As many of you will know, at the beginning of August I hiked up Snowdon with Neil Timms, in support of East Anglia’s Children’s Hospices.

This is just a short post, intended to say “thank you” to every single person who donated to the cause. This morning I was proud to give a total of £743 (online and offline donations combined). Considering the short notice at which we began our fundraising, Neil and I have both been overwhelmed by such generosity, which has come from our friends, colleagues, contacts and a fair few people we have yet to actually meet.

It’s lovely of you all – and obviously, EACH greatly appreciate your help.

Here are a few photographs from the day. Thanks to Neil (@neiletimms) for the idea, for driving us there and for his excellent company. (No, really. Not once did he swear, or complain, or insult me…)

It may be said that Art in the Underbelly’s beginnings were, to use Luke Emery’s own words, comparatively humble. It may not be said that the venue has ever lacked ambition. In the opening months of the Underbelly, a cluster of extremely impressive local artists displayed their work, and the venue, like many other artistic spaces in Norwich, quickly began to develop a strong reputation.

As an exhibiting artist, there are a number of reasons for my appreciation of the Underbelly. Exhibition spaces are seldom so unique, atmospheric or quirky, or indeed so small. I consider it tremendous that Norwich now has a dedicated artistic venue in a pub cellar. Opening nights at the Underbelly have a wonderfully lively atmosphere – owing to the intimate space and the downstairs bar – that would be simply impossible to replicate elsewhere in the city. It is a testament to Luke’s rigorous input as curator, meanwhile, that the exhibitions have such a consistently strong sense of cohesion – essential to a venue of its size. Needless to say, when I was first shown around the Underbelly, one year ago, with a view to my exhibition, it is safe to say that I did not need to be asked twice.

I regard David Drake’s exhibition as an excellent beginning to the Underbelly’s second year. As the work on display has always been of a high standard, it is tremendous to observe the venue’s richly-deserved increasing popularity. Hats off to the Rumsey Wells for opening the Underbelly, to Luke for his exhaustive efforts, and to my fellow past, present and future exhibiting artists. Happy birthday to the Underbelly indeed.

If I may, I should like to register my disapproval of this line of thought, on the simple grounds that full-time photographers whose work is genuinely worthy of attention are seldom so obtuse, or so unsure of their work as to promote themselves by comparing themselves to other photographers.

The argument goes, it seems, that everyday familiarity with one’s work increases one’s degree of knowledge and experience, producing a cumulative effect which (hopefully) maintains and improves the quality of the photographer’s output. It feels a little absurd to quarrel with this point – achieving such a position is an ambition of my own – but there is a generalisation inherent within it which, for the sake of clarity and for the careers of aspiring photographers, must be challenged.

As I have contemplated this article, one or two points have become apparent: there is absolutely no shame in taking on part-time work alongside photography. To the contrary, it can actually provide tremendous benefits. It is also worth adding that taking on the career full-time can have a number of detrimental effects.

Imagine for a moment that I – one such aspiring photographer – stopped my work as a barman, to focus on my photographic career. I could do it, and I am confident that I have the ability and a growing degree of knowledge with which to do it reasonably well. Why, then, have I not done so? Well, taking one’s career on full-time can, as many artists in many fields will attest, involve financial pressures, which in turn lead to taking on work for which one is either not sufficiently skilled, or not actually inclined towards. Neither of these are helpful situations to be in: art (and photography in particular) produced without expertise, enjoyment or enthusiasm often exhibits the lack of these attributes. Furthermore, if I were to shadow another, more established photographer (as I currently do with the excellent Mike Harrington), the time spent doing so would be far more of a risk than if I had a guaranteed income. On these grounds, I think my time at present is better spent learning without the financial pressure of having just one source of income. I recently received a heartening approbation of this attitude from Ian McKinnon-Evans, creative director of advertising agency The Point, who remarked that this way of moving forward was brave, and would be beneficial in the long-term – minimising the risk of an early negative reputation.

For the time being, then, I am quite prepared to combine my efforts in photography with the additional, part-time work that I do. (Work which, by the way, will allow me to invest in better and better equipment in the coming months.)

This issue raises another important point, however. I am convinced that my part-time work has actually been a firmly positive influence on my photographic output. My work has significantly developed qualities such as my assertiveness, my confidence in interacting with people of all ages and backgrounds, and my ability to contribute towards a convivial atmosphere. These skills are as transferable as anything I learned during my degree, and each of them has proved of the utmost importance to my photography.

In short, then, while I do agree that full-time photographers may well – generally speaking – have an edge in terms of experience, by no means does it necessarily follow that they are either more knowledgeable or more effective in their work. I have questioned people in the past for seriously forwarding this argument, and I would advise all photographers in my position to do the same. It doesn’t stand up to scrutiny.

Laura specialises in the creation of jewellery, from ear-rings to cufflinks, fashioned from fragments of vintage crockery and glass collected from the Norfolk and Suffolk coastlines. (You can find her website here.) This particular shoot was intended for promotional use, including a poster, so it was imperative to prepare and conduct the shoot to the highest standard possible for the available budget.

Shooting the products on a white background, with studio lighting, was the simple part: a question of buying some white board (with a glossy finish) and shutting out the natural light in my house. Setting up the lighting was slightly more of a challenge: practising with a model Lego parrot on the preceding day enabled me to work out the required distances and angles to produce even light and accurate colours.

This shoot was intended to maintain a similar theme to Laura’s other shoots, with her friend and up-and-coming photographer Paul Strowger, in which her products have often been photographed alongside vintage cups and ice cream to create bright, leisurely images, appropriate to Laura’s vintage jewellery. This time, the jewellery was photographed alongside iced fairy cakes, freshly made by Laura – which, obviously, brought its own challenges. The heat generated by the photographic lights caused the icing to begin melting out of shape within two or three minutes, so it was vital to compose the shots both fastidiously and fast. Again, we found that pieces of Lego proved absolutely ideal for manipulating necklace beads into symmetrical positions around the cakes, as well as for discreetly propping up earrings. (I couldn’t recommend Lego to photographers with any greater enthusiasm…)

It was, I found, an enormously enjoyable shoot. Although I usually photograph outdoor environments and people, this ‘studio’ shoot (set up in my living room, by the way) brought its own challenges – it was excellent to prepare for something new, implementing one or two ideas learned from assisting and observing Mike Harrington, a sterling locally-based product photographer – and it was also excellent to hear from Laura that I’d done the job well. Here are the results…

I am not alone in sensing a responsibility to make this point. Mary Hamilton, a friend of mine and a fine journalist, made very similar points in her blog post published today.

I will not be so glib as to ignore the confrontations that obviously took place. Having read this morning that over thirty police officers had been injured by the end of the day, I was far more than disappointed: I was furious at the thought that a minority of idiots – whose behaviour can, I think, be described with some accuracy as ‘thick’ – had soiled the UK public’s perception of the day’s events. There was a palpable consciousness among many protesters that, were it not for their duties on the day, the Metropolitan Police might have joined in the march themselves. It seems evident to me that those few hundred idiots who took part in acts of violence are an utter insult to the few hundred thousand people who descended upon London.

I hope that my photographs, provided below, convey some of the atmosphere that I described at the beginning of this post. They will be far more representative of the day than anything you are likely to see in the national newspapers – and I believe you would find that almost any Metropolitan Police officer would concur.

On the grounds that, personally, I wouldn’t have the nerve to make such a convoluted and impudent request of any other business, I declined the “offer”. It isn’t as though I don’t ever offer my services voluntarily. It’s more related to the fact that I don’t remember ever having left a meeting feeling so insulted.

This instance was exceptional – what kind of moron were they looking for, who would accept payment in the form of further unpaid work? – but since that day I have been approached to offer my services voluntarily on a few occasions.

Where the circumstances are right, I don’t mind the occasional voluntary job. Neither do other people within the creative industries who have contacted me. I have learned, though, that the best way to go about it is to actually offer it to people, rather than accept offers that come in. The most important rule is to think very, very carefully before working voluntarily for another business.

Think about it. For any project, a budget will be set aside for most of the necessities. Here are some examples from my own experience: for an event, a budget was made available for a speaker, for venue hire, for drinks and refreshments – but not for a photographer. For a brochure, a budget was made available for design, for copywriting and for printing – but not for a photographer. For a website, a budget was made available for design, for copywriting, for hosting and even for search engine optimisation – but not for a photographer. Most people in the other creative industries will have been in similar situations.

I would like to know how we have arrived at the stage at which any business, with no sense of shame, can make the decision to leave a photographer out of the budget for a project, for which photography – and good photography, at that – is actually required. Or a designer – which also happens frequently. Or a copywriter. Or any creative. My aforementioned client actually said to my face that they saw “no need to set aside any money”, because they imagined that “quite a few photographers would be interested in doing the work.”

Well, if you must marginalise an entire industry like that, and you think it’s acceptable to do so, go ahead. I won’t bother to recommend you though. Why would I? I won’t bother to build up a rapport with you. Why would I? I won’t support your business. Why would I? You will get an unsightly reputation by continuing to ask people to do jobs for you – as I have said previously – for not even peanuts.

Most businesses are perfectly aware of the importance of publicity. The creative industries that provide so much material for it are disgracefully… Well, “undervalued” would be the wrong word. These people know exactly the worth, in the case of my industry, of good photography. I think it’s fair to say that they just don’t want to pay for it. The best that can be said of the situation is to describe it as “unfortunate”. Myself, I prefer to add “cynical” as well. Which is why I didn’t bother to say “hello” to the aforementioned manager the next time I saw them, a month or so later.

Why would I?

Within my sights I have an illustrator, a journalist, a deer herder, fishermen, farmers, a DJ, a lecturer… In short, around forty names, each of whom play an undeniably vital and dynamic role in giving Norfolk – in both urban and rural areas – the vibrant yet humble character that it has.

For this project, I am looking to photograph, amongst others, the pride of Norfolk’s artisans. I warmly invite recommendations of people from residents of the area. If you have any names for me to consider, please do get in touch (details below). This county, I frequently discover, is filled with all manner of talent – but perhaps it is just a trifle reticent about making others aware of it. As I have said before, in this post, my intention with this project is to show Norfolk in this light, encouraging people to take pride in what they do, whilst retaining the sense of normality that they value so highly.

You’ll find all of my contact details on my homepage:

http://www.ryanwattsphotos.co.uk

I suppose I should also mention that the project, at present, is being funded entirely by myself. I don’t mind continuing as it is, but clearly the project would be a good deal stronger for one or two donations, or suggestions as to how I might acquire some funding – particularly with an exhibition firmly in mind for 2012.

To raise a little bit of funding, I am offering print sales, the proceeds of which will be invested in the project. Do contact me if this interests you.

Finally – feel free to share this post with others. I am hard at work on my own research for the project, but clearly it will be all the stronger for the input of others. It’s a privilege to produce a body of work like this – I can’t wait to get my hands muddy tomorrow…

‘So what do you do?’
‘I am a professional photographer.’
‘Where did you study?’
‘I studied at the University of East Anglia.’
‘I didn’t know they ran a degree in photography?’
‘They don’t.’

I spend the next four or five minutes justifying myself in my choice of career, gently, though repetitively, talking my way back to an equal footing with photographers who hold that golden ticket in a crowded industry: The Qualification.

Allow me to make one thing clear. I have no wish in this blog post to belittle the qualifications of photographers, or to make any suggestion that courses and degrees are in any way unhelpful or unnecessary. Make no mistake, if I could afford to go through university again, and gain a degree in photography, I’d be there already. I do, however, wish to clear up some of the preconceptions that people appear to have about my decision to make photography my living, despite not being directly qualified in it.

Although – if you don’t already know – my degree is in English Literature, I chose to pursue photography after graduating for two reasons. Firstly, I very much enjoyed it. Secondly, I was good at it. I am already on to a winner – there are many photographers who don’t enjoy their career, or who aren’t – let’s be frank – terribly good at it.

A little over two years on, I am able to add a host of reasons to those two. My work is appreciated not only by my friends and my clients, but by an increasing proportion of the general public, including – and these are compliments that mean a great deal to me – fellow artists, creative professionals and photographers. I am approached to exhibit at venues around Norwich on a regular basis. I am fortunate enough to have a patient and enjoyable manner with people, which, I am told, encourages many people I photograph to relax in front of the camera, where otherwise they would remain very nervous. Furthermore, personal skills of that ilk, I am told, and am beginning to notice myself, are conspicuous in the extreme when a photographer – qualified or not – lacks them. I am developing a style of my own – accessible, thoughtful and filled with my own character as well as that of my various subjects – a style which has gone down well with its widening audience, and which, in my opinion, might not have developed as it has done if the distractions and demands of a photography degree had consumed my time.

I regularly read blogs by photographers. On a number of occasions, I have happened across photographers studying their art at universities around the United Kingdom and worldwide who have stated that they are still trying to figure out their own particular style. This isn’t a criticism. It takes any artist a long time to figure out their own style, and it takes some artists longer than others. Making a criticism like that would be akin to criticising a sixteen-year-old for not having gone through puberty yet: to do so would say a great deal more about me than it would about the photographers in question. My point is this, though: that sense of style develops from within. It does not come as part of an academic package. It never has done, in any study of any art form. Some people never develop their own unique style. I have been lucky enough to spend time struggling with ideas and techniques, and to have developed a photographic style, to an extent. I think I should use it – as should anyone in a similar position, regardless of their qualifications. More people should make good use of their talents like that. To so much as imply otherwise, as some people have done to myself and to other artists I know (both to our faces and behind our backs), because there are other people with qualifications trying to compete, is priggish and narrow-minded, and indicative of a dismal understanding (at best) of how art works. I have been told the following fact many times, by many people: any industry will ultimately make room for people who are good enough.

I accept entirely that I have a great deal to learn in my profession. I have much to learn in terms of technical knowledge, and in terms of the creative industries at large. I am lucky enough to count one or two top photographers amongst my friends, who give constructive and helpful criticisms of my work, criticisms which have the intention of building upon the ability that is already there. Criticisms that can sometimes be frank, but which always prove to be jewels, well worth listening and responding to.

The next time someone asks me why I have become a photographer in a crowded industry, when my background is in literary study, I think I will save myself the energy of justifying myself, and simply direct them to my work. They are quite free to criticise that instead. I might listen to them then.

In the weeks before I took up my place at the University of East Anglia, all the way back in 2005, I found myself repeatedly answering the same question in conversations.
‘UEA? Where is that?’
‘It’s in Norwich.’
‘Where is that?’
‘It’s in Norfolk.’
‘Where is that?’
Scores of my friends and fellow students in Dorset, where I studied for my A-levels, had only fleetingly heard of Norfolk. Interestingly, far from a negative opinion of the county, influenced by Alan Partridge and irresponsible medical terms, most people I talked to simply didn’t know a great deal about it.

I arrived, it must be said, with a similar degree of knowledge about Norfolk. I had chosen UEA almost entirely on the strength of its English Literature course. I was aware of one or two things about which Norfolk could be proud – Norwich Cathedral, which will be one thousand years old at the end of this century (no, really, stop for a moment and contemplate that – it’s astonishing), and a city with countryside on its outskirts. Those things aside, I knew next to nothing.

I was delighted with that – a significant part of my attraction to UEA was the opportunity to study in an unfamiliar setting. As I thought then, and as I still think now, albeit for different reasons: where better than Norwich?

It took me an inordinate (and, with hindsight, shameful) length of time to begin to really get to know the area. Any campus-based university has a way of creating a bubble community of its own, in which one has to make a special effort to reach out to other people. As silly as it sounds, at a campus university it is perfectly possible to live in almost complete ignorance of the local area for the entire duration of a degree. It happens all the time. I even know one woman who will tell you that she never left the grounds of UEA in all of her three years as an undergraduate, if you can believe it.

From day one, I liked Norwich. I took a guided bus tour during my first week here. The guide spoke with a great deal of pride about its history – Elizabeth Fry on the £5 note, Kett’s Rebellion, the rarity of having two Cathedrals – but he also spoke with a generous serving of humour as he recommended us to look out for the Puppet Man, and regaled us with the story of the bus that fell into a collapsed chalk pit in the 1980s. I like cities with that kind of humility, just as I like people with that kind of humility – and to this day, I find that most people here have a similar self-deprecating attitude. These days, I work in two of its most popular pubs – the Alexandra Tavern and the Fat Cat – and I greatly appreciate the fact that I am able to dish out insults to the pubs’ respective regulars, confident that I won’t cause offence – I simply have to be ready to take them back at some point. It takes a lot of warmth (and mutual respect, I suppose, somewhere…) to keep that kind of relationship ticking over. Overwhelmingly, I find that the people of Norwich – and indeed the wider Norfolk community – are open to that form of humour, and I think it speaks volumes about their friendliness. I have warmed to Norwich more than I ever could to Bournemouth, the town I called home before moving here.

Norfolk is also home to a wide array of talent. We all know about Stephen Fry and Bill Bryson – they go without saying – I am talking about talent that frequently goes unnoticed, as a direct result of the humility I was just lauding. I knew (and routinely insulted) one man for months before discovering – from someone else, naturally – that he is a nationally respected illustrator. I recently chatted at length to a woman I knew to be a well-known artist, only to discover a few days ago that some of her work has actually been bought for Charles Saatchi’s collection. I regularly talk in the pub to a well-known retired television presenter – though never about his career in television. I’d known another man for over a year before someone told me he’d served on the Royal Yacht. I exchanged Christmas cards last year with the UK Columnist of the Year. She’d punch me if I brought the subject up in person. These are just a few examples. Norfolk twinkles and gleams with humble talent of this sort – terrific people who take pride without seeking recognition. (I envy that character trait greatly.) If there is a downside to such an attitude, however, it is that campaigns to encourage recognition of talent, innovation and skill never really seem to gather momentum. People aren’t accustomed to shouting about their abilities.

Over the course of 2011, I will be producing a body of work, which, provided I can maintain some degree of focus, will show Norfolk in what I consider to be its real light. It will depict some of the people who help make the county the dynamic and delectable place that it is, in a suitably humble context that also illustrates the sense of normality that pervades their work. It will be a body of work that humbly shows, rather than extravagantly claims.

If I do it right, and one person comes away with a viewpoint of Norfolk that is positive, rather than non-existent or negative, then I will be delighted. It will be quite a task. Judging my path well will be difficult indeed – but if anyone is going to screw up a project like this, I’d consider it a great privilege…