams and not architectural plans.

In 1993 and 1994, to keep things fresh for myself, I took my old Rolliecord 6×6 camera, and loads of black and white film. I shot portraits, of everyone and anyone in the camp. There were backgrounds everywhere, the canvas of tents, the mud brick walls and the haystacks. There was no shortage of backdrops and no shortage of willing participants to stand for my camera. Between us, myself and the Roma, we had a good thing going. I got to take the portraits for myself in black and white, with backdrops of my choosing, and in return I’d shoot, with colour negative film in a small compact camera, the images requested of me by my Roma friends, the images they wished of babies propped up against big pink cushions. But in the black and white images the look of the Roma at that time, the girls with coins in their hair- a style now gone, old men with fedora hats, and people cooking in their tents, is captured.

Gina, from Baltaeni camp, Romania.

Today is International Roma Day, a day to celebrate Roma culture, and also to highlight the all too often still frequent injustices held against them. Last week as I knew the Roma Day was approaching I decided to publish a little book of my Roma portraits, taken 20 years ago this year, to mark the day in some way. This book, some will call it a ‘zine, isn’t a big monograph published in the best printing houses of Italy. It isn’t a hardback break-your-coffee table type book. It isn’t a comprehensive history of the Roma in one volume.

Instead, it is a collection of my 6×6 black and white portraits, printed in an A5 sized publication, with softback cover, called ‘The Roma Portraits’. There are 94 pages, with I think 77 images, and also, just to throw into the mix, there are 3 contact sheets showing more portraits. It’s small, it’s nice quality, it’s printed in a small print run of 100. The below images come from within the book, which unfortunately I can’t collect from the printer for another day or two, but these images are from the proofs.

So, if you think you like the look of it, then it is of course available for purchase. Your support and interest is much appreciated.

Thanks!

March 14, 2013
by Admin
0 comments

Sir Michael Caine

So I don’t have a photograph of the new Pope to share with you, but Twitter also tells me it is actor Sir Michael Caine’s 80th birthday today- and I do have a picture of him. And here is a piece I wrote a while back for my blog (apologies if you’ve read this one before), about the encounter with Sir Michael Caine….

Not a lot of people know I photographed Sir Michael Caine. It was many years ago, early 1990s and I was working freelance editorial photographer shifts at The Sunday Times in London. It was a Saturday I believe and I was given the task of heading over to some ol’ London hospital I forget the name of to go to the set of the movie ‘Blue Ice’ and get a stand alone type pic for the next days paper.

It was probably the first time I’d photographed on a film set. I had no blimp for the cameras to cut the noise, but I did have my Leica MP4 with me, as well as my Nikons.

I had to report to the PR guy for the film, he told me where I could go and when. I asked if I could have a one-on-one portrait session, even for a minute, with Michael Caine. I was told absolutely not. I pleaded, “it’s for the Sunday Times”. But his answer was no. I think I may have asked a few times, probably annoyed him somewhat.

I remember I hid behind a tree and photographed as Michael Caine and Sean Young walked along the embankment talking, the film camera on a dolly going with them. My Leica was quiet enough, I shot a few frames.

Then it was a cut, and there he was, full length, half length, close up, Michael Caine walking in my direction. I took my chance, young, brash and arrogant that I was. So I step out, stick out my hand, “Sir, hello, I’m Jeremy, from the Sunday Times and I’ve been asked to come along and do a picture today. Would you have a minute at all to let me shoot a portrait?”. “Well,” he said, “that guy over there is going to interview me (for some American mag), if he doesn’t mind you can come with us”. So I asked the journalist he’d pointed at, he didn’t mind, very decent of him.

And off we went, into Michael’s trailer. The journalist and I sit down one side of the table in the trailer, Michael Caine asks for a minute or two, he combs his hair with a brush. No make-up ladies, no stylist. The interview begins and I sit quietly, jammed up against the wall and window, shooting a few frames. Ever-the-professional Michael would occasionally glance my way, hold the look for a second until I shot my pic, then he’d look back at the journo.

During the interview the door opens, outside is the PR guy. He looks straight at me, I probably smiled or waved knowing my arrogance. He looks straight at the interview situation and closes the door. Michael is still talking, he turns and pushes the bowl of fruit towards me, “Want a plum ?”.

(See my portrait photographs of actor Sir Michael Caine.)

March 12, 2013
by Admin
0 comments

A portrait from the archives.

Yesterday I spent a few hours going through my archive, locating images for a new portfolio of photographs getting put together by my agents, and I was trawling around in folders, looking for portraits, looking for some corporate portraits in particular, and I found the above image.

Shot on assignment in Tokyo, Japan, when I was based there, it was a picture for a UK design agency, and the end client was an international corporate law firm. The brief was to produce a natural, clean, relaxed portrait, showing a little of the environment or office in the background. It was an easy enough shoot, the young lady was generous with her time and charm, making my life and my photo shooting easy. I shot the portraits in a variety of locations, around the offices, and building, located in Roppongi in the heart of the city, and some shots in the gardens there also, but today this is the one I like.

I post it here just as an example of a found image from the archive, a nice, relaxed corporate portrait. Happy client, happy subject, happy photographer. And I’ve added it today also to my (Scotland-based photographer’s) portfolio of corporate photographs and portraits. I hope you can take a look, and if you have any questions please feel free to get in touch by email.

Thanks.

March 11, 2013
by Admin
0 comments

Catfish Tales, part 1.

Today is the 2nd anniversary of the Great East Japan earthquake, which happend at 2.46pm on Friday March 11th 2011. Approximately 19,000 people died and many thousands are still missing, and hundred’s of thousands now displaced from their homes. The earthquake, the 5th largest ever recorded, triggered a massive tsunami which washed away whole communities. The Fukushima Dai-Ichi nuclear plant suffered damage and over the next few days 3 reactors exploded.

I was based in Japan, for my work as freelance photographer working for editorial clients worldwide. I wrote the below a little time after the first weeks of the quake, when I began jotting down all my memories of that time.

Here you go, 2 years ago exactly, today…

Catfish Tales, Part 1.

Spanish David wanted to meet at 3pm. But I was away out in the east of Tokyo, near the new SkyTree, shooting on assignment. A beautiful day, sunny blue skies, crystal clear. The day had gone well, the shoot was finished, all the pictures were taken. So I crossed the city, two trains, over to Shinjuku.

Spanish David and I hadn’t arranged a specific spot to meet, but we both knew where it’d be. I got there early, ambled around, went into shops, checked out the prices of some things I need and the prices of some things I don’t need. Killing time, checking the watch, and with no way to contact David, I awaited his call, or message.

Then I saw a woman, dressed in black, standing in a doorway, hands on lintels, looking left, looking right, looking agitated. I watched her for a second or two and at that moment I felt it.

Something wasn’t right. Perhaps I was light headed, it’s happened a few times recently. But no. Other were beginning to notice also. The ground was moving, things were beginning to rattle, to make noise. Earthquake.

A man near me pulled his jacket over his head, to shield himself from any glass, or debris, which was about to fall. I was thinking fast, almost automatically now- run to open space. I was in a street, either side of which was festooned with neon lighting, advertising. The last thing I wanted was for those to fall on me. I started to jog to the open road up ahead, not a wide open space, but wider and more open than where I was. As I ran others around me began running also. It was obvious this tremor wasn’t a minor one, the momentum of the tremor seemed to be mounting, as did the momentum of the runners now all headed towards the open road.

In front of me a man, a salaryman stops running, I’m inches behind him and have to push him slightly as he becomes an obstacle in my path. He moves forward a little, and I realise how easy it’d be for someone to fall, to be pushed, to become an obstacle in a stampede and to get hurt. All this I realise in lightening fast time.

My bag is on my back with all my cameras in it. I want one out, I want to be shooting. The quake is still rumbling. I make it to the wider street, straight out into the middle of the road. There are many people now heading there. People were pouring out of restaurants, out of doorways, out of buildings. The traffic was stopped. I get my camera bag, grab my camera of choice and immediately start shooting images around me. Anything. People. Just shooting, trying to capture some sense of the ongoing, some sense of urgency, some sense of fear. I see a woman with fear or panic on her face, leaning on the shoulder of another. I’m straight in, bang, bang, two frames. The woman shields her face to hide herself from me, but it’s fine I have it. I keep moving. People are on phones, trying to talk, trying to send messages. People are pointing skyward, I glance up to see what they’re looking at but see nothing, so I turn back to shooting images.

I’m trying to shoot and also to phone my wife at the same time. But the lines are busy. My iPhone keeps coming up with some button I don’t quite understand, will it call them back automatically or do I need to do it ? I keep trying, but the battery I note is already going down. A whole day of walking and photographing on assignment in the east of the city, and listening to Bob Dylan incessantly, has taken its toll.

Things have steadied out. The ground isn’t moving. But still people are flooding into the street, looking unsure, looking nervous. Everyone on their phones. People are still pointing and I still have no idea at what. (although later I was to find out they were pointing at skyscrapers swaying from side to side.)

Then it started again. The ground moved. Shaking. More angst in the street, more pointing. I have no idea yet where the epicentre is, or how big the magnitude of the initial quake, but I know one thing. Someone, somewhere is dying.

I walk the streets for what was perhaps an hour. Looking for signs of the quake. I photographed people watching a TV screen in the doorway of Kamo Sports. I photograph a broken kerb step into a building, with tape over it. People on phones. And just beside the station, I photograph in beautiful sunlight, with dark skies, ominous skies, people standing still waiting. Waiting for the next tremor perhaps, waiting for the train lines to reopen, waiting for it to be all over.

After a while the momentum has passed. It seems there’s not so much left to shoot, other than people waiting. I try the station, all train ticket gates show no entry signs. People mill around, people sit politely on the stairs at the sides leaving way for others to ascend and descend.

I still can’t get through on my mobile to home. We’ve had one successful text message each way, and then nothing for over two hours since the last tremor. I’m beginning to worry. I consider my options. I’ve images, timely images, and they need to be transmitted. There’s nothing much else to shoot. Soon, all of mankind will pour out of their offices and be looking to get home.

I decide. It’s time to go. I aim for a bus which will take me to near my home and to my surprise I manage to get on the first bus out. Standing room only. The air is heavy with worry and heat. A pregnant woman soothes the unborn child inside her. The window is opened and brings fresh air. People have lost their inhibitions about speaking on their phones and do so freely. A woman watches the disaster on her phone, and holds it in such a way others can see it also. Another woman holds up the already slow moving bus by trying to pass her travel card through the passengers to pay for her journey, unable to reach the ticket machine herself.

I check my phone, emails are beginning to get through. From Getty Images I receive emails asking about my safety and about my availability for assignments in the quake’s aftermath. From The Times bureau, “can you head north with us ? Call us as soon as you can”. From another client, “are you available?” Skype is working and I try having one or two chats via that.

The bus finally arrives and empties it’s cargo of worried passengers. All along the route there’d been others walking their journey home. I run to the train station, still 4km from home, from family. The trains are off. I return to the main road and miraculously find a taxi. I hold the door as a woman pays her bill and exits it. A Japanese guy beside me wants to share the cab.

We enter and decide on our route to our neighbourhoods. He doesn’t speak English and my poor Japanese makes for a quiet journey, but bar directions and which route to take no one seems to care. The taxi inches along, and knowing the roads well I contemplate putting my marathon training to good use and running home. I watch the roads, I watch the taxi’s navigation screen, 4km to home, 3km to home. Should I run? I wait until after the train line. But then things begin to move more freely, and then they slow again.

Finally the moment comes where it makes more sense to get out and walk, or jog home. And I do so. Into my home, to my waiting and worried family.

Somewhere a catfish lays exhausted, contented.

March 6, 2013
by Admin
0 comments

Photographing Hugo Chavez.

Hugo Chavez, the President of Venezuela, was going to be in Tokyo. It was mentioned in the newsrooms and on the television. I knew I wanted to try and photograph him during his visit. But as a freelance photographer, unaffiliated to any of the major news wire agencies, it was hard to get access. But he was going to be there, President of Venezuela, and I wanted to try to photograph him.

I tried calling my Spanish photographer friend to see if he knew any more information, as he occasionally worked for Spanish wire agencies, but he said no, there’s nothing public, nothing planned. It’ll be hard.

Then on the last day of Chavez’s visit, there was a late announcement of a press conference, to be held at the Imperial Hotel, in Hibiya district, in downtown Tokyo. It wasn’t far for me, and I thought I’d give it a shot. I don’t remember the trip across town to get there, but I remember the throng of photographers and journalists at a big pair of wooden doors, leading to a banquet room in which the press conference was going to be held. Someone told me you had to hand in your business card to the Venezualan Government’s press people, and I duly did do, handing in my own business card which carried no important media outlet name, just my name, Photographer and mobile number. The woman took it, closed the big doors and I was still left outside.

A few minutes later and the door opens, and my name is called. “who are you working for?”, the press attache woman asks me. “The Guardian”, I tell her, plucking the name of one of my newspaper clients out of the air. More left wing to say The Guardian than The Times I thought. She says nothing, disappears back in and closes the doors again. Other photographers look at me and we all shrug.

A while later and the doors open and we’re called by name to go in. And my name is called.

Then we wait. And wait. Nothing happens. A long time passes. People begin to mention Chavez’s plane departure time, and the journey time to the airport, and maybe he won’t come.

Then the door opens and in comes another throng, with Hugo Chavez, man of the people, at it’s head. He sweeps in, starts shaking hands with everyone, and slowly makes his way to the podium. And then began one of his famously long press conferences. All notions of him rushing for a plane seem to have been forgotten. I wasn’t issued with a translation device, so the press conference passes by without me understanding much of what is said, Japanese and Spanish not being my mother tongues. But I shoot pictures, on a 300mm, maybe I had my 1.4x teleconverter also, I forget.

Near the end of the press conference and somehow I get forward, maybe things had relaxed a bit, Chavez still talking, people getting weary. Chavez stands and examines a map of the world on an easel on the podium and I’m close enough to shoot the image. Perhaps I could even have gone closer, but for whatever reason, most probably security, I didn’t. And then Chavez made his way from the room, slowly again, shaking hands, he salutes the photographers from up close, as we jostle for images. He stops to talk with some journalists, quick, hurried briefings, perhaps to faces he knows, and I’m right there, shooting more headshots, on the 70-200mm.

And then he’s gone, out the room, and away to Tokyo’s Narita airport.

Today I awake and the news is that Hugo Rafael Chavez, symbol of Latin American socialism, President of Venezuela, and hero of the poor, has succumbed to cancer. He was 58 years old.

Click here for full set of photographs of President of Venezuela, Hugo Rafael Chavez, in Tokyo, Japan, 2009.

February 28, 2013
by Admin
1 Comment

Deputy First Minister of Scotland.

It’s been a bit slack on the blog this week, as it’s been a busy ol’ week, applications for funding have been written, an essay about my Life In The 3rd Rangers series had to be completed, I’ve been out shooting on a new project trying to get a decent start to that. Such is the lifestyle of a freelance editorial photographer in Scotland. All go and all is good. Or as William Klein might have said, life is good and good for you in Glasgow.

But enough, a portrait for your delectation. Tonight I was adding a few Scottish portraits to my photography portfolio, of Neil Lennon – manager of Celtic FC, Charles Green – owner of Rangers FC, and Nicola Sturgeon of the Scottish National Party and the Scottish Government. It’s always good to keep ones editorial portfolio up to date, change the pictures around a little.

I post below the Nicola Sturgeon shot which I added to my website. This shot happened at the end of my portrait session with her in her office, in St. Andrew’s House, Edinburgh, a week or two back. Completely unposed, Mrs. Sturgeon hopped up on the desk, dangled her foot about, and continued chatting with my journalist colleague. What could I do? I kept shooting as one should. Time was precious and I like to make the most of it. At the moment I’m shooting I don’t even think “is this an image my client might want, or might use?” I just shoot. Time can be called at any moment, and my job, my assignment is to get images, so I keep going. Portraits come in all shapes and sizes, some head shots, some half length, some sitting on the desk. I prefer to photograph everything, get as much as I can, and then afterwards when I edit, when I speak with my picture editor, decide what is needed and what is not. From this particular portrait shoot I sent over quite a variety of images to the client, including a few like this, but it didn’t make the paper. Instead the client used a ‘talking head shot’, a shot from during the interview with Nicola Sturgeon chatting away. It wasn’t a particularly flattering image, I wasn’t keen on it, but it got sent and used by the client, meanwhile this below image got sent and not used.

February 21, 2013
by Admin
1 Comment

C’est arrive!

It’s arrived. Sometimes you do a photographic assignment, in Scotland or elsewhere, and your not overly bothered to see the resulting tear sheet, the resulting usage in a magazine or newspaper, or annual report, you know how it will look, or perhaps even, it was a shoot you managed capably but didn’t really feel a connection to for some reason. Perhaps the editorial assignment, or portrait assignment, wasn’t too exciting, or the resulting imagery wasn’t what you’d hoped might be. And then other times, you do a shoot, a reportage, or portrait, whatever, and you’re keen to see the tear sheet, you’re keen to see how it got used, how it was laid out on the page, the use of text and fonts alongside it.

The below was one such job, one where I was keen to see the usage, of a photography assignment here in Glasgow, to cover Rangers Football Club for the French paper Le Monde. Not a long assignment, but it fitted in nicely and came about because of a longish term project I’m presently working on, and there in lies the power of self initiated projects. Get out and do them, enjoy them and assignments will follow.

So the below assignment came in, job was shot, photographs sent to France, and today the pdf popped in of how it was used, and I’m pleased. The opening page looks dramatic, in your face, big and nice. The other smaller photographs are fine also, perhaps not exactly the images I’d have chosen, but I have no complaints, I can see why they have used every image they have, they all fit the article and brief perfectly. That’s my job, hear the journalist’s angle, his story, and make my pictures fit the brief from the picture desk, illustrate the journalist’s point. This time it’s worked perfectly between us. Job done, job done well, happy client, happy photographer.

Le Monde newspaper, France, 16th February 2013.

February 19, 2013
by Admin
1 Comment

The Spirit of Bannockburn

Still no sign of the Rangers assignment tear sheet from France, ach well. Soon I hope. But life in Scotland, shooting portrait and editorial photography assignments brings a multitude of subjects, a multitude of tear sheets. Here’s one from a couple of weeks back that I didn’t post, from an assignment to illustrate an article by Kathleen Jamie for New Statesman, about Bannockburn, the arts and next years’s referendum on Scottish independence. I already posted on the blog, a few entries ago, some images from the shoot, but today esteemed readers, I present how the magazine showed the work…

The top images shows the statue of Robert The Bruce, standing outside Stirling Castle, and the bottom image shows a statue of Donald Dewar, the 1st First Minister of Scotland’s parliament, looking down Buchanan Street, whilst a ‘Better Together’ leafletting campaign takes place to his left. All images are available, as ever, to licence.

Thanks for looking.

February 18, 2013
by Admin
0 comments

In the blue light.

I’d hoped to have a nice tear sheet to show you today, from a reportage sports job I did recently for French editorial client, Le Monde newspaper. Knowing that I’d been covering Rangers Football Club this season, as they battle their way through the unusual stomping grounds of the Scottish 3rd Division, Le Monde had me out shooting photographs of fans, the atmosphere on match day as Rangers took on Queen’s Park FC at home in Ibrox Stadium, Glasgow, last week. But alas, mon amii, I haven’t managed to secure a pdf of the article as yet from France.

So instead I give you a link to their website, where you can see a mini-slideshow of my Rangers FC photographs, fan life in the 3rd Division, and here on this page I show you one other image from the set, from the day.

This shot below is from after the game, the light was very cold, very blue (appropriately), and fading very, very fast, but there was a beautiful ambience around, it was great for images. And as everyone criss-crossed each other, hurring out the stadium after a 4-0 win, I saw this old guy sitting on a bollard. It’s the moments after the game I love, everyone scurrying for coaches, cars, walking, hurrying, phoning people on mobiles, going to the pub, it always reminds me of a battle scene for some reason. I love that moment, I love photographing it.

Click the above image to see it larger, see it better, see it in all it’s splendid Scottish colour.

Thanks.

February 14, 2013
by Admin
2 Comments

Escorted

Escorted. Thankfully not off the premises. But, myself and a journalist, into the premises, earlier today, on an assignment to the highest floors of St. Andrew’s House, home and offices of the Scottish Government, in Edinburgh, Scotland. Through security, sign in, through the doors with locks, wearing the badge, into the modern lift, and up into the incredible bright offices of the 5th floor, overlooking the city of Auld Reekie.

The sun poured in the window, so much so it was a battle to tame it and keep it out. Not often you say that on portrait photography assignments in Scotland. The building is fascinating to see inside, and of course it’s always interesting to enter the inner sanctum office of those who hold and wield power in a country. But what did I find there? Sure there was a little art deco wood paneling, but mainly plain white walls, some non-descript art, standard tables and chairs. But all very quiet. These high floors of power are always soundproofed, quiet, big deep carpets keeping their state secrets.

But the assignment went fine, the only thing not soundproofed was my Canon 1D Mk3, so noisy, like a, well, like a…canon going off every time it fired. May as well have been the Edinburgh One O’clock Gun, firing every second or two in short busts. But hanging from my other shoulder was the camera I’ve come to love, the Canon 5d MK3. Super quiet, stealth mode, keep all the Scottish government secrets quiet mode. Shooting with that and a 50m f1.8, it’s like having a Leica back again. Lovely.

And then the nod from the man in the corner, time please gentlemen, and that time honoured question/command “If you could just ask your last questions, please, thanks”. And then the nod, the door is opened, all smiles and lovely to see you’s. Time’s up. And we’re escorted back off the premises, back down to ground level and out into the sunny blue weather of Edinburgh.

And then the first question journalists and photographers ask each other upon leaving an interview situation, “How was that for you?”, or “Did you get what you need?”.