If there’s one thing in particular I don’t like about my work - and there are many things - it’s that my photographs are relatively ‘inoffensive’, vanilla if you will.
I don’t want a ten page spread in the next Vice photobook, of my friends puking on bibles, setting fire to their pubes and having threesomes in the bath whilst smoking, but neither do I want to look back at my portfolio in ten years and think, ‘how wonderfully safe for work I have been.’
I’m never going to offend anyone to the same extent as someone like Boris Mikhailov, and I don’t actually want to, but I would like to produce the odd sharp intake of breath, maybe sear something a bit weird into a few brains. I’ll settle for a collection of bits and pieces that perhaps vaguely resemble something that might work in a Jason Dill book.
Now this isn’t something I can just go out and produce on Tuesday. I don’t roll with the kind of people who get themselves into regular shenanigans. My last holiday was to Centre Parcs with my girlfriend and another couple. We drunk a lot of beer and got fairly pissed but mostly we played card games and cycled around commenting on how we felt like we were abroad, even though you could almost hear the A303. I don’t care if that’s my life now, I like nature and the company of other early twenty something people in relationships, but sometimes you just want to cut loose. Not even that, I just want to watch other people do it and exploit them for my portfolio.
So a belated resolution for 2013 is to take photographs that aren’t as pretty. It could be as simple as picking the less obvious edit rather than the one an agency tells you is best. So in addition to that double page spread of the girl throwing back her head and laughing at something ever so witty on her blackberry, a diptych of my friend Leo without his fake tooth in, next to a dead dog in a drain near Elephant And Castle.