Mass Observation: This is Your Photo at The Photographer's Gallery

© Humphrey Spender

I have managed to visit several exhibitions during the summer, and one which has had particular resonance is the exhibition curated from the Mass Observation Archive, at the Photographer's Gallery.

The Mass Observation was set up in 1937, to record daily life in Britain, and to create in the words of the founders, "an anthropology of ourselves". The Photographer's Gallery describes it as "a radical experiment in social science, art and documentary." In the 1950's and 60's it became less personal, was more under the auspices of government, and more geared towards post-war market research (political and social views, shopping habit etc.). In the 1980's, when it moved to it's current home at Sussex University, the MO became re-vitalised, with more of an emphasis on original, personal testimony around everyday aspects of peoples' own lives.

I have a small personal interest, in that when I worked for a number of years at an adult Literacy Scheme in South London, our students were official Observers. And I recently joined in one of the annual 'diary days', which are open to everyone in Britain (this has been going on for about 3 years). Though it is now only possible to become a regular Observer if you are male, 18-44, and not living in the S.E. (obviously they are short of that demographic, and over-subscribed by others!).

It's interesting how the pictoral content of the MO has changed over the years (writing is still the main part, the ephemera of daily life is also included). Originally taken on by a small number of professional photographers such as Humphrey Spender, film maker Humphrey Jennings and other artists, it is hard to see the film/photo documentary as significantly different from any other of the time. Most often, it was middle-class men, "visiting" working-class communities (e.g. Bolton, or 'Worktown' as Spender called it; he also said he liked to keep his mouth shut so that the inhabitants of Bolton would not be put off by his polished vowels). Men like George Orwell, (who published 'The Road to Wigan Pier the same year the MO was founded, and 'Down and Out in Paris and London in 1933) with good hearts and minds, but undeniably "outsiders" in relation to the communities they were documenting. It must be pointed out, the remit of the MO runs across class, age, and gender, although I do wonder about the relationship between 'Observer' and 'Observed' in terms of class and gender particularly, at least in the earlier years, and post-war period.

As the century moved on, the role of photography and thus the photographer evolved, along with other huge social and economic changes. Photography became more democratic, until in recent years, it is as much a part of personal history as writing. It truly does belong to everyone, and we may each feel that we own it and use it as we wish, whether that is to make our own records of the world as we see it, or to provide a record of ourselves within that world.

It's interesting to think of the MO alongside the current constant online 'diarying' of our daily lives now. I found myself thinking first, what a wonderful record of social history the MO Archive is, compared with centuries before the twentieth century, and then second, what indeed will be it's significance, considering huge the amount of information, or over-information that is now available online.

However, the MO is different from facebook, twitter, and the rest. It still uses directives, so it not possible simply to photograph what you had for breakfast (unless that happens to be the focus of the directive!). The information will be more nuanced, more organised, more selective, and there will be less of it (numbers of Observers are limited) and it will also be stored archivally for future generations. In contrast, over time, I wonder how many YouTube videos or facebook pages will survive.

The organisers of the exhibition, taking on the spirit of Mass Observation, are asking members of the public to become 'photographic observers' until October. The directives change regularly, but you can contribute to any of them at any time.  The subjects are set by well-known figures (inevitably, Martin Parr gets a look-in, but I have to say his subject - funerals - I think has initiated some powerful and extremely moving responses). All photographs are published on an online gallery, either via Guardian Witness or Flickr, and will also become part of "The Wall" (changing digital display) at the Photographer's Gallery in October. I particularly like the way some themes (e.g. 'The Mantlepiece') are being repeated from earlier decades.

One thing about this sets me thinking though. All contributions to the Archive, historically and currently, are made by Observers on the understanding that there will be anonymity for 50 years. Only age and gender are given until that time. The current photographic contributions via the Photographer's Gallery, however, are not anonymous. Yes, I know that this isn't the MO proper, but is it just too much, in our photo mad, egocentric artist-as-self days, to give an image without a name? I guess that would have been just too revolutionary a concept, although it would have been in the spirit of Mass Observation, and would have been quite interesting if only age and gender were given for this too. Admittedly anonymity was not part of the deal where the earlier, mainly pro photographers were concerned, but we have now moved beyond that to a democratic photography-as-personal-testament (see the more recent contributions to the MO in the exhibition). But not, I guess, if you go a step beyond the original and current concept of MO itself, and move away, out towards "The Wall", and into the world of "Photography as Art". The MO and the Photographer's Gallery's interpretation and representation of it and it's legacy are not one and the same of course, and I found this an interesting dissonance between the two.

The exhibition itself is fascinating, and although this is primarily a photography exhibition, words - the primary focus of MO and the Archive - are by no means sidelined, and are an integral part of it.

The exhibition is on at The Photographer's Gallery until Sunday 29th September.

It's free.

Don't miss.

You can find out more about the current photographic directives on the Photographer's Gallery website

More about the Mass Observation Archive here.

Call of the Land: a winding river (Ansel Adams, and the Landmark Exhibition)

 

 Edward Burtynsky: Nickel Tailings no.34

This Easter break, I have managed to see two exhibitions on the theme of landscape, both of which finish towards the end of this month.
They are worth a quick mention, although both have been on for a while, in case like me you have a tendency to make a note of an exhibition you want to visit, only to find you nearly leave it too late. Or, worse, you miss the deadline and can only kick yourself for being so stupid.

I am glad I did not miss "Landmark: the Fields of Photography" at Somerset House, until 28 April (free) and the big one, "Ansel Adams: Photography from the Mountains to the Sea" at the National Maritime Musem, Greenwich, also until 28 April (full adult price £7). The first is a wide-ranging, large, and eclectic group of landscapes, representing photographers from many countries. Which, considering the great venue, and the non-existent entry free, is a good place to start. From Lee Friedlander, to Simon Roberts, Amy Stein, to Toshio Shibata, to Susan Evans (to name but a very few). From the sublime to the ridiculous, from representative to dreamworld from narrative to stark warning about the damage suffered by our planet, by us. It sounds a cliché, but there is probably something for everyone, although, inevitably, not "everyone" is represented (Fay Godwin, sadly, is notable by absence). One of my own favourites is My Philadephia 1996, by Ray Metzkera (silver gelatin print), a sombre but brightly side-lit composition of tree branches in front of (I believe) an apartment block, so the tree filled the page and the evidence of human presence was duskily felt, more than seen, behind it, almost obscured. Another magical little gem is Self-Portrait with Swan, Foster's Pond 1999, by Arno Minkkinen (silver gelatin print). But there are many inspiring widely differing photographs.

There are many humans in the landscapes of "Landmark", and many trails and traces of the human race, including in a negative way, but also in a more positive metaphysical sense. There are no such directly visible traces of humanity in Ansel Adams' works, only in the all- present eye and being of the photographer, whose unseen presence gives interpretation and mood to the scene, and his emotional response at that particular moment, which, Adams believed, we the viewer can either "get" or not. (Whether we "get" it or not is not his responsibility, or even his concern). Although a concern with environmental issues was also, of course, a prime motivating factor for Adams. 

Ansel Adams: The Tetons and the Snake River, 

Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming 1942

A confession: I've always been a bit wary of the work of Ansel Adams, a bit on the fence. I'm not sure why. Possibly simply because so very much is made of his work, and in a technical sense, so very much emulated. I haven't been sure about all that. Or that I went along with the f/64 crowd, possibly not liking at all the idea that as much as possible of a scene should be in focus, or connecting with the seeming obsession with craft, the nitpicking over separation of tones. Not, may I add, that I do not respect the role of the craftsperson, quite the reverse, or that I am not particular in my own work, because I am, and that itself warms me to Adams. I also found a lot of his work was different from my narrow-minded view of it, and I loved his more abstract and especially, close work, which he himself termed 'extracts' rather than 'abstracts' (a differentiation I like a great deal). In any case, I liked pretty much all of it.


I don't want to say much about Adams' work, so very much has been said already. Suffice it to say that no, I will not and would probably never be able to make pictures like AA, but that is irrelevant. I was completely blown away by his work. I found the experience of seeing his photographic prints, all sizes, and so very close, quite emotional, and certainly uplifting. Perhaps because I am right now looking over landscape photos of my own that I have made in recent years. Made, often in a casual way, as I have never really thought of myself as a landscape photographer. And that I am beginning to feel the loss of the family connection with East Anglia where most of these photos were made. I don't know why I have not considered myself a landscape photographer, as the land has always been of utmost importance to me, and I have always included a concern and preoccupation with it in whatever I've been doing, the writers and books I have chosen to study, the essays I have written at Uni, years ago, the writing I have toyed with in the past. And of course, I have included a preoccupation with landscape in my photography. In fact, the name of this blog itself refers amongst other things to landscape, and and how we define ourselves within it.


Now I have to reflect where that preoccupation has already taken me, and where it will lead.


So I am including one of my own offerings from 2008, which I was oddly put in mind of when I saw the above two photographs. This is not to put myself in the same category as some of the greats, it is more to do with the subject matter. A winding river, a concern for the environment in which it is placed. Concern and fear of further loss is a part of any landscape photography now, whether explicit or not, and Adams was a pioneer as far as that goes. 

I add my photo simply as a footnote to myself to remember that, and also to remember a little pile of photos that, as yet, I have somewhat neglected. 


But Ansel Adams can have the last word:


 “When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. 
 When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence”
                                                                                 
                                                                                  Ansel Adams

Lucian Freud at the National Portrait Gallery

Last weekend, true to my personal form, I made it to an exhibition at the eleventh hour. I managed to get some tickets during the week, and on the last day of the Lucian Freud exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery attended the very last slot available, 10.30pm on the Saturday night. In the event, this was quite a special time to go, perhaps because we all knew that this was the very last opportunity to see so many paintings together of such a great artist. Also, there is something exciting about being out and about viewing an exhibition on a Saturday night. Many of the paintings have been resonating with me since, not least this one, "The Painter's mother resting, 1982 - 1984" Although I was familiar with the painting, seeing it "in the flesh" is something altogether different - the applied paint of the fabric of the white clothes and the bedding is luminous, as is the presence of his mother, as she lies on her bed - quite simply, appearing at peace with or at least reconciled to whatever death might bring, which itself cannot be far away (and came to her about a year after this painting was completed).

Among the most powerful portraits, for me, were his self portraits, made at different stages of his life, of which two below.

Sometimes, when I see great paintings such as these, I wonder if photography can ever get close.

Sacrilege, I know. And.... I will immediately contradict myself by conceding that the photographic portraits of Freud himself (alongside others) by his assistant David Dawson, which occupied a small space of the whole, were amongst the most vivid and impressive of the exhibition. A different medium, a different tone and resonance altogether, but - however you might wish to define Art, and I don't wish to attempt or even consider it - on any level, undeniably, they "work", and they are great.

 

         

© David Dawson

© David Dawson

 

© David Dawson

© David Dawson

Finally, the very last painting Freud made, which was on his easel when he died in July last year.

Called Portrait of the Hound it is, of course, also a portrait of David Dawson.

'Points of View' Exhibition at the British Library : capturing the nineteenth century in photographs

I just managed to catch the end of the 'Points of View exhibition at the British Library. The exhibition is billed as “capturing the nineteenth century in photographs”. The Financial Times is quoted on the British Library information as describing it as “An exhibition that signals the welcome public debut of one of the world’s great photographic Collections.”

From a technical standpoint, the exhibition certainly does capture the nineteenth century in photographic terms and I did enjoy, for example, the video on how to make calotypes. It was also fun to try out an original magic lantern and slides. So as a technical history it was interesting – although I wondered if it would be so easy to grasp or take in if you didn't already have a reasonable knowledge of the processes involved. I did hear, also, several complaints as I went through the exhibition about it being too much centred on the technical side of things and not enough about social context, or further contextual details of the photographs.

Certainly, it was a bit of a whistle-stop tour. There was not too much detail on any of the 'themes' or the photographers apart from one or two – for example, Peter Henry Emmerson was very well represented (which I enjoyed) whereas there was only one photograph from Robert Adamson, perhaps because his work resides mainly in Scotland, at the University of St Andrews (as well as George Eastman House) rather than the in the British Library – in fact I had the feeling of many omissions, many of whom appear to be women photographers of the period, including Julia Margaret Cameron. So some very well known photographers were not represented at all, or very briefly, due to the limitations of the Library Collection (and possibly also due to curator choices). Perhaps not quite as many 'points of view', then, as there might have been.

In some ways this exhibition does “capture the nineteenth century”: it's preoccupations, (some more benign than others) it's prejudices and its hypocrisies. The sense of leisure that many early photographers enjoyed, the desire to collect and classify, (people as well as objects), colonial expansion. Views of “the Empire” were very well represented, reflecting the priorities of the age, inevitably I suppose. There was much less of the beginnings of documentary work as expressed in the work of Thomas Annan, for example, and his portrayal of Glasgow tenements in the later decades of the nineteenth century. In fact, I wonder if there is just too much missing for this collection to be described as “one of the world's great photographic Collections” unless there is a fair bit more in the Collection itself than was on display.

I did enjoy the exhibition but I came away longing for the next era, the one that is alluded to in the closing stages of the exhibition – the world of the Kodak box camera, of photography made more and more widely available, unrestricted to the leisured and wealthy on the one hand, or the artisan on the other – and despite the fun and fascination, and occasional glimpses of something deeper, there is ultimately a suffocating feel to this exhibition, both in subject matter and in the very role of photography, which left me grateful for the movements in the early part of the twentieth century which would both reflect and inform changing social attitudes.

However, I'm glad I went. There are a few days left to catch it (closes Sunday 7 March)...and it's free.

Points of View - The British Library

All content ⓒ Cate McRae 2010

Dubrovnik in August : War Photo Limited

When we arrived in Dubrovnik we stayed one night and the next morning made our way quickly away from the heat and dust of the tourists to our quieter destination. Returning, a the end of our stay, we were more acclimatised and prepared to deal with the crowds as an inevitable part of being able to walk around the unique and magical Old Town of Dubrovnik. Walking the old Wall of the City in the heat of the day was not the easiest thing to do even so, especially as exits are few – once you are there, you continue, unless you choose to refresh yourself at a couple of crowded bars along the way, which we avoided.

Not the best time to visit, but sometimes there is no choice. And the walkways are still made of marble, in high August, the churches and museums and monasteries still cool and mysteriously quiet.

Somehow this day crystalised my feelings about visiting Croatia. Firstly, my discomfort at being primarily, inevitably, a tourist rather than a traveler on this short visit (to unwind and relax after various stresses and strains including a recent health issue in our little family group). Secondly, a feeling of not knowing how to correlate this holiday experience with the recent traumatic past suffered by the region during the breakup of the former Yugoslavia.

I found the Croatian people I met (it sounds a cliché but it was real enough) calm, warm and welcoming – seemingly pleased to see us. Dignified. No problem on their side with tourism. Yet there was a tangible feeling of something healing over, of a scar that seemed on the surface hardly noticeable, yet if you probed, still rough and sore underneath. Most likely, as it would always remain. If only as you notice the large, empty and crumbling houses on the island (a small island, so only a couple), and wonder who left them, and why. Or as you look at the roofs of the Old City you see the contrast of the original tiles (which are paler) and the new ones. Many of the roofs and some of the buildings and wall were destroyed in the bombardment of Dubrovnik during the recent civil war. Although at first there was an attempt to use only original materials in reconstruction this proved impossible as many of the sources have fallen into disuse. Now, the old tiles are gradually being replaced by new ones, to avoid the patchiness you can see just now. If this wasn't enough, we found a video on you tube of the bombardment of 1991, which shows scenes in stark contrast to the ones we were experiencing.

One thing is for sure, the Croatian people, as anywhere, come from the whole range of the political spectrum. The wider area, politically and seismically (much of Dubrovnik's Renaissance art and architecture was destroyed in a great earthquake in 1667) has found itself to be a catalyst, historically, for disaster and destruction. Within this context, it is possibly easy for outsiders to forget that Dubrovnik itself was a civilised and peaceful Republic for hundreds of years, a centre for flourishing Renaissance arts. The more I tried to understand Croatia's role in the recent troubles, the more I realised I had to go back, and back, and attempt to understand the complex history. This is something for a lifetime's study, and for the moment, I have let it rest. I learned enough to know that this was, like any civil war, one where easy definitions and judgments are impossible. One thing, war is a part of the life and history of all countries and peoples, and it is felt either in the immediate bitterness, pain and suffering of it's occurrence, or it's ramifications run deeper and more distant, but no less starkly.

Why all this on a photography blog? Because all this was underlined by my visit to War Photo Limited in the Old City of Dubrovnik.

I passed on the permanent exhibition in the Sponza Palace of portraits of young people who died in the nineties in the defense of Dubrovnik, mostly due to lack of time, but partly because I found I couldn't bear it. But it seemed at the time fitting to dive out of the sunshine and away from the crowds along the Placa, down a side alley to the shadow and cool of the Photo Gallery, War Photo Limited, and, now, not fitting to describe this exhibition without considering to begin with something of the context of the place in which it is held.

War Photo Limited says of itself It is the intent of War Photo Limited to educate the public in the field of war photography, to expose the myth of war and the intoxication of war, to let people see war as it is, raw, venal, frightening, by focusing on how war inflicts injustices on innocents and combatants alike.

The photographs on display at War Photo Limited, included the current exhibition NOOR - Conflicts of Interest August 1st - 31st October 2009, which consists of work from Samantha Appleton, Phillip Blenkinsop, Pep Bonet, Jan Garup, Stanley Green Yuri Kozyrev, Jon Lowenstein, Kadir van Lohoizen, and Francesco Zizola. The aim of the exhibition is described as follows In representing something that is by definition controversial – conflict, a diversity of voices is extremely important: this exhibition is an attempt to show some of the many ways in which the Noor photographers, with their diverse backgrounds and personal stories, have documented war as they traveled battlefields and ravaged cities all across the world.

There was also an exhibition of photographs 'Child Soldier' by Jan Grarup, Yannis Kontos, Alisandra Fazzina, Noél Quidi and Dranco Pagetti, which were hard to view.

War Photo Limited represents and shows many more photographers and conflicts, however, including - naturally - Ex-Yugoslavia 1991-1999. This I found disturbing, if only because the conflict seemed so close, and yet I felt it essential to be able to acknowledge this recent history, and the images remain with me as reminder of the reality of the recent past. War photography in general, though, for me, is not always something that lingers. Maybe there can sometmes be a little too much of the depiction of the outright physical suffering of war - the tears and the wounds. It is important to see this, but it is a fine line where it tips into over-saturation. There was also work of the photographer Lana Slezic (Canadian born of Croation parents) who has documented women's lives in Afghanistan in her project and award-winning photobook 'Forsaken'. This work I found astonishing and it resonated with me the most (and War Photo Limited's edition of 'Forsaken' came away with me) perhaps because of the more subtle approach to a condition of war that is lived out daily for women. I was also struck by the documentary work, including portraits, of East Timor rebels by the Australian photographer Philip Blenkinsop.

More on War Photo Limited here


More on the work of Lana Slezic (who also engaged in a project documenting Dubrovnik). Be sure to look at this site if nothing else.


And Philip Blenkinsop

Unknown Soldiers

An article in The Independent Magazine this weekend (23/05/09) caught my eye, particularly due to my own interest in the digital (as well as traditional) restoration of old photos. Also because the photographs themselves are excellent. The article describes how around 400 glass plates were recently discovered. They originated from a barn at Warloy-Baillon, 10 miles from the site of the front line of the Somme. Some are in perfect condition, some badly damaged. They have been collected and then printed, scanned and digitally restored by Bernard Gardin, "a photography enthusiast", and Domonique Zanardi "proprietor of the 'Tommy' café at Pozières, a village in the heart of the Somme battlefields".

The photographs are now published for the first time in the Independent Magazine, and they are also available to view online - sadly not quite such good quality as the excellent edited selection in print, but there are many there. Click on 'the selection' rather than 'click to view the exclusive photographs' (see link below) if you don't want to look through them all, although I think it is the sheer number of soldiers who most likely were soon to meet their deaths that gives this collection its unusual poignancy and power. Included in both Magazine and the selection online is the photograph above, which shows men wearing sheepskins because in 1915 there was a desperate shortage of overcoats. Also amongst them, a rare photograph of a black soldier; although there are known to have been a substantial number of black soldiers who fought in the First World War, they were rarely acknowledged. There's also a Glasgow Highlander, other Scots soldiers, Australian soldiers, a soldier with a 1912 Zenith Grenua Motorbike, and more.

It is thought the glass plates were made by an amateur photographer who made prints from them and then stored them in the barn, forgotten for 90 years until newcomers threw the lot out, and some were rescued by passers-by.

It is thought there may be more glass-plates out there - and anyone who finds or knows of any or recognises any of the soldiers, or who knew of the photographer is asked to email: magazine@independent.co.uk

You can read more and see the photographs at
independent.co.uk/unknown soldiers

Sarah Moon at the RCA

Yesterday I managed to catch the last day of a fleeting retrospective of Sarah Moon's work at the Royal College of Art. I had read about it in the Independent earlier in the week (see the article, Frocks and Fantasy below) but at the time it hadn't registered with me just how short has been the run of this exhibition.

I've always been interested in Sarah Moon's work, and never had the chance to see it in such depth. Many of the works were new to me. It was presented in a non-conventionally non-linear way (though apparently carefully planned) which for me worked well, and compounded the eerie claustrophobic essence of her work, where each is separate from the other, whilst the whole effect is of a gently restrained but perhaps slightly insidious "crowding in" around and about you. Like strange dreams, half-remembered. It's possibly worth noting that my companion felt differently about the presentation, and was somewhat thrown by the seemingly disordered approach and particularly the lack of space between the black and white works : the fashion images were presented more conventionally.

Moon has made films of various fairy tales, along with a body of work of film stills from each, and her film The Red Thread (after 'Bluebeard') was included here with stills alongside (The Little Mermaid was also shown on film but unfortunately I was unable to catch this one). I looked at the stills first, which contained a descriptive narrative in french attached to the base the pieces themselves, with translation below. Half of these were in darkness because of the layout of the room, with the screen running the film in the middle. I thought this was a shame as it was almost impossible to read the text or see the photographs in the darkened half of the room. I overheard someone complaining about this later who was told that the point of that part of the exhibition was the film not the stills but I tend to believe that if you are going to show something, you should show it so that it is visible, or not bother at all. The pieces which represented the dead wives were perhaps the most striking of these stills, where each photograph became part of a larger, three-dimensional sculptural piece including some of the trappings of death (for example, strange, dark-blooming flowers). Due to their relative size and the fact that they were not along the furthest walls, they benefited from the spooky half-light within which they were placed.

The Red Thread alludes (I assume) to the line of blood that binds this particular story, and there was such a meandering thread or wire linking each of the pieces. The narrative is Moon's version of the Bluebeard tale, and for me it had an intense kind of almost unbearably uncomfortable claustrophobia that I've not experienced as a viewer since seeing the film Erasorhead. I am fascinated by the way narrative and poetry can be applied to photography, and for this reason found The Red Thread interesting and refreshing although ultimately it left me a little dissatisfied. I enjoyed it's tangible yet metaphorical qualities (such as the thread, the use of text, the sculpted flowers) but I found the husky heavily french-accented narrative, the very heavily-freckled heroine, the hammer-horror, just a little clichéd and even at times, bordering on a little silly. (And what is it, continually, with the obsession with freckles in the photography world). But whatever my response and possible reservations, there was a rarely-experienced pleasure in the process of being at the mercy of an unusual and powerful storyteller.

Susannah Frankel writes in the Independent article below “Moon's voice, above all, is an intensely personal one, whispering, rather than shouting.” She certainly does not shout, though I wouldn't describe her work as a whisper either, more an attempt at wordless communication direct to your sub-conscious mind. At it's best, it works powerfully in this way. Occasionally, for me at least, it falters slightly in its originality and becomes just a touch heavy. I wonder if a further pursuit of her own, more literally personal tales would have appealed to me rather than the re-telling of an old, even hackneyed one. But perhaps, given her use of the medium also, that would be a step too deep and too far. And I concede, of course, not her point here.

As for the fashion photography – I adored it. How unique it is to see the fashion world presented in this way, without the glitz and the gloss and not an anorexic model in sight. Truly fashion as a fine art – though Moon herself would be uncomfortable with viewing her own work as art, although is it the 'artiest' photography (a little too much so just occasionally) I have seen in a while.

Reservations aside (small ones really) Moon's retrospective was a breath of fresh air - or should that be the lingering echo of another world. Visual poetry it certainly is. We see far too little such introspective, poetic work amongst the glitzy, over-saturated colours, the deadly smoothness and hyper-reality of popular contemporary photography. It is a great shame this exhibition was not on for longer. However the less comprehensive concurrent exhibition at the Michael Hoppen Gallery runs until the 15th November, so if you missed the RCA exhibition, catch it if you can.


Michael Hoppen Gallery and book Sarah Moon- 1,2,3,4,5

Frocks and Fantasy - The Independent

Sarah Moon at the Kyoto Museum of Contemporary Art