A fighting woman, a thinking woman.

It’s really hard to look at the past as you get older. We tried this today as we looked back at the start of the Impact Hub in Birmingham and knowing that in 5 months times it will be over. The traumatised brain seems to struggle with memory and can be very blurry. I’m grateful to have not forgotten some of the moments such as the night I first met my friend Andy Reeve in a cafe in Lewis in Moseley and thinking ‘wow that guy has an amazing sense of style’. He gave me a yellow pin badge that said ‘epic brum’. I looked it up, saw this incredible crowd funder, packed up my stuff from a shared office, jumped on my bike and went straight there the next day. I turned up to an empty building in Digbeth with a few people sat around biscuits, white boards and post stick notes.  At that moment I think I just naturally became a part of the hub community. At this point I had no real sense of what it meant to be in a community. I was part of a global community of photojournalists and I was still technically still in the Army Reserves.  I was still putting on uniform from time to time and working as an army photographer. I had not long returned from a trip to Afghanistan to photograph the final few weeks of the British Army being in Camp Bastion.

At this point I had zero understanding of colonisation and the historical legacy that the military had to play in this. When my friends Shaheen and Aliyah co curated an exhibition at BMAG called the Past is Now I was really able to get a better understanding. They also connected me to the real power of art as activism.  All this I learnt through the people I met in the hub and so the very slow process of de colonising my own mind set and working out why uniform means violence to so many different things to different people has begun. It has brought some of my work to a grinding halt, made me question every element of myself as a woman, a white person and a photographer. And I regret none of it.  Because if I had never asked these questions I would have carried on. Wearing uniform and making work that exploited and monopolised on the suffering of others. This feels like a confession but it is also the start of trying to set the record straight and let you know why being an artist for me is crucial.

I can’t think of any other way of being that suits my existence and support the way I want to help make change within the city I now call home. I’m not a writer - I’m articulate, but I’m not emotionally ready to put my whole self in the line of fire and be open to scrutiny. The wounds are deep and some are wide open. The hub has been a place to heal and in order to heal you have to work out where the pain began in the first place.  

I’m learning to lean more into being myself. My friends Byng, Nikki B and Immy have sat me down a million times to tell me this and Byng even designed me a brilliant new website. I have some of the best people around me who have helped in ways they may never know. It has taken years of adjustment and I’m now only really starting to understand the consequences this has had on my life. The hub has helped me see this and I often think PMT (Powering the Matriarchy) came out of a need to create a utopian playful part of me that in turn helped to make space for as many womxn and non binary people as possible in Birmingham, our highlight being our PMT disco party. I’ll never forget the moment where we covered the windows of the Impact Hub in tin foil, got some brilliant performers and DJ’s and danced without the fear of unwanted eyes or touch. This also led to me setting up ROAAAR to tackle some of the wider and deeper societal issues around safety and sexual violence.  A slow moving movement, but one that only exists after having the space to put on workshops.  

We embody different parts of our lived experience based on the environments we find ourselves in. Some of my past informs my decisions in the present and have proved to be very helpful such as setting up ROAAAR. But the effects of the institution have also taken there toll. I’ve squashed parts away into myself for the sake of maintaining the premise that I’m tough and un touchable. ROAAAR is partly a lesson to my younger self to allow yourself to be vulnerable and tough without losing your identity along the way. My Mum said I’m like a prickly pear - spiky on the outside and mushy in the middle. I’ll take that, but over time I’d like to take some of those spikes away and cut of the oxygen to wilt those sharpened prongs and I’d like others to be able to have the emotional and physical resilience to be able to do the same.

It’s clear that this year is transformational and my four years in the hub have been a huge part of this.  But at this moment in time it feels the most appropriate way for me to be and also crucial in how I move forward and contribute. I think the ethics, care and love of your work matters in every way whether it’s sold for 50p or 50k. For me each year is taking away another layer to examine. The representation of the military veteran is multi layered, complex and very different from the depiction of the often celebrated war hero that I have zero connection to. My creative practice will challenge this. 

Meeting so many people who’ve generously shared their experiences has shaped the kind of woman and creative I want to be. 

I am now getting familiar with the idea of slowing down and sharing some of my archive. I believe in the collective experience so you can also reach out to me if you’re in Birmingham and want to stop by for coffee at either the Impact Hub or the studio space in Grand Union.

I think this next 5 months will pass quickly. This year is going to be messy, difficult and exciting as we share moments of personal transformation as we build a society we want to be in and support the communities we love.

‘There are no short cuts to any place worth going’

Beverly Sills 

On the 30 Oct 1995 I officially enlisted into the royal air force. 12 years later I gave my years notice. In 2009 I was formally discharged. 10 years ago today. The past decade has felt like I’ve been un peeling myself, shedding some layers and growing into others. Also allowing myself to open up the pressure valve and work at a different rhythm.

This post marks ten years working as a photographer and leads up to the launch of a new website. I’ve spent a few months digging a little deeper into the archive. Shining a torch under the stones of my past and taking a foam roller to the soul to press out the stories wedged in between the knots.  

The cast of the Graeae Theatre company perform Sequins and Snowballs at the Southbank in 2012. These were the first people to hire me as a photographer and gave me the best introduction to creating fully accessible theatre. 

Moving from any institution is not easy. They often say it takes as long as the duration of a relationship to get over it.  Maybe it’s the same as leaving a long term relationship. The military created conditions which provide stability. As a young woman in the air force I belonged to something. A community that shared values. When I started to question these values the wheels started to wobble and that need for stability started to fade and a stronger sense of challenging the system started to prevail.  Photography seemed liberating at the time. The camera was the tool I used to document the world around me.  I chose photojournalism as this seemed to fit at the time.  Shortly after being sent on assignments to places within the Middle East I began to again question what that really meant ‘to document the world around us’ and think more about who’s gaze it is.  What is the bias we all carry forms of before we enter new spaces.

Baby Eileen is held in the arms of her mother, 28-year-old Amal Zalgoot. Whilst photographing the 2014 conflict in Gaza I chose to document the resilience of the women there. I saw acts of incredible courage and acts of love.

A notice board displays portraits by a nurse working at the maternity unit of some of the patients at the Al Shifa hospital in Gaza. 

It was during my time in Birmingham with friends who were exploring the effects of the British colonialism that I became acutely aware that my desire to explore with a camera was a privilege I had never questioned. I had not needed to consider or understand that I was as a white cisgendered woman with a British passport, and that most doors were left open for me.  Whilst I may have experienced challenges unique to being female I found that other areas such as race were not barriers. My aim within my own practice is to consider the true impact of questioning who represents what and work carefully to include this in my own story telling.  I will rarely cover a story which I don’t feel credible to do and I often turn down assignments which may compromise these values and sign post them to photographers who work and live in these regions.  I see my transition into teaching as part of this and a way to share skills that I’ve had access to.  I’m not some kind of moral warrior, I do need to make money, but I’ve decided to make this choice so I don’t throw my morals under the bus. It’s a tricky life to lead, but it’s worth it.

Being invited to document a group of people with different experiences of chronic and often invisible illness was a highlight. I’ve learnt alot from these folk and about how to create spaces for love, connection and healing. Known as the horizontals this collective were able to share their stories of dealing with our often ableist culture. You can see more here.  

My time working out the Impact Hub in Birmingham and the friendships and connections that have come from this space have given me time to adjust to a new way of working. I’m on other side of this now and at the edge of a very long spring board to jump back into my practice. I’ve tried things that I never thought I would do.  Curating a festival for womxn and making spaces for artists during the 2017 TedXBrum were things I never imagined I would do.Working with artists and thinking more like an artist are parts of me I want to explore further. Being part of the group show No Mans Land gave me a deeper sense of this.   Being able to pass through so many different environments, taking small nuggets of wisdom along the way is something I’ll always be grateful for. Walking through the world with our eyes wide open can really slow us down, but that time we spend lamenting are moments of growth. 

Working with organisations who focus on representing and enabling women has been key to my work.  Women for Women International have been one of these.  Here a group of women in Kosovo share a moment in a learning circle. Women here were effected by the Kosovo war in 1998 and have been attending weekly sessions to build their business skills and start their own projects. 

Sgt Conchita Lopez, 28, is one of 10 policewomen in the border town of Tapachula in Mexico's southern Chiapas state. In 2016 I was supported by the International Women’s Media Foundation to join a reporting trip with a group of female journalists. 

The process of building a new website has helped to shape how I see my own work. I could not have done this without the wisdom and guidance of talented designer Louise Byng.  Never underestimate the importance of working with a designer who spends time understanding your practice and building something that reflects your vision.  I was built in an culture that made me push myself beyond my physical and mental limits and now I’ve got some space to recover and re affirm who and what I want to be in this world and more importantly learn how to own it without apology.

Graeae Theatre Company in rehearsals for the 2012 play Reasons to be Cheerful

Uma Silwal (red jumper) with her best friend taken in Nepal. She had lost her leg in the earthquake in Nepal in 2015. Following her recovery she decided to change her degree from engineering to become a social worker. “I had a few choices ahead of me before the earthquake. It felt like with two legs I have two paths to take. After the quake I only have one leg but it’s also given me one clear path. To help those who are like me.” Taken in Nepal whilst on assignment for Humanity & Inclusion UK.

The Black Lives Matter protest in Birmingham made me research the inequality many black people face, especially women. The world opened up once I read the famous essay on intersectionality by Kimberle Crenshaw. 

‘Incoming’

I’m no art critic and never intend to be one. Often I head to London for work and just to catch up with people. Now I’ve decided to carry less guilt about my lack of pursuit of picture editors and the relentless hustle of freelance life it’s given me the space to go and look at things. I often find as a freelancer you need that ruthless edge and ability to network your way around the industry. I’ve always found this tricky, like many others.  So whats my point? Well none of these realisations are negative, just an evolution of my discovery into how I fit into the visual art world.  I have no resentment towards photojournalism and indeed it’s been the bedrock of how I leapt into the world of visual representation. But now I feel the values around the pursuit of being published and recognised for the work really bashes against my values and unless there is social impact in the work, then I don’t understand the process of entering competitions and awards. So with this in mind it’s time for me to look at alternative ways to show well documented issues.  The refugee situation is one of these and forms the theme for Richard Mosse’s new work called Incoming at the Barbican Gallery.

The title got me first, it relates to a phrase we used in the military calling ‘incoming fire’. This was intentional by the artist as his installation features an airstrike by and aircraft and also the loading of missiles onto a war plane onboard a US Navy ship.  So this is where the narratives then blend together with the filming of events such as the burning down of the camps in Calais and the rescue of migrants of the coast of Greece. I had no idea what to expect but a friend of mine was clear “Make sure you sit through the whole film.” Which is exactly what I did.

This is no ordinary film and one of the most powerful elements away from the context were the aesthetics. All of it was filmed on a military issue thermal camera which picks up images from 50 km away. It left this incredible mix of white shown as the cold and all heat registered as dark and black.  For me this really hammered home the complicit nature of humanity and it’s involvement in the creation of the migrant crisis. Everyone looked the same. White, brown, black - everyone was reduced to a biological reading.  The deeply problematic practice of eugenics thrown aside and everyone cast in the same skin tone, but different in actions.  There were no refugees flying that plane that dropped a bomb on the building.  There were no refugees burning down the church in the camp in Calais. There were no refugees pulling a body out the morgue and removing part of it’s femur in an attempt to get some ID.  All this features in the film.  And it’s big. You can’t escape it. I felt like someone had a boot on my chest whilst watching this. The mixture of images and the use of real sounds and composed incidental music added to the heart and gut wrenching experience. But I’m not going to tell you every detail because I hope you can go and see it.

I left that cinema with wet eyes. And not just because of the film, but with this deep rooted feeling of complicity. That we sometimes stand idle in our world of social media and news channels and do nothing. And when we think we’re doing something, we’re told its not enough. We are shaping the world with our stillness and we dare not to put our head in the mouth of the tiger.  Because we are happy to be fed and receive and we dare not bite back.  We are useless as a single entity, but perhaps united we can influence and perhaps alter the course of the systems of power to create some change. In the meantime hold your breath when you think you know about the complexity of the current migrant situation. Step back, go and read some history, look at the nature of conflict and do some research. Our ill thought out views are part of the toxic process of oppression and we owe it to ourselves to respect the freedom we know, built on the backs of others.  We owe it to the thousands of people escaping war, poverty and oppression to un pick our own shady history and start to re write it.

It’s been a week since a man drove down Westminster Bridge and murdered bystanders and a police officer and I really don’t want to monopolise on the tragedy in Westminster. This is more an account from someone inside Parliament during the lock down. It’s also about how I rationalised taking pictures whilst there. It’s a piece about inner conflict, my challenging relationship with the media and my inner dialogue around the way these incidents are reported and treated.  It also feels appropriate to send this out on the day the UK triggers Article 50 and we begin the process of leaving the EU. It feels like we’re in a flux of division, divisive language, multi layered narratives and waves of social media influencing our thoughts and behaviours.

So here it goes.

I’d just finished a routine photo shoot with the Royal British Legion with a couple of military veterans. We finished as usual at 230 pm and I made a quick stop to the bathroom. I noticed a woman who’d put her coat in the sink get agitated. The taps are on a sensor, so after placing her coat in the basin it quickly filled with water. She hastily grabbed the jacket and stuck it under the blower. She swooshed out and in came a woman who commented “No idea what’s going on out there but there’s about a hundred people in the corridor!” My immediate thought was perhaps a protest, someone unhappy with a vote. The parliament building is fairly easy to access once through security and filled with school kids, tourists and MP’s. 

A crowd swelled in the Central Lobby and smart phones became the news source. Twitter became the connector. Oddly we were never actually told by anyone what was happening outside. Even to the point of us leaving 7 hours later we were never really told, and those of us who could get connected watched on our phones as we started to get an idea of the events outside.

Occasionally an angry steward in a black suit with long coat tails would shout over the tannoy ‘no photography’. This really did not dissuade the MP’s who had taken to twitter on mass. It did make it difficult for me to take pictures and I became incredibly self conscious. I started to recall all the situations before this where I have been locked in or in a so called ‘lock down’. All those memories from Iraq and Afghanistan during mortar attacks and clearance operations. What I recalled was the boredom and the small things people did to occupy time the time. I recalled hours sat in body armour and helmet inside a blast shelter.  But now I have a camera. It’s different.  That’s when I knew I would take the pictures. I wanted to show this other side of the day, something that gave a counter view to the events outside.

The building founded on the principle of democracy had now become the very building we were now detained within. Prisoners of uncertainty and surrounded by power and the status afforded to the entitled. Armed police with hidden faces and aggressive posture. Clearly pumped on adrenaline.  I went and sat next to one of our veterans who was busy snapping selfies and trying to keep his anxiety levels low. Only an hour before he had shared his suffering and experiences with PTSD and a recent suicide attempt. We were sat with those who sent us to war, those who were broken by war and those who were facing the kinds of war that are hidden. Buried deep and boxed away like a dirty secret.

Catering staff mixed with boxing teams. Officer workers talked to school children.  At 6 hours into our lock down people started to mooch through the exhibitions in Westminster Hall. I remember sitting on the cold stone floor filing images as someone intently gazed over me at the exhibition behind. A polite greeting and then a return to the caption. Some just did their make up. 

Announcements were made as we were shuffled into another part of the building. No one could hear. We went back to our phones for information. Eventually we slowly made our way out the back of Parliament, the police had the painstaking task of checking every square inch of the area before we could leave.  I turned back and saw people looking up. I followed their gaze. The Union Jack flag, at half mast. 

It’s been a week. What won’t leave me is the way in which we report on and explain events and the multiple biases we hold when doing so. How we prioritise the value of those who die. On the same day over 150 people were killed in Mosul in coalition airstrikes. Some of this is down to where the media locates, the ease of getting to an event and access - there are far more reporters in London than Mosul. But there is so much more to this than location and resources. This is also about mind sets, understanding our privilege and this often conflicted view of the ‘other’.  

Yesterday a young friend of mine commented that “The day after a reported terror attack how you put on your headscarf feels different. You can sense the change in the atmosphere. You know that when you walk into the street you know the frontline of who gets the hate is usually the most visible, which often means Muslim women.” She added “Our phones are alive with messages from friends telling them to avoid public places after some had been heckled and chased with pork.”  This societal ignorance and the building up of something which was the result of a deluded middle aged man murdering innocent people would have always been built into sensational headlines. It sells. That news sells. I sent pictures out because part of me knew that. I’m as complicit as everyone else in the media narrative. I thought I was doing my job, by documenting the event. But I also knew I wanted that other perspective out there.  Naively I thought it was important, but sometimes we feed the beast of fear. 

At the end of a week that presented more new encounters I can honestly say I feel heartfelt gratitude for the people in my life. Today was a glorious tide of planning the PMT Festival followed by a visit from my Ma, who now owns matching dungarees and my brother who shared his Birthday evening with me. Lebanese food and a stunning dance performance from James Wilton where male bodies twisted, contorted and allowed us the vision of how masculinity could look without the performance of gender. Where bodies worked together to transport us into an almost hypnotic and pure space.

And all through this week I've listened to the words of Kate Tempest's Tunnel Vision:

When we gonna see that life is happening? And that every single body bleeding on its knees is an abomination And every natural being is making communication And we’re just sparks, tiny parts of a bigger constellation We’re miniscule molecules that make up one body You see the tragedy and pain of a person that you’ve never met Is present in your nightmares, in your pull towards despair And the sickness of the culture, and the sickness in our hearts Is a sickness that’s inflicted by this distance that we share Now, it was our bombs that started this war And now it rages far away So we dismiss all its victims as strangers But they’re parents and children made dogs by the danger Existence is futile, so we don’t engage But it was our boats that sailed, killed, stole, and made frail It was our boots that stamped It was our courts that jailed And it was our fuckin’ banks that got bailed It was us who turned bleakly away Looked back down at our nails and our wedding plans In the face of a full-force gale, we said “Well, it’s not up to us to make this place a better land It’s not up to us to make this place a better land.” Justice, justice, recompense, humility Trust is, trust is something we will never see Till love is unconditional The myth of the individual has left us disconnected, lost, and pitiful I’m out in the rain It’s a cold night in London And I’m screaming at my loved ones to wake up and love more I’m pleading with my loved ones to wake up and love more

Excited, nervous, naive.  I was all these things in 2005 before I got on the plane to fly to Iraq.  I knew nothing about this country, the people or the landscape I was about to enter.  From a TV set in a military base in Bosnia I watched the flames of air strikes in Baghdad which marked the beginning of the Iraq war in 2003. Part of me was envious that I was not there. As a military woman I wanted to be in the action and part of this war. I was naive then. Driven by different reasons. Wanting to be part of the action is one of the reasons I joined the military. Until I started to see the consequences of this ‘action’.

When I landed into Basra Palace, my home for the next 6 months I was hit by a blast of hot air.  I had never been anywhere this hot.  It was like stepping into an oven.  On that first night we slept on the roof as the air conditioning was non existent.  After a few weeks of adjusting I started to really look at the people around me.  Speaking in a tongue I did not understand, wearing clothes I had never seen and following a faith I knew nothing about. Above all this I could see one thing that was hard to avoid.  They were poor, they were desperate, they had limited electricity and water.  I could not see a positive reason to be there.  What were we really doing to help? We were just surviving.  And that’s exactly what we were doing.  We were merely surviving. Trying to support each other. Except some of us did not survive and some returned home with injuries that would colour the rest of their lives.  

It’s almost a blur now.  A few shattered memories that started with an adventure and ended in tragedy.  It will take me a few more years to come to terms with what happened in that far away dusty hot land.  Photography was the start of the journey and the photographs taken in Iraq will one day surface, but for know I keep them locked away with the memories.  They are a painful reminder. In that place walls, language, faith, culture, appearance divided us.  We were as alien to them as they were to us. Searching to find common ground was all we had on our minds. We found it through football and learning a few greetings in Arabic. But it’s not enough. We read books, profiles, tried to speak to the local population. Sadly, the Shia militia were already taking a hold and our efforts were small and ineffective.   

11 years on and these people are not so far and distant from me now.  They are the very fabric of what I do, they inform the work, the stories I tell, the lives effected by war and suffering. I hope they can forgive my naivety and ignorance.  Many of us went on orders, and once we cleared the dust from our eyes we saw the reality of what were in.  For some this happened quickly and others it’s only just coming to light.

The war in Iraq sent home the coffins of 179 service personnel.  The recent explosion in Baghdad killed more than 165 people in one single attack.  The invasion of a Iraq was the catalyst that ignited a war that has been going on for over 1400 years between the Sunni and Shia.  Before 2003 they had lived along side each other, managing their differences. Both myself and my colleagues would ever have know the grave outcomes for these decisions and if we had we would have never stepped off that aircraft. For this is the advantage of time and research to anaylse the mistakes of our past. My sadness is through with war we just keep repeating them.  

Whatever the outcome of the Chilcot Inquiry  tomorrow I just want to use this space to reflect on the friends we lost during and after the war.  My condolences to those who still suffer and the many who continue to die leaving the tears of their loved ones to moisten the ground of this land that has known so much blood shed. 

For all those lost in war there is but the human face of a memory past and a shared experience in a land that was not ours to tread. We left in good spirit, to do what we could.  But we left with heads down and a sadness in our hearts that shadows our passing beats as the rivers of blood continue to flow. 

    Major Matt Bacon  

Fusilier Stephen Manning 

Fusilier Donal Meade

Staff Sergeant Sharon Elliot 

A Reflection of the Somme - a photographers view

As we walked into the busy cinema of the Imperial War Museum in London the audience were quiet and transfixed by this short film above.  The story of a soldier from the Battle of the Somme transformed into a Twitter and Instagram feed.  It was one of the most powerful forms of connection I have seen that aided to bridge the gap between present and past. We were there to discuss the film documentary The Battle of the Somme.  Filmed during the build up of this 146 day battle that would claim the lives of 20,000 men on the first day and result in the overall loss of 400,000 men and thousands of horses, the film was ground breaking.  Up until this point modern cinema was a novelty and often filled with dance hall musicals and fantasy fiction story lines.  When the Somme was released the impact was huge.  Real time footage of a war filmed in a not so far away land.  Men staring back into the camera as if trying to look into the eyes of family and friends sat on the edge of their seats yearning to glimpse a shot of their loved ones.  Their curiosity of the camera as profound as that of the viewing audience, the film was the first real depiction of the reality of the war.  Although certain shots were staged these are mixed with real images of the dark and foreboding no mans land, peppered with small figures running into almost imminent death.  No other film has ever shown the bodies of British soldiers. 

In some of the opening shots the camera pans across crowds of tommies  making cups of tea, uniforms open and relaxed, laughing and larking about.  These scenes alone transported me to the patrol bases of Afghanistan and the many days I have sat around in the back of vehicles with fellow soldiers relishing the hot sweet taste of terrible tea in a tin mug. The phrase over the past few weeks that came back into my head, from the sadly murdered Jo Cox MP  “we are far more united and have far more in common with each other than things that divide us”.  In that very moment in that cinema, surrounded by an audience and sharing the view of the film and it’s message I have never felt more connected.  Her words seemed to come to life.  If we can survive the slaughter of thousands of men which only happened 100 years ago we can get through this current period of turmoil.  So many died to protect parts of Europe and the bond with our  fellow countrymen is written in the ground in blood. We are all together in this. As much as many try to drive fear and ignorance through the very heart of unity, we still have to one day turn and face each other and make peace with our differences. 

So today I will reflect and hold close in my heart the memory of those men who waited with breaths held for the adventure of battle that for many ended in death. The men and women in the hospitals who worked tirelessly in the stink and sweat of injured twisted bodies trying to put them back together, both mentally and physically.  Also for the families at home who tried to keep society together.

Last night also inspired me to share some of the images from my short career as an Army photographer covering conflict before my transition into the photographer I am today. I feel that many of these faces could have been the faces of the young tommies sat in those trenches waiting for the first whistle to sound that would send them over the top. 

My hope is that the spirit of being human will unite us and may we never have to go over the top again.  Hold your nerve Great Britain.  We need you to stay steady and support each other through these uncertain times. 

All images were taken whilst serving as a reservist British Army photographer in the Combat Camera Team (CCT) in the summer of 2011.  All images are Crown Copyright.

Orientation

In Kathmandu for 24 hours now and the first day is always a period to soak up the surroundings.  The morning started with briefings, interviews and fact finding.  Lengthy discussions about the earthquake and the long term impact of the devastation and desperate need for housing and care.  The next few weeks are going to be filled with meeting and photographing people who survived and hearing their personal accounts.

‘as a means of subverting the traditional use of the public space and pushing back the boundaries imposed by gender differences’

The above sentence stood out to me, hit me in the face.  Put all the work I believe into some sort of curated context.  The line came from one of many at the current exhibition in Paris entitled ‘Whose afraid of the female photographer’  or for those with a love of French ‘Qui A Peur Des Femme Photographes'.  With over 75 female photographers featured from 1839 up until 1945 the show highlights many of the forgotten female voices of photography at the turn of the last century.

What was important to see with this show was the role women played in the invention of photography and indeed their are images there by Anna Atkins who were believed to have been taken before the the inventor of photography, William Henry Fox Talbot.  So the question is, why did it take over 100 years to make this visible and why was society so quick to applaud men as the founders and pioneers of photography.  It’s not a simple question to answer and indeed early photography gave many women more opportunities than most other genres. 

Queen Victoria and Prince Albert became patrons of the first one of the first Photographic Society in the UK, which was to later become the Royal Photographic Society.   In particular Queen Victoria herself was a great supporter of women using photography in the same way they were avid botanists and painters.  Thus photography became an amateur past time.  The professional world existed in parallel to this but only used women as lab and printing assistants, rarely would they lay their hands on a camera, and to do so would require being married to or the daughter of a photographer.  

However, those women who managed to find their way into this profession did so with great enthusiasm and learnt the chemical processes as avidly as the men.  Women had another restriction to their chosen occupation - their clothes. Corsets, long dresses, delicate fabrics. Not particularly conducive to large photography equipment.  Something I did not appreciate whilst I wander round the exhibition in whatever I choose to wear with my very light camera.  I have no desire to lug my SLR’s on assignment whilst wearing a dress and dragging large cases around.  I acknowledge so many elements of the work they produced, not least the logistical challenges.

What I admired most was the subversion.  The inward facing dissection of domestic life.  The camera giving the woman a means to express elements of her life.  The way they photographed men, child hood, motherhood, relationships and war.  It was all there. 

Their is a beautiful collection in the middle of the show which looks at the fluidity of gender.  Men dress as women, women dress as men and adapt their position to suit.  This would have been ahead of its time, but it’s also an insight into the idea of gender being questioned and analysed long before the pride marches in San Francisco.  The room is entitled - Embracing sexual difference. Photographic theatre and theatre of gender.  

I talk a lot of men being part of a conversation, but lets face it men have had the stage long before women when it comes to the history of photography.  It’s timely and uplifting to see this work.  Men are important to this subject but we still have to push that little bit harder to get a level platform.  

I have thought alot about whether to share this, as the process of doing this was a challenging one. I will only allow myself to be the story if it results in an opportunity to share some of the reasons why we work in the way we do. I say we because there are many other photographers out there who have a similar mindset. Sometimes you have to put your head above the parapet so that others can share their own stories.