Doctors, Dissection and Resurrection Men – at the Museum of London

‘Period drama’ normally refers to how the moneyed lived. The privileged 1% who get to write history and pretend that’s how it was. At roughly the same time as Jane Austen was penning her tales of country manners the urban poor faced poverty, disease – and the very real prospect of having their body ripped from the soil and dissected by anatomists who weren’t getting enough corpses through the proper channels. This fascinating exhibition at the Museum of London, inspired by a find by the Museum’s own archaeology team, shines a light into this bleak and deliberately forgotten world and somehow manages to make it both challenging and inspiring.

Prior to the 1832 Anatomy Act the only legal route for trainee surgeons requiring bodies to practice on was the corpses of recently hanged criminals. This method could supply about three a year. The schools and hospitals of London required about 1,000. Voluntary donation was practically unheard of. The taking of bodies from graveyards was not itself a crime (the dead did not exist, even as property) but was against both common decency and the religious beliefs of the masses. You can’t rise from the dead on the day of judgement if you’ve already been turfed out of your resting place. So, at best, the grave robbers were doing dark work that was strongly disapproved of. And, at worst, they had to create their own supply to meet demand.

In a rare example of something outside London being more famous than something inside, it’s Burke & Hare who are the famous ones. Sixteen deaths are attributed to them. The ‘London Burkers’ – a gang of three – were caught when attempting to pass off a 14 year old ‘Italian Boy’ who had quite obviously not been buried. Elizabeth Ross added at least one to the tally when she murdered Catharine Walsh and tried to sell the body. The diary of a body snatcher digitally displayed in the exhibition makes the grim mundane: “Tried to sell one large, one small.” Large was an adult, small a child.

Alongside the thrills – if you want to look at this grim side in that way, and you might as well – are the shocks. Here the tools of the surgeon, here a body flayed so that artists could represent Christ better on the cross, here the bodies of the poor, the unknown thrown back into the pit. At the London Hospital they got a Christian burial but were unmarked – and unremarked – and it is only thanks to Crossrail that their stories have reemerged.

But there are inspiring moments of humanity, even if comes via odd versions of beauty. The skeleton of a small boy – varnished and veins dyed, his head tilted back to afford a proper view – is startling. His parents gave his body, and no one knows why. Perhaps they thought that by doing so they would prevent others suffering as they must have done. His is a strange kind of immortality, a disturbing kind of inspiration. But it speaks of the power and hope that even these darkest stories have – without these bodies, however ill-found, there would be no advances in the surgeons’ skill or in medical knowledge of the body.

The exhibition ends with references to Alder Hey, and the fact that it is always the poorest, the most vulnerable who surrender their bodies for medical advances. There are always complications, shades of darkness and questionable morality. It is to this exhibition’s great credit that you leave unsure about your exact feelings towards all that you’ve just learnt nor entirely confident that everything is better now.

More information here

Taylor Wessing Prize 2012 – National Portrait Gallery

The Photographic Portrait Prize was in danger of turning into something of a joke. The winning shot conformed to such a standard you could probably have come up with a bingo card and was never really reflective of the diversity of the exhibition – even though within that selection you would find the red-head, the freckled, the faded glamour and the “I really wanted to a be a painter but can’t draw”. This year something’s changed. The winning shot isn’t quirky, it’s intriguing, and the exhibition packs a huge amount into its enclosed space that you can forgive the occasional detour into stereotype. In my humble opinion it’s the best show there has been for this award since … well, since I started attending over a decade ago.

The winning shot (above) is by Jordi Ruiz Cirera. The story has done the rounds. He had only two frames to capture this woman, Margarita, who is part of a Mennonite sect in Bolivia that spurns modernity and believes photography to be somehow wrong. For me, where the photo draws its power is initially in her setting within the frame – two blown out sections either side – and the shape she makes of powerless defiance. Then you are drawn to her expression which seems to look to you for understanding. It’s incredible how direct it feels given how much of the frame is occupied by things other than the sitter. A more than worthy first prize.

As ever, the main exhibition is a mix of pictures of everyday people and portraits of the famous. Of the latter type, Robin Friend’s image of Gillian Wearing is the one that sticks with me the most. It’s a rare example of a work that uses props and an unusual foregrounding – Wearing is behind one of those thick transluscent divides you find in supermarkets that separates store room from sales floor holding some artifical flowers – to add rather than detract. To get to Wearing you’ll pass Ai Weiwei, Victoria Pendleton and Mo Farah amongst others.

My favourite amongst the non-famous is Laura Cooper’s of “Christopher and Harriet” (link). I love the three way connection – man to girl to us – and the way they feel lower in the frame than they are, as if overwhelmed by the room they are in. In terms of expression and pose it’s possibly quite similar to the prize winner so maybe I’m in danger of becoming as fixed in my views as the prize winners were. It’s well worth checking out Laura Cooper’s work though – she makes tremendous use of surroundings and expression throughout.

I won’t draw out any other examples though there are many I could use. The exhibition costs £2 which is an annoying amount being neither free nor a proper exhibition charge so you almost wonder why they bother. The catalogue which is, as ever, bobbins is now £15. I have to find something to moan about so if all I’m doing is whinging about the catalogue you can be pretty sure this is an excellent exhibition.

Tom Wood “Men & Women” at the Photographers’ Gallery

Tom Wood is probably the photographer that virtually everyone who styles themselves a street photographer believes themselves to be. For the past four decades he has been out with his camera in the badlands of Liverpool and Merseyside. His work takes the British documentary tradition and turns into something rarely seen: something that is both warm to its subjects and challenging to their surroundings. He nearly always seeks permission, never sells images for advertising and has said that he feels a responsibility to those whose photos he has taken. In short there is a remorseless need to take photos, an almost monomaniacal focus on a single location and a rare integrity. Like I say, every street photographer wants to be him, even if they don’t know his name.

Remarkably, this is Tom Wood’s first major solo show in the UK. There are 50 previously unpublished prints on display drawn from material from Wood’s now out of print books, the most famous of which is probably All Zones Off Peak which, as the title suggests was mostly shot from and around Liverpool’s buses. A budget ticket then, now a copy of the book will set you back a couple of hundred quid. Even Tom Wood who celebrates the working class finds that his work will not be within their reach. And it will be Steidl who publish the two books (“Men” and “Women” presumably) to follow this exhibition so they won’t be cheap. Thankfully, this exhibition at least is free.

Alongside the 50 prints on the wall are ‘vintage’ prints from around the time the books were put together. They too cover the forty years of Wood’s working life. Before you look at the content they remind you of nothing so much as the snaps you used to get back from Boots. But that is Wood’s strength revealed again: the prosaic revealed to be incredible. Men on their way to the match look both confrontational and lost, an estate pub slightly blurred as the bus goes past – a lone man standing outside, women trying to look strong and confident and older people looking back less with regret than with defiance. One of the images that struck me was one of those vintage prints – an old couple in a cafe look up and try to look comfortable for the camera and as they do so they hold hands across the table, almost hidden but actually central to what’s being said.

Without wishing to gush too much it’s my opinion that virtually every single picture on the wall is nudging classic status. That contract that Wood perceives between photographer and subject means that there is little of the discomfort that the viewer might feel when alighting upon a Martin Parr but nor, thankfully, is there the cloying sentimentality with which some recorders of the working class envelope their subjects. I also like that Wood gives his pictures decent titles rather than just place & date (or worse, “Untitled #74, 2005″). A photo like “Three Wise Women” would be enjoyable enough without the title but the three women striding across the frame are given an extra layer of thinkaboutit by being so named. I also like that Wood called it his favourite shot in the Guardian rather than choosing something more obscure from his repertoire.

It may only occupy a single room but there is so much here for the visitor to mull over and take away. Stop reading this and go.

My complaint to the BBC about its sports coverage

The BBC has a duty to reflect the diversity of the British public.

Twenty million people watched the men’s 100m final in the Olympics, millions more were inspired by other events. Tonight sees the return of the Diamond League athletics programme – it will feature three British Olympians. The BBC has the live rights. Instead of showing it on a mainstream channel such as BBC Three the event will be on the red button only. On BBC Three at the same time will be “The Premier’s League’s Greatest Moments”. Tomorrow, the BBC’s entire sporting output will be football.

With only occasional exceptions it looks like this pattern will be repeated throughout the winter – football will not only dominate it will often be the only sport covered. Nobody is suggesting the BBC blow its budget on big ticket events it can ill afford but many of us remember Grandstand which showcased a wide range of sports every weekend. Given that broadcasting is cheaper and easier now than then it must surely be possible to recreate this style of programming – especially when the alternative is yet more talk about football but on programmes that can’t actually show any football.

The Olympics showed the genuine desire of the British people for sport in all its wonderful diversity. The BBC is responding to that by narrowing the field and focusing only on one to the exclusion of all others. Simply put: this must change.

[Sent: 17 August 2012]

About “Summer Fayre”

Sometimes a photo cries out to be oversatured. Sometimes it demands distracting areas of unfocus. Sometimes the subject should be unclear. And so we have “Summer Fayre” taken earlier today at my kids’ school’s … summer fayre. It’s that time of the year.

And, yes, there was a Pimms tent but, no, I did not partake.

International Street Photography at 29-31 Oxford Street (3Space)

Remember the Douglas Adams joke about the plans for the bypass being on display in a locked filing cabinet in a basement with a sign on the door saying, “Beware of the Leopard”? That’s positively showing compared to this exhibition showing as part of the London Festival of Photography. A narrow door in a recess in the ‘being built on’ end of Oxford Street, a sign that isn’t really noticeable from the street, a locked door and a twisting set of steps. It’s just as well that when you find the gallery space the exhibition is top drawer.

Thirteen photographers are represented with more space given to the three winners picked from that group. More than 2,400 people submitted work for consideration and the standard is high. There’s a nice coherence to the portfolios as well suggesting that even in street photography it is possible to create a style or strong enough theme to link works.

Of those on display, I liked particularly Tomasz Lazar’s thick contrast black and white images which often include a highlighted focus on eyes – and in fact I’ve just realised I praised him as well for his World Press Photo award winning shot of a woman being arrested in New York. Also strong is the work of Alejandro Cartagena whose idea of photographing the people who flow under a bridge in the back of pick-ups is quite brilliantly executed and is both nicely styled and intriguing. You can see a fair bit of it here.

The remaining works mostly reflect the street as a place where diversity collides – the young run past the old, the tired look out over energy. Dougie “Glasweegee” Wallace’s collection of Blackpool stags and hens should be seen by everyone. I especially like the group of hens doing something odd with bikes.

The only downside to the exhibition is that its inaccessibility means few people are seeing it in the flesh. I went during lunchtime and I was the first attendee that day. Previous days have been similar. If you’re anywhere near 29-31 Oxford Street during June you should go – and tell the nice folks there I said “Hi.”

Or see it online here.

1977 – Bat Out of Hell

This year I reach the mid point of my allotted three score and ten. To ‘celebrate’ I’ve decided to go all year by year and pick out a song from each year that was either significant for me at the time or became so later. The idea is to choose a song that was released in that year but that’s not going to always work. I make no claims for cool. These are just songs that have followed me around. I begin, because I happened to be born then, in 1977.

1977 was the Silver Jubilee. As I turn 35 the jubilee goes Diamond. The Sex Pistols’ God Save The Queen may or may not have got to number one but I only even found out about that little controversy much, much later and by then I was far too cynical to see punk as anything other than a ploy to make money. Rebellion, my bottom.

In our house the music from 1977 that was played over and over when I was small was Meat Loaf. My dad is a vicar. He even went on local radio at some point to explain why the music and lyrics of Jim Steinman and the psalms and prayers of church were pretty much the same thing. There’s a cassette of the interview somewhere I think. I was quite surprised to discover as I matured that for other people Meat Loaf was a dish they couldn’t stomach.

Maybe they can’t get past the sight of a guy singing about James Dean-esque doomed heroism whilst looking like a straggly-haired cop after a marathon doughnut session. Maybe it’s the overblown orchestration or maybe it’s the lyrics. Jim Steinman writes lyrics like no one else, or at least he did during this golden period of the mid 70s to mid 80s. Nobody else could write “Like a sinner before the gates of heaven / I’ll come crawling on back to you.” Where there is rebellion in the Steinman/Loaf canon it’s comic book – Love and Death and the American Guitar – but there is soul, majesty, heroism and the promise or rugged men and even ballsier women.

For Meat Loaf the past 35 years have been up and down, up and down. He’s been great when with Steinman, less so without. He’s been bankrupt and in Fight Club. I have no idea what Jim Steinman is doing now but I’ll wager it’s magnificent.

Even now I play Bat Out of Hell all the time. From walkman to iPod to generic MP3 player. Obviously I don’t play it out loud where other people can hear but sneakily, through headphones, with the volume up. And when it plays, even though I have never ridden a motorbike in my life, I rev the engine and head off into the sunset totally aware that I never see the sudden curve till it’s way too late.

Ladies and gentleman, for 1977, it’s Meat Loaf and Bat Out of Hell.