Night School

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You know what they say about writing, right? Edit, edit, edit! So here I am, editing (yet again) my book Page 99, by Joe Bancroft.

I've just reached a part where the protagonist Joe enrols at night school. Remember night school? I certainly do. Each year, just about this time, the Eccles Journal would have a multi-paged pull-out featuring all the new courses that were on offer at the various further education venues around the town. There was a mouth-watering range of subjects and pricing that meant you'd be stupid not to take a course. I remember signing up for art, shorthand and, of course, photography when I was seventeen years old. Great days ..

Incidentally, here's the piece from my book ..

The ‘Photographer’s Eye’. Joe just had it. Could ‘see’ when a photograph was right. He could feel it. Would know when there was no other way to improve on a composition. It thrilled him to bits, which is why he signed up for a night-school course enticingly entitled ‘Tricks of the trade for the experienced amateur’. It spanned twelve Thursday nights in an annexe of the Green Lane adult education centre and Joe initially went just to enquire about the course but was convinced he should enrol after a fortunate chance meeting with Phil, the tutor. The guy’s chilled vibe, scruffy beard and posh, diffident voice were all very nice, but Joe put his name down the second Phil told him that, in no uncertain terms, would they be photographing rainbows or robins or waterfalls. What they did photograph - in only the third week - was a semi-professional model, the likes of whom Joe had never seen in his life; a blonde, crop-haired, perfectly made-up Heaven-sent Goddess called Janine, who sported lip-liner and blusher under a cheeky, tilted fedora and introduced him in no uncertain terms to the concept of ‘out of your bleedin’ league, mate’. Annoyingly, during the shoot, Phil kept rabbiting on about lighting and angle, exposure, pose and shadows, when all Joe could do was drool at this vision in a hat. 

 

Bank Holiday Monday

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is Prince's Park in Irlam, an area I used to cover for the Cadishead and Irlam Guardian until 1982. It should be a lot busier than this today though, as it's the site of an annual August Bank Holiday festival. I hope the weather's behaving for everybody. Bank Holidays meant only one thing as a press photographer .. you'd be guaranteed a really busy day as you tried to cover all the events going on in your 'patch'. And this particular Bank Holiday will always stay in my memory, as it was the date of the very last wedding I shot in the UK. Great memories .. 

Grumpy old man ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I turned 64 yesterday, an age that didn't mean a thing until that bloody McCartney put it into a ditty, but I think it entitles me to be a moaning old fart from now on, so here goes ..

I mentioned that I'd gone to Paris last week, keen to taste for myself the 'Olympic' experience. The trip also gave me the opportunity to visit an exhibition by famed American photographer Stephen Shore, whose work delights and baffles me in equal measure. Can't say I was over-excited by the stuff he was showing this time, but it did make me a little bit miffed when I started to think of my own photography. 'I've got work like that', I found myself saying. 'I've done stuff like that, too'. So why are my pictures getting eight likes on Instagram and his are in a Parisian photo-gallery? Why are mine in a self-published book (Total sales so far .. 2!) and he's being fêted in the capital at such a momentous time in its history?..

Well, because he's good, of course (whatever that is) and he's already well-known and he was doing it all a long time before I was. But even so .. how does one get a break these days? I think I've missed the boat when it comes to gaining recognition as a photographer, but a little more interest would be nice. After all, the whole point of actually taking photographs is so that they can be seen, and we can't all be like Vivian Maier when it comes to keeping our talent under wraps ..

Anyway, I'd be interested in offers from any gallery (anywhere) to show my work. Publishers, please form an orderly queue and I will consider all your proposals seriously. Ad agencies? Happy to help. Magazines? Of course you can do a feature on me ..

One of my heroes, André Kertész, was about 168 before he got properly recognised, so I guess it's just a waiting game in the end. (Oh, I can hear you now. 'How dare he compare himself to the masters? But if you haven't got faith in your own work what have you got?) So have a little patience, Martin. Your time will come .. 

Ps: Stephen's photographs are the bottom two in my collage. My pair are at the top. Click to see them larger. Any thoughts?

PPS: Life isn't all bad (even though I am 64!!). I do have my range of self-published books, and Café Royal have recently published a little collection of my photography. And the travel shot (top left) is from my new book 'Riding the dirty dog', covering a Greyhound bus trip across America (in a week!) So there ..

What's that, nurse? Time for my medication?..

Champion ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Diary, went to The Olympics. It was dead good. Paris very busy but amazing to see some of the venues, even if only from the outside ..

I just had to go! I couldn't be this close to The Olympics and not go to see for myself. To experience the buzz of the beautiful city of Paris at such a momentous moment, and join the crowds (And I mean crowds!) as they took in the sights. To mingle with people from all over the world as they came together for the magnificent spectacle ..

My legs are killing me now. I feel like I've run my own personal marathon, whizzing around the sights in just one hot afternoon, but it was certainly worth it. My photographs show the 'less glamorous' side of The Games, a quick glimpse behind the scenes (Because, let's face it, that's all I got!) But hey, I even bought the T-shirt ..  

And so to the shots. Click to see them larger ..

 

 

Fin!