The Rural

Ever since the Industrial Revolution the rural landscape has been challenged by suburban sprawl as people migrate to cities from the countryside in search of work and the perceived benefits of urban life.

Paradoxically, the call of nature remains strong among those accustomed to metropolitan living. The rural life is thought of as slower-paced, country people as more in tune with the planet. City-dwellers invade the countryside or seaside for holidays and second homes but retreat to their urban environment when they had their fill.

Those who remain in the countryside do so for diverse reasons, and not all from choice. It may be where your family has lived for generations, or a place from where your parents were forcibly uprooted. The countryside harbours tight-knit communities and traditions passed down thorough generations, but also isolation and poverty.

The landscape shows scars as well as splendour. Tranquillity and unbearable loneliness are two sides of the same coin. Does the encroachment of urban infrastructure bring destruction of the environment or jobs and investment? This collection of work, our biggest yet, responds to the wonderfully broad range of submissions representing rural landscapes and communities around Britain and beyond.

PHOTO MEET & NORTHERN NARRATIVES have selected 16 photographers who explore different aspect of rural areas. We asked them to tell us about their respective projects and experiences

Thanks to the contributing photographers (in alphabetical order): Alex Currie, Alex Ingram, Dan Moga, Jennifer Forward-Hayter, Joseph Horton, Mandy Williams, Marc Wilson, Mat Hay, Michaela Nagyidaiova, Miyuki Okuyama, Nicola Morley, Phillipa Klaiber, Thomas James Parrish, Tom Illsley, Umberto Verdoliva and Yassen Grigorov.

Alex Currie

Isolation

Alex, could you please tell us about your work and what you intend to achieve with it?

My work in the Outer Hebrides began in 2013 after I had been working on a project about social housing in the UK with the Human Endeavour Collective. As this project was coming to its natural conclusion, I was looking for a project to embark upon on my own. The Outer Hebrides to me had a devastating beauty and felt completely isolated and cut adrift from the rest of mainland Britain. It was this idea of otherworldliness and isolation that intrigued me about the Outer Hebrides. As I started to research the islands, I discovered that they had a long and rich history dating back to Viking times. What intrigued me though was the more recent history and how changes in the 20th century and beyond have impacted life and what connects and binds the peoples of these islands. To do this photographically, rather than looking at the people themselves, I decided to look at the infrastructure of the islands and explore its cultural history this way. The islands had been cut off for years and were only accessible by boat so all the houses had been by the water’s edge. As roads were built new houses were built inland and this can be seen with the many abandoned crofters houses close to the sea. 

The industrial revolution brought the train lines from Glasgow to Oban and this enabled the islanders to find work on the mainland and there has been a gradual dwindling of the population as generations of Hebrideans stayed on the mainland, resulting in a raft of more modern empty houses and schools that dot the islands.

Much in the way that Paul Strand photographed South Uist in 1954, I’m trying to look beyond the mere figurative and pictorial, expressing my own inner thoughts and anxieties in the 21st century. For years I have struggled with mental health issues and at times I find living in a built-up environment a real struggle. The Outer Hebrides has given me real solace and for me it has almost become a panacea, a way of finding some inner peace and isolation from the chaos that exists in the modern world.

Working on long-term projects gives you the time to reflect more on your subject and allows you to somehow include a time dimension in your narrative. Could you please tell us about the highlights and challenges of working on the same subject for seven years and counting?

I’ve worked on other projects that have taken me literally a week to execute and have been very concise conceptually. With this project it has taken time to evolve, partly because of location and funding but also because I wanted to see what would happen if I let the project naturally evolve over a few years. As well as paring down ideas I have been mindful not to end up meandering. One downside is I have done so much research that i sometimes get lost within the work and I endeavour to not make the work just purely documentary. 

Many of my original images have already dropped by the wayside and in fact a lot of these images have been taken two or three times over a number of years. The passing of time also has an effect on the work as a lot of things have changed and buildings have disappeared. I was there during the referendum in 2014 and I think we can see how much has changed since then.

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Alex Ingram

The Gatekeepers

Alex, your story deals with the isolation of wardens guarding small islands around the UK. With Brexit approaching soon, is there any reflection worthwhile sharing about a country, the UK, which has decided to isolate itself from the world’s largest economic block?

Well, where do you begin with Brexit?! A campaign led on false promises and lies that will have a negative impact on the UK’s economy for years to come! Add to that the economic disaster that has been caused by the CV19 outbreak, and any sensible human being would think that you would want to build and sustain bridges between economies, not obliterate them!

It’s going to be a challenging few years ahead! But the isolation you mention there, and the life on these wardens is a very different type of isolation. An isolation where your life does not revolve around money and a 9-5 schedule. Instead, your life revolves around nature, the crashing of the waves and a love and compassion for the world around you.

They may be socially distanced from the mainland and away from the hustle and bustle of our modern world, but with this outlook on life that they all share, I could argue that they are more connected to the “British Isles” than any one of us.

Is time passing more slowly on these islands? And what can we learn from your gatekeepers?

As I mentioned before, life on these islands is certainly very different to my usual day to day life as a working photographer. There are no major deadlines, cramped trains, or difficult clients. When I am on these tiny islands it is like an escape for me from this busy other life. I have no brief to fulfil, and no obligation to make photos of anything.

There may be days that I spend on the island where I don’t take a single frame, opting instead to leave my camera behind and walk across these epic landscapes and fully embrace them. Life moves at a much slower and more rhythmic pace, where you are woken by the warm glow of sunlight flooding into the room, rather than the shrill sounds of a 6am alarm.

The time that I have spent with these wardens has made me appreciate the smaller things in life, and has made me more environmentally and socially aware. The world that we will be emerging into on the other side of this pandemic will be very different, and I think we can all learn to be more compassionate and supportive of one another and the world around us.

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Dan Moga

Ground Acting Round

Dan, your story revolves around a tiny one-road village in rural Romania with one great passion, football.  Could you please tell us more about its characters and how this popular, and at times highly competitive, sport helps people to live together in harmony?

These characters are the people behind the scene who make the matches happen. From the oldest fan to the grass expert they bring the people together and make the emotions flow. These people who in their small universe are capable of great efforts and who in their big world of football are happy to be small. 

In a community like this they are the most important characters: people who gather people.

Your black and white images are crisp and calming to the eye. Could you tell us more about your photographic process and how you interact with your subjects?

Photography for me is a language, and with time I try to speak more clearly, simple and sincere. I don’t make photos like photos, I make them like nature. The result is always a photo, but it will be a new photo. Almost all of my subjects are part of my life, so I already have a strong connection with them. That’s why when I photograph them the result is a reflection of our friendship and presence.

In a few words my photographic process is a reflection of what I am in that moment.

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Yassen Grigorov

Exemplary Home

Desolate rural towns suggest an inexorable void in your series. Urbanisation has meant the relentless shift to bigger and more resourceful cities at the expenses of semi-rural areas which now are left in decay. How many places did you photograph? What kind of experience did you have while visiting and documenting those areas?

The photographs were shot across around a dozen villages and small towns in the north-western part of Bulgaria. A few friends agreed to help me out and we literally drove from one place to the next, with me awkwardly clutching my Mamiya and its tripod on the front seat. It was an incredibly surreal experience as we all represent the product of that environment in a sense - all of our grandparents are from the surrounding area, and as our parents moved to cities and some of us chose to move to Western Europe to pursue education, being back almost feels like coming full circle.

Going in I expected I’d feel a melancholy in the air, however as I spent more time and met more of the locals I quickly realised that the people still living there have found their own ways of being happy and grateful for what they have. .

If you had the chance to interact with the locals while photographing the area, did you gather a sense of their challenges, dreams and aspirations? 

I was very interested in the way that people live in those environments - Bulgaria is the fastest shrinking country in the world, and the north-western rural areas are particularly prone to population decay, so the vast majority of locals are in their 70s and up. We talked to a lot of people throughout our journey, and most everyone we met was incredibly hospitable and curious about what we were doing there - people in their twenties are a pretty rare sight in these villages and we stuck out a little bit.

The most common things that people wished us were happiness, health and success, people came across as quite prideful to see that there’s a part of my generation that’s pursuing self-development and education and trying to build a better future. It was also quite evident that they don’t get as many visitors as they’d like to, so being invited into people’s homes and gardens felt like a bit of an event.

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Jennifer Forward-Hayter

England’s Dreaming

England’s Dreaming could be interpreted as a critical statement that points at the challenges of, as you define it, the picture-perfect Dorset. Indeed, in your introduction to the series, you hint at the ageing population and inadequate resources to deal with the current pandemic. Could you please expand on what moved you to photograph this location?

England’s Dreaming is two-fold. These photos are beautifully fantastical – they are sweet little hamlets with thatched roofs, and scenes spotted on whimsical afternoon walks through Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty – that’s the first dream, ever since the 18th C, a trip to the pretty and peaceful countryside could fix any ailment, and individual residents work very hard to curate that. Those thatched roofs cost millions in up-keep, whilst providing little warmth, stability, and safety in terms of roof-tops, but they look nicer than some tiles or metal sheets. But England is Dreaming, if it believes that the level of sacrifice that is expected and demanded of its rural population will be able to continue with dwindling finances and lack of Government support.

 Farmers are international businessmen, who trade products across the globe, yet often live in poor, poverty-like conditions, falling-down buildings, and have to cut corners to make ends meet. At least one farmer every week kills themselves, making it the profession with the largest chance of suicide. Who are the people who will inherit this land, our food production, with even less money and support?

 During Lockdown, a lot of my wealthier connections have instead seen the countryside for their own personal escapes. Devon and Cornwall pleaded with tourists and second-home-owners not to come, to go home; there are 15 Intensive Care beds in the whole of Cornwall, and the countryside should not be regarded as an open playground, it is a place of essential work, for a limited population.  

 My brother and his wife have returned to the ultimate farmer stereotype and have chased holiday-makers off their property repeatedly, as they attempt to shield with their young family, and continue essential farm work. This cannot be done safely with tourists going for a walk through their land, these same tourists would then complain about the shortages of flour, eggs or milk. My brother is responsible for going to the shop and local pharmacy. The queues for this are hours long, and serve multiple towns, villages and hamlets. There are 4 NHS pharmacies on my road alone in London. Shopping times reserved for vulnerable customers have also failed to translate, when the majority of your population are over 60, these just make them the busiest, most dangerous times to shop.

 The sacrifices made here to keep the countryside ‘postcard perfect’ far outweighs the benefits. It’s time to let the dream go, and allow these communities to develop.

Rural areas in Britain remain truly breath-taking places where we can enjoy the best nature can offer. Do you think this pandemic and the current shutdown of social and economic interactions in cities could mean a come-back of country life?

The cities have done everything in their power to sustain their ways of living, and are bursting at the seams to be allowed out to play again, no aspects of countryside living have translated. Country life is the pinnacle of sacrifice and self-regulation. This has meant that country residents have just seen an exaggeration of their ways of living, under lockdown conditions, and have been encouraged to experiment. Agricultural shows are beginning to pop-up online, allowing for this essential service of social interaction. Young farmers are hosting virtual pub quizzes, local radios are starting digital podcasts, Facebook groups have replaced a neighbour popping a head up over the fence, or coffee at the village shop. Milk vending machines on dairy farms form new takeaways. Modernity, uniquely crafted for rural life, is finally beginning to form roots. Perhaps that Diana Mug can be replaced by an Amazon- procured Meghan Markle one?

 Documenting rural Dorset and Wiltshire has also meant that these local peoples have already faced medical pandemics – the Novichok poisonings happened just 10 minutes from that cattle market, at the time, recent snowfall and closing local markets meant people had no choice but to trade in contaminated Salisbury. Locals raced towards the shops looking for desperate shop-owner deals, free transport was provided, and anti-bacteria baby wipes were a hot item for all. Everyone knew someone who was in Salisbury that day, who ate or drank at that pub, and the idea of the potential for a spreading ‘infection’ was really understood. Unfortunately, the positive response of Public Health Wiltshire in this crisis, seems not to have been replicated around the rest of the country for Corona.

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Mandy Williams

Beyond Land

Groups of people walk into the shallow sea, towards the horizon. Your images resonate with the idea of reconnecting to the elements, which specially now, after months in lockdown we all need. Can you please tell us more about your series Beyond Land?

The photographs take place at the street, a causeway in Kent that reveals itself at low tide. The project was started a month after the referendum result with its emphasis on Britain as an island nation, geographically and psychologically separate from Europe. The photographs show a collective march to the water’s edge and into the ocean. It is fascinating to watch the line of people following disappearing paths out to sea and I have wondered if this ritual has continued with social distancing. During lockdown I have thought frequently about this place where the pull of the sea feels especially intense. These photographs document our innate connection to water but can also be viewed metaphorically. They form part of my solo show A Strange and Familiar Sea at Worthing Museum.

Your solo show at Worthing Museum has been cut short due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Do you have any further opportunity to publicly display your work?

My solo show is currently in the locked down gallery. I am not sure whether the exhibition will be taken down immediately when the museum reopens as the show was scheduled to close 23 May. Currently I have no other plans to display the work. 

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Joseph Horton

Terrain Vague

Joseph, your intimate portraits, muted landscapes and empty interiors subtly reveal an underlying tension, as if something is about to explode, like in the prelude to to an intricate thriller. In your artist statement you talk about the inherent conflict with a semi-rural post-industrial area. Can you please expand on your intentions and on the revealing features of what appears as an in-between place?

When I was researching this project, I knew that I wanted to pick apart our cultivated sense of place when it came to the countryside. I was frustrated by its representation and felt its complexity and nuances were being overshadowed by romantic notions of serenity and harmony. These tropes exist but deny further investigation. In order to communicate this, I often found myself more drawn to areas which tread the line between rural or urban, these spaces of in-between. They allowed for photographs that could be more flexible in their reading and helped to talk about the variety that is found outside of the metropolitan.

There is conflict in any landscape; they are made by our interaction with them and because of that they are subjective and malleable. When looking at empty shopping car parks or littered streams within forests I wanted the viewer to be able to take away a deeper and more patient interest in what these moments say about our relationship to rural spaces and to those everyday scenes which express an unfamiliarity.  

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Tom Illsley

Nine Valleys

Your black and white images are truly beautiful and highlight the distinctive features of many British rural towns, negotiating the space with the surrounding nature. Can you please tell us more about your project “Nine Valleys”?

Nine Valleys began as I explored the area around where I live on the South Coast of England. I wanted to make a body of work during my time living here, but at the same time avoid the typical seaside themes often represented in photography. I decided to look inward, at an area rarely frequented when one visits the seaside. When you are travelling to the coast and you see the sea for the first time, it’s likely you’re passing through this hinterland, but rarely take the time to stop. Upon visiting these areas, what stood out to me was their shared topography and architecture. I could be in any one of these places, for the name wouldn’t matter. 

I think my looking inward geographically was a reflection of myself; being from Coventry, one of the most land locked cities in the UK, I don’t have the affinity with the sea that many others have. Maybe there was a sense of security I found navigating these estates, surrounded on all sides by potential trails to explore. This is still something I’m exploring. 

A lot of my work has historical or geographical threads throughout; Nine Valleys was created after I noticed a recurring feature in place names. Dean, or Dene, is an Anglo-Saxon word that means valley, derived from the Old English word denu. An example of this is an area I photographed called Bevendean, it is thought that this name is derived from ‘Beofa’s Valley’, and is recorded in the Domesday Book of 1086. Although not all of the areas I photographed have such strong historical links, but nonetheless, they all share the same suffix. 

Could these towns represent a viable alternative to bigger cities, now that, due to the lockdown, we have become accustomed to remote working?

I think that’s a really good point you make. My personal experience during the past few months has actually been relatively normal (whatever normal is now). I work for an e-commerce photography company and we’ve been busier than ever. Because of this I haven’t really experienced working from home.

With this being said, I think that the restrictions everyone has faced has forced us to go out and explore our immediate surroundings. Maybe now everyone will learn that you can gain so many new and enriching experiences by stripping everything back and appreciate what is on your doorstep. 

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Marc Wilson

The Last Stand

Your seminal long-term work “The Last Stand” has been widely published and was awarded a number of times. The 3rd edition of your book is about to come out and we all look forward to getting it as soon as it becomes available. How many years did you work on it? For the few people who might not be familiar to your splendid work, could you please tell us more about it?

The Last Stand was made over a 4-year period between 2010 and 2014. In total I travelled 23,000 miles by land and sea, visiting over 100 locations along the coastlines of North-West Europe. The aim of the work was to reflect the histories and stories of military conflict and the memories held in the landscape itself.

The full series is made up of 91 images and documents some of the physical remnants of the Second World War on the coastlines of the United Kingdom and northern Europe, focusing on military defence structures that remain and their place in the shifting landscape that surrounds them. Many of these locations are no longer in sight, either subsumed or submerged by the changing sands and waters or by more human intervention. At the same time others have re-emerged from their shrouds.

The book was first published in 2014 and a second edition in 2015. The 3rd edition of the book has just gone to press here in the UK and this time has been self-published in a new format with a new design by Robert Shaw.

In the selection of images displayed here, overbearing war-time concrete structures lose the battle against nature and surrender to its power. Could this be a metaphor for global peace?

Whilst I made the work what struck me most was how these hulking and often monolithic structures had in most cases been subsumed into the landscape. Many had fallen off their cliff top perches and were now to be found cast at almost impossible angles in the sand or shingle below, at times proud and at others half submerged in the waters from where the forces they were once made to repel would appear from. They were to me sad, not in terms of any sense of former glory or power but as symbols and metaphors not for global peace but of the futility of war.

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Phillipa Klaiber

Vorest

In Vorest you stress the importance and value of living in balance with nature. In a place that benefits from the symbiotic legacy of its people with the surroundings, could this community be an example to follow?

In this Forest there is a collective desire among the inhabitants to maintain the ecological balance of their land. Historically, the Forest of Dean has a rich culture of land use. Its woodlands have a mysterious allure and the ancient land-based rites that are still upheld today are particularly unusual. The one I have always found most fascinating is the rite for “Foresters” born within the historic boundary to train for a year and a day (or more) to become a Free Miner and open their own mine of coal or iron ore. It is traditions like this that form the foundation of the Foresters culture and collective memory. 

More recently, there has been a shift towards promoting activities and education within the local environment. There has also been a vast project to restore heathland and wetland, that is still ongoing.  Large areas of this Forest, the common land and nature reserves are open to be freely explored. 

I do see the way this place is managed and inhabited as an example of what is possible when a community promotes education and conservation. When we really experience our natural surroundings in our everyday lives, and form lasting memories, we are more likely to develop a life-long relationship with our environment, and to care more deeply about its well-being.

The black and white archival images suggest a more evident presence of people, compared to the recent colour photographs. Can you please tell us how this community has evolved and if living in-tune with the forest was a conscious plan laid out to preserve the area?

From what I have seen, I think the plan to preserve the ecology of this area is relatively recent, and closely linked with the conservation of cultural history. The way Foresters interact with the land has changed considerably. Previously, most jobs would have been land-based; in mining, forestry and farming. These roles still exist to an extent, there are still plantation woodlands, farms and a few coal miners, but in greatly reduced numbers. The landscape is evolving from a place of work to a place of leisure. In this transition, I think the ecology of this forest and its role in climate regulation have become essential to the way it is managed.  

The archive photographs in Vorest are from the local museum’s collection. They show the actions of the land and how it used to be managed. My own photographs show the landscape as tactile and material. A place in which the human role is reduced, but still present. The material elements of landscapes create different experiences for us. Here, for example, there is a particular feeling of being surrounded on all sides when you are deep within an old woodland. Or, in the heathland, where the gorse is sharp and rough, and the ground is soft beneath your feet. All of these elements are material and tactile, and influence the way you navigate the landscape. I have tried to capture them in detail and in expansive panoramas that place you within the landscape.

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Mat Hay

A Heather Burn

A Heather Burn depicts a part of remote Scotland negotiating between remoteness and human interference. We’d like you to tell us more about this project, six years in the making, and what could we learn the people you photographed.

People's relationships to their environment is a common theme in my work, and Scotland is a good place to examine this. Almost the entire country has been altered for the benefit of humans, and I find this resourcefulness fascinating.

I'm also interested in how our influence on the land and animals tends to be glossed over when it comes to the way the Highlands is represented, within culture and branding for tourism and goods for example. Which seems a bit misleading. It made me want to create a portrait of my home country the way I see it, in the present, with the scars and imperfections and detritus of human life, all set within such dramatic terrain.

I also really like the lifestyle of the people who chose to live there, right on the cusp of isolation, and in a time when we are going through amazingly rapid changes. They have access to pretty much the same things everyone else does, But they also have a connection to the environment and mother nature, which I find attractive. It seems balanced.

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Michaela Nagyidaiova

Where The Wild Flowers Grow

In your series Where The Wildflowers Grow you photographed the traumatic past of a corner of rural Greece, searching for clues about your family roots and collective evidence of the passing of time. Tradition and a sense of nostalgia permeate your images with a sense of loss. How did you come to conceive and develop this story?

The story began unfolding when I started thinking more about my family roots and history during my MA degree. I realised that I never really understood how my grandmother ended up living in Slovakia, as she was originally born in Greece. At first, we just started having many discussions about her experiences with forced migration, which remains an ongoing conversation topic to this day.

I knew I had to do the historical research myself, so I ended up ordering a lot of books, reading essays on the Greek Civil War and its aftermath, to educate myself about the event that caused my grandmother's departure from her birthplace. I had never heard of the conflict before she mentioned it to me.

Little by little, I began to incorporate the small number of archival elements that belong to her, images that depict her family living in the village before they left. That's when I realised that visiting the village in northern Greece, where she is from would be a fundamental part of the project, so I started planning my visit.

Working with small isolated communities can pose its challenges. Acceptance from the locals is crucial to gain access and acquire more knowledge and a sense of the place. Can you tell us how you connected with the people and how this interaction helped the development of your project?

I was expecting it to be quite challenging, as I was going to an unknown place, without speaking the language or knowing anyone. I stayed in a local guesthouse, which turned out being a popular meeting spot in the village, where most of the locals spend their days. Essentially, I ended up meeting quite a few people exactly in the guest house’s café. The village is really small, almost uninhabited, so it was not that challenging to get to know its residents. Many of them didn't speak English, only Greek or Macedonian (some are also fluent in Macedonian in the region), and since Macedonian has a Slavic root, like my native language Slovak, we tried communicating by using words from both languages. 

But there were also some inhabitants, who spoke English, as a large number of people migrated from the village to the US, Canada or Australia throughout and after the Greek Civil War. I befriended an elderly couple, who moved to Toronto at a young age, but they keep coming back every summer to see their village and their home. The couple even remembered my family from the times when they were still living in the village. 

All of the locals were extremely helpful and crucial to the story. When they saw me wandering around with an old family tree on a piece of paper and written notes from my grandmother, they became really intrigued and started taking me places. From showing me my family's old house, taking me to the local cemetery where some of my ancestors are buried to telling me about the village, I incorporated all of these locations in the story. It felt amazing to meet the people that my grandmother could have been neighbours/friends with, hadn’t she left at the age of four. 

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Nicola Morley

The Winds Of Change

Tradition and stillness are terms we often associate with the remote countryside and its values. Does The Winds Of Change deal with the evolution brought in by the new generations of this family?

The heir’s plans for the future of the estate and for continuing generations remain undisclosed. The only son, and the middle in age of of seven siblings, lives in the south and works in London.  The family believes he will take over the estate because he has a deep connection with the land. How that will work in practice is unclear. The land is harsh. Think less Chatsworth and more Wuthering Heights.

This is not a place that lends itself to manicured gardens and teashops. If the heir decides to go down a commercial route, he will have to be inventive. There is one part of the estate that he already manages and here he has renovated a house and some cottages to a high standard which are let out at a market rate. These properties are lived in by people who do not have any long-term connection to the estate and this of course changes the dynamic. 

Over the 823 years the family have been on the land, the estate has seen many changes and it has decreased substantially in size. When you ask if the WoC deals with the evolution brought in by new generations, it remains to be seen what that future will bring. That uncertainty is what the project is about.

Is change seen as a threat to the traditional values or as a resource to keep that reality afloat?

In the main house the current landlord is a stickler for adhering to his principles and follows a consistent daily routine.  However, with privilege comes responsibility.  One of the long-term tenants died recently and the landlord, at 98 and at the height of Covid, went to the funeral. Until recently, the landlord was working voluntary shifts at the old people’s home serving lunch.  When he was younger, he spent much of his time visiting his tenants and knew them well, albeit in a landlord-tenant relationship. 

One of his daughters, who lives with him, is particularly hands-on.  She is a local councillor.  During the recent floods this winter she was out knee deep in water helping with the village efforts.  Throughout Covid, she has been the designated driver, delivering food made at the local pub for “the vulnerable and the venerable”; her words. The landlord’s wife, who died quite some time ago, educated the young farmer’s children from the estate in her home. 

She also set up Riding for the Disabled, which has now expanded worldwide. When one daughter from the family married, the long-term tenants were invited to the wedding and reception at the house.  The bride wore an old lace tablecloth as her veil. These are values and responsibilities that are worth keeping.  The high-class etiquette is a performance which will become more difficult to maintain as circumstances change. It depends on how much value the next generation place on this and if the heir can find a workable balance. 

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Thomas James Parrish

Camiño For The Amazon

Camino For The Amazon is an important form of activism, aimed at protecting the rural communities affected by the Amazon fires. Your dedication to and passion towards nature surfaces through a set of images that celebrates the beauty of wilderness and how this context plays a central role for personal healing. Would you say that photography can help promote positive change to a larger scale?

Definitely. That’s something that has drawn me to the world of photography and has shaped my role within it. I have always wanted to raise awareness of current global issues in the hopes of not only drawing attention to these issues, but also raising funds for proactive solutions in response to them and photography has provided me with the perfect medium in order to do that. We see examples throughout history where photography has played a significant role in changing the outcome of catastrophic events, the spread of Nick Ut’s ‘Napalm Girl’ changed the course of the Vietnam war and potentially saved thousands of lives. Paul Hilton’s relentless work on the exotic wildlife trade has exposed some of the world’s darkest secrets, resulting in a heightened public awareness of the realities of that industry leading to policy changes.

I think Camino for the Amazon only scratches the surface of the power of photography and its potential for inspiring positive social change and I will continue to explore that potential.

How do you intend to carry on rising funds to help the cause further?

With the breakout of Covid-19, planning an exhibition of this work - which was intended to raise more funds for this cause – has been put on hold. Hopefully when/if galleries and exhibitions spaces are accessible for gatherings again I can continue to put this work together and host further fundraisers. I am always cautious of proclaiming what I intend to do, talk can be cheap, but there is a definite possibility of an exhibition and photo-book to further the funds raised for this cause.

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Miyuki Okuyama

At Dusk

I imagine you tiptoeing in the middle of the field hunting, not to hurt nature, but to listen to its whisper and capture the last glance before night falls. Surely this work is about a very personal connection with the land and its daily rhythm. What attracts you to this specific time of the day?

The title At Dusk is literally the time I go out with my camera. I click the shutter button if I encounter anything that draws my attention: farm animals, wild flowers, ordinary and obscure buildings etc.

I settled down in Europe by chance, far away from my home in Japan. I grew up in a rural village in the northeast, and it was exciting to go out of my country and discover different lands when I was young. But as I grew older, I rediscovered my own home as the subject of photography. Yet, it is not possible to move back there and it is not easy either to go home often.

Walking at dusk here in my new home is a way to have an imaginary evening walk at home, as landscapes and sceneries become less visible, leaving only details visible, and non-visible things such as temperature or smell become clearer instead.

The flash reflected by the eyes of sheep and cows reminds of some of Weegee’s photographs of the underlife caught by surprise in New York City at night, and it contrasts with the quieter set of images included in your project. Can you expand on your photographic technique and how you intend to further develop this series?

I fire a flashlight on purpose to capture somewhat eerie images of animals or other objects. I do so, because of my memories of childhood. 

I grew up in a large family of four generations; from my great-grandparents, grandparents, parents and my younger sister. My grandmother and great-grandmother were often my babysitters. Instead of sweet lullabies or tender stories to put me in bed, my babysitters often told me stories of ghosts, the dead, will-o'-the-wisp, or fox, an animal considered in my culture as mysterious and a somewhat evil being. Of course, my great-grandma and grandma were very sweet, but it was often so. This experience still fascinates me. Making slightly evil photos of common animals is one way of recovering such childhood.

For this project, I am also planning a photo-installation, combining these photos, found images and small found objects. I hope a viewer uses her imagination to create her own childhood story triggered by the photos and the objects.

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Umberto Verdoliva

The Missing Stars

The Missing Stars is your photographic response to the lockdown during the COVID pandemic. Indeed, your images suggest the commonly shared longing to reach out again, to be in touch with nature and to reconnect with one another. How did you come up with this series?

The series was born very naturally. I often look at my archive of negatives. Especially in the lockdown period, I had the opportunity to reflect and find other forms of expression through points of view different from my usual one. In this difficult period inside me strong feelings were born, the desire that everything came back as before. I let myself be carried away by what my images conveyed to me and step by step I built a little story.

Do you think we collectively have learned any lesson from this tragic moment in our history?

I don't know if we learned anything from this experience, only time will tell. We certainly understood that there are more important things than others in our life. This perhaps will help us, I hope, to know how to choose which values to follow over others.

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