22.02.10
Martin Middlebrook talks inspiration on creativity, passion, and determination.
In January 2009, I was completing a photoshoot for the BBC, when I was taken seriously ill.
I was walking back to my car with the last of my equipment when I collapsed. A colleague, realising my predicament, rushed me to hospital. My illness had some serious implications, and while I was affected greatly for several months, I am now fully recovered.
It was a period of great soul searching, a time to reflect upon the way I make a living, and why I chose photography as a career.
Photography started as a passionate hobby for me, but developed into a way of providing resources to benefit other parts of my life. I used it to produce material from which I could design and paint, and then it became a commercial endeavour in itself. In the process, its true meaning to me became lost in the fog of expediency, client briefs and capital expenditure.
I have rarely had a commercial shoot that I did not enjoy. I see pleasure in it all. It’s a privilege to be part of events, witness moments, gain access to all areas. It’s an honour to travel and meet people and share experiences, but, if I am honest, little of the work I create registers on my legacy radar. I never look back at the work I produced for a large national hotel chain last year with a warm fondness. I tried to be as creative as the context would allow, the client loved the work, and, if I am honest, in its genre, it’s perfectly okay. But that’s all I can say for it.
Throughout my creative life, the fundamental core for me has been one of self-development. I have always used my commercial photography as a means of drip-feeding this part of my desire. I have viewed each shoot as an opportunity to test myself, develop a broader range of skills perhaps, put myself in stressful places and see how I cope. Photography is a visual language and working commercially refines my vocabulary. I have never specialised (my market has been too small), so I developed skills that allowed me to work across different genres and subject matters. But all of this had to have a purpose. For me, it was a matter of constructivism, that each photograph I took informed the next. Skills in isolation serve no god!
I had always indulged myself by photographing self-created projects alongside my commercial work. But somehow I had lost my appetite for this. Somewhere along the line, I had put the camera down and forgotten to pick it up again. Creating images is my way of consoling my spirit, it is my oxygen. I had stopped breathing. Then two things happened: the recession bit and I became ill – two pieces of misfortune that changed my approach to picture taking and rejuvenated my love of photography. I revisited all the things that I had wanted to achieve artistically, and set them as my benchmark to success. Instead of the commercial imperative, it became the legacy imperative. I began to wonder if I could make this pay. Could I have all the fun that I used to feel when I picked up a camera? Could I produce work that I loved, that I was happy to show to colleagues and friends alike, and get paid for it?
It started simply. After being taken ill, I was not allowed to drive for four weeks. Having only my home, and all that was within walking distance, as a canvass, a friend and I set ourselves a ‘28-day project’. We would challenge each other, every day for a month, to produce one photograph of worth. From anything and nothing.
It forced me to think creatively, often with only my kitchen as a source. It taught me that taking photos in the rain can be great fun, that olive oil in a saucepan has its merits. I fell in love with the back light reflector of my neighbour’s Peugeot. My friend discovered the joy of long exposures and a torch. Either way, we were enjoying our photography, finding purpose. I was breathing in deeply and filling my veins.
Commercial work had been drying up for six months. I had returned from a trip to Uganda in August 2008, where I had photographed lions, purely for pleasure. On my return I discovered that two of my biggest clients were no more, and work stuttered from that point.
After the success of our 28-day project, I revisited my Uganda images, along with many others I had taken on other trips, and saw the path that lay before me. I would take the road less travelled and see where it took me. So I re-edited my wildlife shots from Uganda and presented a unique idea to West Midlands Safari Park. If they gave me access to their animals, I would produce a series of 10 limited-edition signed prints that they could use for corporate gifts and charity auctions. It was a commercially smart way for them to add value to their corporate brand, as their market and margins were squeezed. They agreed to pay me for it, and I would have the pleasure of building a portfolio that I could be genuinely proud of.
In 2003 I had been invited to Kabul by the United Nations and Afghan government, to produce a series of images to represent many of the reconstruction projects they were undertaking. Unfortunately, I was unable to complete the project due to other work commitments, so when the opportunity arose in May 2009 to return to Kabul on behalf of the Afghan prime minister, I saw the chance to fulfil a long-held dream: to complete what I started, in the form of a book. And if it cost me money, then so be it, because I was in control of the idea and the images. The satisfaction would be all mine.
After my obligations in Kabul were completed, I spent a week on the streets of the Afghan capital compiling a portfolio of images that could form part of an ongoing book project. By making this a self-created project, whatever commercial position resulted, would always represent something valuable and special to me. It freed me up to interpret whatever I stumbled upon as I wished. It was photography as it should be. As a friend said to me earlier this year: “Freedom is not given, it is taken.” I had started to take control of the freedoms I needed, to produce work that I wanted.
This year, I have produced three portfolios of self-created work, all varied and different in style and content. All rooted in the love of photography, the pleasure in creating images just for me, just for fun. The first project ‘28 days’ provided my catharsis from a bleak illness. The second, Kabul, the chance to fulfil a dream, and raise my profile a little; the third, my wildlife portfolio, a self-indulgent, self-created project that I got paid for.
In the commercial desert they have all proven ample refreshment. This is what I believe most passionately. This is my truth.
When I started out as a photographer, I naïvely believed that we lived in a meritocratic society – that somehow if you worked hard and honed your talent, you would be noticed and work would flood across your threshold. However, I soon realised that we live in a patronage state, and that waiting for commercial success was like drilling for oil in Blackburn.
I live in a small provincial town, and in a world of cheap content provided by the lowest common denominator, such commercial success was unlikely to come knocking. So I had better get on with enjoying my photography, remember all the reasons why I do it, immerse myself in the pleasure of creating something from nothing, and if opportunity knocks, so be it. If not, well, I will have fulfilled my legacy anyway.
To view Martin Middlebrook’s images of Afghanistan and to hear him speak about his work, visit www.professionalphotographer.co.uk/Exhibitions/Audio-Exhibitions/Martin-Middlebrook. You can see his animal project in the January issue of our sister title Photography Monthly and hear him on the Photography Monthly podcast.
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