A Photographer in Denial

Kev Byrne has been a language teacher in Italy for over 25 years where he still lives today and a photo-enthusiast for perhaps 30 - a term, we will discover, that he is not too keen on. I would say that I have known him since the late 80s when we both lived in London and we have, thankfully, stayed in contact ever since collaborating frequently on my personal and academic projects - many of which are discussed below - as well as spending lots of time together in Italy.
Those of us that have been friends with Kev from that early part of his life up to today will all testify to the fact that he always has (and has always had) a camera in his hand, is always doodling, daydreaming - the usual stuff of a "weirdo" as he likes to call himself, although, I'm a firm believer that these are the tell-tale traits of the wonderfully introverted, the gifted, and the constantly creative mind. And yes, OK, a little bit weird too, I admit it.
Subsequently, seeing his more serious foray into the world of digital photography over the last few years (and particularly his series of brilliant interviews with international photographers), I thought it would be nice to give him some of his own medicine and put him under the lamplight of scrutiny by producing this collection of his work, comments, interviews with the idea of garnering some of the insights, understandings, and his unquestionable wisdom (he's not too keen on that either) that we have shared over the years regarding the world of photography amongst other things.
Now, for those who don't know him, it's not always easy to get him to agree to do this type of thing - he's just so typically English, so awkwardly reticent at times, so annoyingly humble - that I was pleasantly surprised (as well as eternally grateful) that he was up for the daunting task of organising all our interactions with such relish and willingness. Notwithstanding the obvious fact that we have been friends for years and have collaborated on various projects being a clearly contributory and relevant factor in his enthusiasm, it is still nice when we can be surprised by people we are close to and those we think we know well.
This compilation has been put together into a roughly chronological structure (over the last couple of years) from various sources ranging from snippets of phone conversations, numerous emails, letters (how antiquated is that?) and juicy pub chats, to lengthy recordings of our discussions, project work, and (often heated) debates for some of my university research. I have tried to keep the format conversational and informal as to avoid the overly scholarly register of which I am so often vehemently accused of producing and to try to recapture and maintain the original spirit of our more informal exchanges when appropriate. I have, however, included and lightly tweaked some of our university work which will remain in a slightly more formal register.
I set out with the intention of, primarily, just trying to get to know and unveil his philosophy and thought processes behind his photography better. However, it ended up being an often alarmingly revealing yet always entertaining roller coaster ride into the gloriously turbid and tempestuous mind of a creative person, a photographer in denial (my words), a cantankerous modernist, a polychromatic Cancerian (his words), and - above all - a warm, loving old friend. Unsurprisingly, it also turned out to be a rather cathartic experience for myself too.
It, perhaps annoyingly, reads rather episodic but Kev was quite adamant that he preferred that style to the alternatives (even the unfinished or lost parts of his interviews or our chats and were to be left unblemished by harsh editing - no creative rewriting at all) and emphatically compelled me to stick to it and nothing else - which I have earnestly done. Believe me, the last thing you want to do - especially when they are in such a generous mood - is to antagonise the tetchy and recalcitrant artiste!

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Interview with Kev Byrne (KB)
Conducted by Robert Avery (RA)
In front of a select audience
At the interviewer's studio in East London, UK
April 4, 2012
Preface
The following transcript is the result of a recorded interview with Kev Byrne on April 4, 2012. The interview took place (with a very select audience of quests and students) in Hackney, East London, and was conducted by Prof. Robert Avery for the Archives of American Contemporary Art, Coleman University, San Diego, California.
KB: ...should I? Better to turn it off now, then, right?
RA: Okay. Let's start. Hello, this is the Archives of American Contemporary Art, Coleman University, graphic design program, an interview with the English photographer Kev Byrne on April 4th, 2012, at The Avery Studio in Hackney, East London, in the UK. The interviewer is Robert Avery.
[Interruption in recording]
RA: OK, shall we...
KB: Sorry, Rob, can I just interrupt you there for a minute, mate?
RA: Yes, of course.
KB: Erm, sorry, just for the record, I'm not a "photographer" - I use photography, you know, I think that needs to be cleared up from the off. And why do you feel the need to emphasise "English"? Can't you all tell from the way I speak? [laughter]
RA: As you can see ladies and gentlemen, we are off to a flying start! [laughter] Yes, yes, you're right! Forgive me. So how should I refer to you from now then, the artist?
KB: Oh, dear God, no. Rob, just Kev will suffice. [smiles]
RA: OK, fine. So why don't you like it then?
KB: Hmm? Like what?
RA: Being called a photographer? It's not that derogatory a term, you know? There are probably worst things you could be called.
KB: Yeah, I know, it just feels wrong to me, that's all.
RA: How come?
KB: Well, basically, if I were to use that term to refer to myself, wouldn't it imply that it's my profession and I'm some sort of trained professional, or that it's my livelihood or something? Which, as you well know, is most certainly not the case.
RA: I see what you mean, but, you have studied photography.KB: Mmm, yeah, it just doesn't sit well with me, that's all. Look at it this way: If you loved history and read history books all the time and followed history blogs, wore history t-shirts, watched films and documentaries about it, and, you know, your friends respected your evident competence in history - let's say for argument's sake it was, I don't know, French history. Yeah? Everyone knew you were the best at French history on quiz night or whatever, Trivial Pursuits, yeah?
RA: OK. So you're saying you couldn't really say you were a historian in the academic sense of the term?KB: Exactly. That's what I mean - you love history, you are passionate about history but you're not a historian. It's the same thing with photography for me.
RA: OK, OK, that's a good point. So, perhaps it would be more appropriate to call you a keen amateur? An enthusiast? A prosumer or some such?
KB: Erm, yeah, I suppose so, enthusiast sounds about right, an aficionado, a hobbyist - although I'm not too sure what a prosumer is to be perfectly honest with you?
RA: Ah, basically, it's a person who loves good tech, Kev, not a professional as such, but probably would like to be? Yes, just like an aficionado really.
KB: Huh, right, OK. I love my tech, but not interested in being a professional.
RA: OK, so now we've cleared that up, shall we crack on with the interview?
KB: Yeah, let's do it. [laughter]
RA: Shall we start at the beginning, or...?
KB: Whatever you like, Rob.
RA: Great. So when did you first get into photography?
KB: Well, my earliest memory of using a camera was a camera that my nan gave me in the early 80s - probably about 1982 I think. It was a great plasticky Olympus which I took everywhere with me - built-in flash, electronic meter - lovely little thing it was. A true point and shoot - a glowing green rectangle lit up in the little viewfinder when it hit focus, loved it.
RA: So you probably weren't doing your abstract shots, taking pictures of lines and shadows back then?
KB: No, I don't remember anything like that. It was mainly used when we went on holiday, or when friends stayed over, that kind of thing - normal stuff.
RA: Have you still got it?
KB: What the Olympus, you mean?
RA: Yes.
KB: Oh, Christ, no - that got broken years ago. An old friend dropped it when we were on holiday in Spain - I wasn't angry at the time - although I've never really forgiven him. I do remember a brilliant trick he played on me and some mates with the camera flash back then. Do you want to hear it?
RA: Go for it.
KB: Well, it was something that I used to do when it was pitch black in a room, my room with the curtains drawn for example. You had to wait for a while till your eyes were used to the dark, but you still couldn't really see anything.
RA: What, like when you're stargazing?
KB: Yeah, that's it - about 10-15 minutes or so. Then, pull a funny face or something and take a picture while someone was looking in your general direction - doesn't take much to set up. The flash would freeze your silly face on the other people's retina - quite spectacularly. The face would be frozen in what felt like the centre of your brain for a good 30 seconds or so till it starts to fade.
RA: Brilliant trick.
KB: Oh, it's not finished yet. This old friend asked if he could have a go so I let him.
RA: What happened?
KB: You know what he did? Instead of taking a shot of his face, the bastard took a picture of his private parts...
RA: ...no.
KB: Hahaha, yes. Just imagine, there was this horrendous image literally burned onto our retinas and it wouldn't go away! You couldn't escape it! Legendary. [laughter]
RA: You never told me about that...
KB: Didn't I? Maybe it was too traumatic back then. But like I said, later on he broke it which was unforgivable unlike this silly flash trick which is -
RA: Unforgettable!
KB: Ha, yeah, the dick. Anyway, that was the glorious end to the Olympus. I did use another compact camera for a couple of years after that - can't remember what it was though - but it wasn't 'till I went to college that I, er, started to use a "real" SLR camera - you know, with a pentaprism, decent through the lens viewfinder - a workhorse of a Yashica I think it was - and began to learn how to develop rolls of film - negatives, messing about in the darkroom and that.
RA: Yes, I wanted to ask you about that. I mean it was there that you really got into...
KB: Yep, that's where it all started really.
RA: What were you studying there?
KB: I did a couple of courses, one on art and design, the other was, er, on graphic design.
RA: Graphic design - hence this interview today, guys. [looking at audience]
KB: We used a lot of mixed media - you know, sculpture, textiles, but it was photography that really got me, it just seemed to click with me straightaway - so to speak - I spent ages in that darkroom. I used to work nights very often back then and would turn up to work stinking of vinegar from the fixer tray and stop bath! I loved it.
RA:  That's great. Erm, OK, I think we've got a couple of slides here...
KB: Oh, yeah?
RA: Most of them are yours - would it be OK if I just put them up for reference during our chat today?
KB: Don't see why not. These the ones you emailed me about?
RA: Yeah, that's it. Hang on let me just... Let me see if I can, just... [fiddling around with his PC and projector]
KB: You're not gonna embarrass me are you? Some of our old shenanigans from yesteryear?
RA: Oh, yes, absolutely! [laughter]
KB: ...[groans and rubs head] ...why did I agree to do this?
RA: Ahah! Can you imagine that? Right. Here we go. Can you all see that OK? Yeah? [referring to audience]

KB: Blimey. That seems like ages ago...
RA: So, you took this, then developed the film?
KB: Yes, a fascinating and almost magical process - the first time that is, can get a bit frustrating after that. It's a lot of work but ultimately worth it, as you well know, Rob.
RA: Yep. Do you still do any film photography or...?
KB: Not really, couple of rolls a year, something like that, but I don't do any developing myself - I send them off to some local studio.
RA: What you using nowadays?
KB: Well, I use Olympus OM-D cameras - compact mirrorless system cameras on the digital side. But, as I say, I don't use film so much but when I do I use my dad's old Pentax K1000 with a standard F/1.7 lens.
RA: A classic. You know they were in production for more than 20 years?
KB: Oh, yeah, it's a brick - feels so good in hand though - never lets me down really.
RA: Fully mechanical too, right?
KB: Yes. No need for any electronics - save the light meter, but if you know the basics of exposing a photo, aperture, you don't need it. And the noise it makes when you press the shutter release? The way the mirror slaps up? A mechanical orgasm, Rob, unbelievable racket.
RA: Ha! Not exactly inconspicuous - maybe not the best candid street camera?
KB: Yeah, need to use a zoom really - to hide away and shoot. You know, so, that's a camera that will always turn up. I don't use it enough...shame really, I kind of miss all that tangible, that tactile relationship of, er, analogue photography.
RA: Do you?
KB: Yeah, like I said, there was and is, a magical, I mean it's chemical - I'm not deluded - but, you know? There's a magical feeling to it - seeing those images slowly appear you can't beat that. From the moment you compose the shot in the viewfinder you know, the idea in your head - to the moment you hold the final print - that you made, it's all a series of creative steps - pure creative processes from start to finish. It's definitely special. It's hard work, but you learn so much - you learn how to think about each shot, care for them - there's nothing like that first time though. Kind of like, I suppose it's like your first joint, first kiss or whatever, you'll constantly be looking for that initial buzz but you'll just never get it again, you'll never really find it, it's unique. A one-off, and you always try to get back there. Not the best analogy but...
RA: No, no, I know exactly what you mean.KB: Wait, you mean you've actually kissed someone before?
RA: There you go ladies and gentlemen, Kev the comedian's here today! [laughter] We must've booked the wrong one. The photographer - oops, can't call him that - the other one was busy!KB: Ha.
RA: No, seriously, we do try to get our students at uni to use the darkroom as much as we can.
KB: Yeah? They like it?
RA: Well, those that we convince to try it almost always keep it up, so yeah...KB: Ah, that's great. I mean, it's a little costly, but it's something that anyone who loves taking photos should try at least once in their life - just to get another perspective on how it can be done, of where modern photography actually came from - that in itself is - erm, validation - validates it, I think. It also justifies photo editing too, seeing as the whole process of developing a roll of 35mm film is, you see, constantly being treated, modified, manipulated somehow - always has been. The first photographers touched up their images, you know, it's an important part of post-production, isn't it? There's no better way to see that than in, erm, a darkroom. That's my take on it anyway.
RA: Ah, no, absolutely. I mean, we've spoken about this for what seems like years, haven't we? Post-production and image manipulation isn't a crime. It's a choice, a fundamentally important one, a creative one at that.KB: Yeah, it's...
RA: Like anything, how far do you want to take it? How far do you need to and why?
KB: And why not?
RA: Yeah. An aesthetic preference or necessity? A stylistic exuberance? A lazy untalented abhorrence? Haha. An embellishment? You could go round and round forever justifying these choices.
KB: Well, yeah, which I think is a good thing - debate, let's talk.
RA; Oh, yeah.
KB: Nothing wrong with talking about it. You know, get to the reasons behind these choices. What harm can it do? Surely it can only help bring things to light - even if there is no sound intellectual reasoning for the photographer - does there always have to be? There might be, I mean, there will be a meaning for the viewer, the audience and that's probably none of the photographer's business anyway, but I still think it's beneficial, useful to talk about it.
RA: Hmm, indeed. OK, you wanna talk us through this one - this was when you lived and worked in London, right, or...?
KB: Yeah, while I was still studying, I worked nights for a cleaning company on the Underground - down at Seven Sisters and Northumberland Park. Must've been around 1994, maybe '95, I think.
RA: Yes, I remember that. You used to try and get away with not paying by flashing that suspect travel pass they gave you.
KB: Ha, yeah, didn't always work, we just pleaded ignorance though and we usually got away with it most of the time. Of course, it depended on the inspector though, what sort of mood he or she was in. We used to think we were part of the same team. We weren't, they, like so many people in society, hated us, thought they were above us, which is pretty shitty really.
RA: Agreed. So what about this photo? What's going on here?
KB: Nothing really. We'd finished work and were getting cleaned up - not much to it.
RA: Mmm, that depends on how a viewer wants to read its meanings, surely? On that point, I got some of the students here to study some of these shots, Kev, with an eye on interpretation, from a semiotic point of view, and they may have a few questions for you...
KB: That's cool. Fire away.
RA: Erm, OK. Anyone? [looking around at audience]
D: Hello - David.
KB: Hello, David.
D: Er, Can I, er, I'd like to ask you -  it's not really semiotics. Erm, can I ask you about the composition - the framing you used here.
KB: Alright.
D: Do you think you consciously framed this in a balanced way thanks to your time at college or...?
KB: Is it balanced? [squinting at projector]
RA: It is nicely framed, I'd say.
D: It is.
KB: Well, that's interesting - who is to say? You know, you could break this shot down and blatantly critique or challenge it - or even champion it - it depends on the criteria of the analysis. And, to be honest, looking at it with today's eyes, today's mind, it is - I mean - it's not a badly framed shot at all. Did I do that on purpose back then? Maybe. I don't think it's all down to my studies.
RA: There's an instinctive sort of gift here tweaked by the more formal studies done later?
KB: Well, yeah, I think so. Isn't it always like that with art?
RA: It certainly can be - often is, yes - but as you say - there are plenty of factors to consider, never that simple, it's not just black and white.
KB: Er, Rob, this is actually black and -
RA: Argh, don't. Comedian's back! Very funny.
KB: I think there's a nice combination of, well, formal study versus the more intuitive nature with this framing. Hard to say though, probably better to agree that, in this case at least, there's a bit of both going on - it's not just one thing. It was a while ago, I really don't remember if I was aware of the rule of thirds or whatever...Might be just luck too though. I think the more interesting thing is the concept of a right or wrong photograph, as John Baldessari cleverly and controversially pointed out years ago with that self-portrait of his, you remember? The one with the tree appearing to come out of his head, kind of - what was it called - Wrong? This is Wrong? - something along those lines.
RA: Yes, it was called Wrong, mid to late 1960s, yep.
KB: Very clever shot. The tree was intentionally placed there in his framing. Then he wrote the word "wrong" on it -
RA: Just under it...
KB: Ah, was it?
RA: Yes, there's a white border, big thick one around it.
KB: Anyway, just brilliant. The way he brought up the contention of what is an incorrect picture as opposed to what is right. I mean, why is my photo "balanced"? Compared to what? Is there a universal aesthetic sensitivity? Would someone from Siberia see this photo as a drastically different thing to someone from, er, I don't know, Spain? From South America? I'm thinking they would. What about class difference? Education? Who's got dibs on what's right and what's wrong anyway only the educated?
RA: You make it sound like it's bad thing having an education.
KB: Well, yes and no. Of course it's not a bad thing, you're hopefully developing critical awareness and sensibilities, broadening horizons, building foundations, all that, yeah. But when that knowledge turns into smugness? It does happen, you know it does more than anyone.
RA: Hmm, surely that's more to do with personality that being learned?
KB: True. I just feel we don't always have to conform to what is the excepted, or current belief system, or popular theory - especially with art seeing as it is so subjective, so personal. "This photo is wrong!" How weak and shallow is that? Who's to say our way of viewing the concept of correctness or wrongness - you know, and not just regarding photography either - is the right way or even the only way? Pretty presumptuous really - quite arrogant when you think about it. The western world only seeing things from a western world's point of view. Which is understandable - we were born here, doesn't make it the only way to think, feel, or do things, does it? Am I rambling?
RA: No, Kev, you make a valid point - that's why we are here - to undermine why I do what I do! Thanks. [laughter]
KB: No, I didn't mean it like that.
RA: Haha. You know, challenging, going against the grain, it's arguably one of the greatest influences for creative thinking as is appreciating and welcoming diversity. In fact, Baldessari also rejected a lot of, er, notions, mostly on aesthetics, and particularly rebuffed the right to authorship - I mean, if I remember well, he didn't even write the word wrong on the photo but got someone else to print it on - you know, he challenged the whole art set up at the time - a pioneer in conceptual art, really, thinking of when this all happened as well.
KB: Right. Loved his project with those red balls - what was he doing - trying to get four of them in a line or something? That was him, wasn't it?
RA: Yes, although it was three and I think they were orange.
KB: Arrrgh! Were they? I could've sworn they were red - nah, they were red, he...
RA: Nope. Well, yes, he might have used red balls with another project though, you're right there, I think.KB: OK, OK, doesn't matter. I mean, your orange might be my red or vice versa.
RA: Pretty similar on the colour spectrum, yeah. I'm pretty certain though. You know he had a subtitle or note to the project that read: "Best of 36 attempts" because he only used one roll of 36 exposures to get the shots.
KB: Ha, like it.
RA: Kev, I've got another shot here from the same - well, you wrote that it was the same negative - let's take a look.
KB: Sure.

KB: Wow, we were so young!
RA: I mean, this one is pretty self-explanatory, isn't it?
KB: Yes, kind of.
RA: Or is there more here than meets the eye as there arguably is with every picture?
KB: Hmm, well, as far as I'm concerned, not really with this shot. I'm not too keen on this one, to be honest - too staged for my liking, it was fun at the time, but I much prefer the more candid, spontaneous shot. The subject or subjects don't even know that they are being photographed - I love that. That appeals to me so much more than the planned, smiley, cheesy snapshot ethic that seems to permeate society - not a new thing either, just think of all those old American advertising billboards, advertising in general - think of the 50s and 60s advertising. Ugh. Don't get me wrong, I loved the artwork and graphic side of those ads, it was more the false connotation of the happy families, shiny cars with smiling kids in the back, all blonde and Aryan, you know? Glorifying booze and cigarettes. They even had babies attempting to coerce mothers into having a fag before scolding them to help calm her down...Really? It was that side I disliked, the crap they were trying to get us to believe in.
RA: Oh, yes, crazy times - kinda worked though, didn't it?KB: What the dumbing down of the masses and the headlong dive into consumerism? Oh yeah, they won.
RA: Hmm. Still, it just goes to demonstrate the power, the collective relationship, that shared cultural knowledge is key to understanding or reading an image - however it may be presented to the viewer, although that can and does drastically change its meanings, of course, as Barthes points out. The fact that you dislike this snapshot tendency is just as revealing about yourself as it is about the society we live in. But surely you still have an emotional response to seeing a shot like this - especially as you were there - you created it in all its phases?
KB: Well, yes, of course, I do. It was a very important part of my life - I learnt a lot about myself, learnt to - it was hard, it helped me develop character, or rather, a part of my character. These are all things that are - that I have within me and that are triggered when recalling this moment or by seeing this shot. Still, you know, that reminds me of what Freud said about photography and how it - much like music - is rooted, fundamentally, in the power of recollection - it's just memory. Amazing really. Any photograph will always be a slice of the past, eternally denied this present moment, and, conversely, will always be viewed in the future.
RA: Ha, nice. So, what your implying is that a photograph - or any image really - can never be of the present? An elusive time traveller that never gets off here.
KB: Well, not the content of the photo, no, that will forever be locked in the past, right? Any photo is of the present - the present moment that is was taken in. It's just not this one?
RA: Uh-huh.
KB: I mean, the photo exists in the present, is seen, read, interpreted in the present - whichever way it may be presented as you just mentioned, but it is not the present. It can never be the present just as a photo of an apple isn't an apple - it's an image of one, Magritte's pipe sort of thing. It's the trapped past eternally locked into a tiny rectangular shape, or square or years ago in a circle that will be seen in the future - it's destined to be viewed after the moment it's captured never at the actual moment of conception, or creation.
RA: OK. So, you're saying it's more like a frozen part, a segment of a previous "now"?
KB: Yes, I believe so. It's a present, but, yes, not this present here and now - one before this one if that makes sense?
RA: And that previous now is brought to life by the viewing in the present now?
KB: Yeah, haha, brought to life - it's not Schrödinger's cat, you know! But yes, it takes on a new life maybe? Doesn't it? I mean, if there's no one there to look at the picture you could argue that it isn't even a picture and doesn't even exist.
RA: Mmm, that's interesting.
KB: But this photograph, the physical thing itself, the technical aspect - doesn't do much for me right now, not like the bathroom shot before - that one works on more levels for me than this one does.
RA: Being candid...
KB: Yes. The bathroom image was a shot I quickly snapped but it wasn't a quick snapshot.
RA: Or a staged tableaux.
KB: Or a staged shot, exactly. Look, the guy with the helmet on here, on the other hand, is too contrived. Dunno, it's a real knee-jerk reaction, I know, but that's how it makes me feel. It might make me feel differently - might be more evocative to me tomorrow, next week, in a couple of years, I can't say. But right now? No, don't like it.
RA: OK. Incidentally, where's that from, the Freud thing?
KB: Erm, I think it's from the Civilization book he wrote? Yeah, I think so...
RA: Ah, yes, OK. Ready for another one?
KB: I am.

RA: There we go. Ah, look at this one - I really like this one.
KB: Yes, me too.
RA: No knee-jerk with this one then?
KB: Haha, no, not this one. Or maybe a different type of knee-jerk, I suppose you could say.
RA: So tell us about it.
KB: I can't remember where we were - I think it's when we went on an excursion up to the museums in London - I think this was outside the Tate? And, the thing I vividly remember about this photo is that it was probably the first time I got what I now call: that feeling. At least it's the first time I can remember having it - no doubt I'd had it before but this was when I believe I became conscious of it - felt it for the first time.
RA: Feeling?
KB: Yeah. When I'm wandering around looking for a shot, or you could say that the shot is looking for me? Anyway, if I see something that just seems to light up my brain, parts of my brain fire up, some sort of alignment of graphic cues, a converging of forms in front of me - Fibonacci, Golden Ratio - whatever you want to call it, whatever they are, then I get an excited tingle run through me. A nervous kind of glee, you could even call it. Is that weird?
RA: No no, not at all! Please, carry on.
KB: It's like a trembling expectancy, I suppose you could call it, a tremendously visceral thing that takes over and I become intensely focused on capturing the shot, getting that image. It's quite scary, yet exhilarating at the same time.
RA: You know, I've seen you, I wouldn't say zone-out but rather more like zoning in on whatever it is you've lined up in your crosshairs! It's certainly serious that's for sure.
KB: It's stronger than me. Many times, I've felt this deflated, erm, like depression come over me, a sort of come-down if I'm not able to grab the shot I'd seen, you know? It almost hurts - however absurd that must sound. It's almost physical to me - it is physical.
RA: Fascinating. Like your brain was disappointed with you for missing its suggestion?
KB: I know it sounds mental, but yeah...
RA: Noooo, are you kidding? Sounds intriguing! And you felt that tingle, as you put it, when you took this shot?
KB: I definitely did with this one. I even remember excitedly telling, er, Paul, I think his name was - smashing lad - telling him that I'd nailed it, got the shot of the day. I just knew. Something inside - probably a lot more than just one thing, I'd bet, some sort of broken synaesthesia - something inside just seemed to "see" this shot and, nutty as it seems, then "told" me or used me, even, to get the shot.
RA: Remarkable. Almost like a secret weapon, isn't it? Do you think this is your super-power, Kev?
KB: Possibly, yeah, could be. Thankfully, it never lets me down and is always on the hunt! I realised that through photography - and not because of it - I could harness that vision, bring that feeling to life so quickly through the immediacy of photography that I lost interest in drawing. In fact, I no longer feel the need to draw - such a time-consuming act - lovely and relaxing, true, but a lengthy process nonetheless. That's the same way that Cartier-Bresson felt about his photography too. I wonder what he would have thought of the digital approach to photography?
RA: I have a sneaky suspicion that he would have hated it - especially all the editing.KB: Possibly, yeah.
RA: Amazing insight, there. Thanks for that. Erm, any questions about this one? [looks at audience] Yes, Giulia?
G: Hi.KB: Hello.
G: I liked what you said about how you feel when you don't get the shot, that almost physical feeling you have.KB: OK... Yeah, it can be alarming.
G: It happens to me too.
KB: Oh, right.
G: Yeah, I don't know about you, but if I don't get the photo that I had in mind, then it torments me - I've even had dreams about the missed photo.
RA: No, really?
KB: That's brilliant.
G: It gets to a stage where I have to go back to the same place - usually at the same time as when I first noticed the possible shot, I write everything down so I don't forget - and I set up, and won't leave till I get the shot - or a least a shot resembling my initial idea.
KB: Wonderfully obsessive.
G: Yeah, it annoys the hell out of my friends, family and my partner too!
KB: Not to worry, the shot matters more.
G: I know, right? [laughter]
RA: OK; Giorgia, thanks for that. Erm, did you have a question or...?
G: Oh, yes, sorry!
KB: It's fine.
G: Erm, yeah, my question was: Were you aware of the statue in this image? I mean, did you know what it represented? Is that why you and your friend got this shot there because of the significance of the historical reference? Or was this just an off-the-cuff moment and you were unaware of the statue's meaning?KB: Er, that's surely more than one question there, Rob?
RA: Yeah, I was thinking the same thing! [laughter]
G: Sorry.KB: No, it's all good. It's just that my mind can only remember the question about us being aware of the statue's significance, was it? So I'll start there if that's OK with you?
G: Yes, of course.
KB: Erm, no, is the short answer. Like I said when he jumped up onto it, the looming statue and his positioning just seemed to line up in my mind's eye - and they still do when I look at it - the feeling came and I told him to freeze. But, if we were aware of what the statue depicted at the time, then I don't remember now. Who is it?
G: It's Perseus with Medusa's severed head.
KB: Ah, yes, when he was fighting off that monster, the Kraken or something, and turned it to stone?
G: Yes, he was saving Andromeda. It was the sea-dragon Cetus though in the original myth.
KB: Ah, OK,
RA: You're probably thinking of the film?
KB: Yeah.
G: You see, our interpretation - we studied this in a little group - was very different from what you just told us happened that day. Bearing in mind we had no idea if you knew or not the story behind the statue, but we assumed you did, so...
KB: Opps, sorry. But it's great, you know, the viewer's observation of an image is equally, if not more important than the original idea that the person had when they created the image.
RA: And certainly no less important anyway. It goes back to what you said before: if there's no one there to look at it...
KB: Sure. OK, Giorgia. I'm pretty curious now - and a little nervous, what was your take on it?
G: Well, as I said there were a few of us who sat down and discussed it.
RA: Was this done while we were still in the U.S. or did you get -
[recording interrupted]

---

I asked Kev if we could repatch this text in some way, but he said, quite understandably, that it would be far too much work with the end result not being worth the time needed - and that we would never really be able to correctly and successfully complete this transcript. Not wanting to turn it into a creative writing session, or be accused of making things up, we had to consequently and rather disappointedly (at least for me) let it awkwardly stand as it is. Frustratingly, for anyone who wasn't there, you'll have to do your own creative exercise and let imagination take its course, I'm afraid. There's simply no closure here with this one.
We'll probably never know what Giorgia and her team thought of the image or how they interpreted it seeing as both Kev and I don't really remember. But then again, it was only one interpretation, one point of view. The above images - as with any image - through polysemy can be read and enjoyed (or not) over and over again. The ambiguity of signs within a photo is there to be extracted through cultural-bound bias, careful and informed analysis, or through the enchanting multiplicity of human preferences, feelings and taste whether that be the knee-jerk reaction that Kev mentioned or the emotional response that any given image can incur from the viewer. How an image is presented, its viewing context, undeniably,  affects the interpretations - the same goes for the connotations of any accompanying text. This plurality of meanings is the observers' right as it should be the creator's delight. Whatever the observer's take on an image is - be it love or despair - will be the creator's pleasure or pain, and yet should always be a prerogative.
Cheers, Kev.
Robert Avery, London, 2019

---

Sources

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Mathsisfun.com. 2020. Golden Ratio. [online] Available at: <https://www.mathsisfun.com/numbers/golden-ratio.html> [Accessed 21 April 2020].
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Averystudio.com. 2020. Avery Studio | Leather Designed By Craftsman Linda Avery. [online] Available at: <https://www.averystudio.com/> [Accessed 21 April 2020].

Fox, A. and Natasha, C., 2012. Behind The Image. Lausanne [Switzerland]: AVA Pub, pp.31-104.

Theoi.com. 2020. PERSEUS 2 - Argive Hero & King Of Greek Mythology. [online] Available at: <https://www.theoi.com/Heros/Perseus2.html#Andromeda> [Accessed 21 April 2020].Higgins, J. (2013.). Why it does not have to be in focus. 1st ed. London: Quintessence Editions.
Cotton, C. (2009). The photograph as contemporary art. 1st ed. London: Thames & Hudson.

Byrne, K., 2020. Pilgrims Teacher Training Blog. [online] Pilgrims Teacher Training Blog. Available at: <https://pilgrimsteachertraining.wordpress.com/> [Accessed 21 April 2020].
Fried, M. (2008). Why photography matters as art as never before. 1st ed. New Haven: Yale University Press
Byrne, K., 2016. Kev Byrne 1971, Being Meanderings of the Photographic Type. [online] Kev Byrne 1971. Available at: <https://kevinbyrne1971.wordpress.com/> [Accessed 21 April 2020].

Barthes, R. and Heath, S., 2007. Image, Music, Text. New York: Hill and Wang, pp.79-124.

Aaa.si.edu. 2020. Oral History Interview With John Baldessari, 1992 April 4-5 | Archives Of American Art, Smithsonian Institution. [online] Available at: <https://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/interviews/oral-history-interview-john-baldessari-11806#transcript> [Accessed 21 April 2020]. (Thanks for the inspiration, guys!)

Bright, S., 2011. Art Photography Now. London: Thames & Hudson, pp.157-173.

Byrne, K., 2008. [online] Flickr. Available at: <https://www.flickr.com/photos/kevinbyrne1971/> [Accessed 21 April 2020].

Renemagritte.org. 2020. The Treachery Of Images, 1929 By Rene Magritte. [online] Available at: <https://www.renemagritte.org/the-treachery-of-images.jsp> [Accessed 21 April 2020].

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An excerpt of the original accompanying text for the two underground photos used in this post. Reproduced by kind permission of the author. The complete "underground" text will be presented in a future post that we are currently putting together. Thanks again to my dear friend for his patience.
"Travelling on the London Underground was one thing, actually working for them was another. I remember when I started, there was an exhilarating feeling of being somewhere you shouldn't be, like sitting in dad's seat in the car, or going into a door which says no entry, authorised personnel only. There was a boyhood wonder for me being able to look, and actually walk around, inside the driver's cab. To finally see all the knobs, switches, lights and unknown things that the drivers knew so well, and were probably sick of. Must have been pretty boring though, cooped up in that dingy little box for however many hours they drove for. Thing is, they don’t really drive at all, the trains are basically automatic and drive, do all the breaking and accelerating themselves. In fact, the only thing the driver really has to do is open and close the doors by pushing down a couple of buttons! If nothing drastic happened, like someone jumping under the train, the drivers could read the whole paper from Seven Sisters down to Brixton. They would get through a book or two a week, or even, as a friend once told me, get some sleep, or better still, take a friend along with you, preferably of the opposite sex. They were numerous stories of drivers getting their oats in those cabins, which had a certain amount of attraction about it and added to the almost mystical quality of the cabin as you tried to imagine how the hell they got away with that in those tiny little things. One driver, while catching forty winks, used to wear black sunglasses so no one could see his eyes as the train came hurtling into the station, and even had some alarm clock, or a stopwatch or something set to the various different distance times between the stations, so he could wake up and push the door buttons just as the train pulled up and the passengers hungrily got off or on. Now, how cool is that? The alarm clock system didn’t always work for some drivers though and quite often passengers had to tap on the window of the driver’s cab to wake them up. Not so cool. Sometimes a supervisor even had the pleasure of doing this, which wasn’t all that good for the driver and we were lucky if we ever saw them again. They weren't killed though, at least, I hope they weren't.
I knew most of the drivers, and one of them even let me 'drive' one of the trains as we left the depot once, on our way to the first station, I'll never forget that. It remains one of the most favourite memories to this very day. To tangibly fulfil one of my childhood dreams ranks as one of the top things ever done in my life. Yes, small things please small minds. There I was, grinning like a little baby from ear to ear as we cruised into the station, with the driver just sort of looking at me with a quizzical face. I checked to see if there was anyone on the packed platform that I knew, but there were just too many people. But that didn’t really matter, I didn’t need anyone to confirm that I was there, I knew I was there. I even feel that I’m still there sometimes when I get down, I just drift back to that moment and smile and let the train soothe me as we rumbled through the black tunnels of London Town far beneath the calamity above.
For a curious mind like me, it was also great fun looking under the train itself, and getting to see all those things that you never usually saw. Things such as the terrifying 'shoes' which touched the positive and negative tracks or bars I think they were called, and that you did well to steer clear of, even if there was no current - you could never be too sure. Things like the compressor and the motor, which to me looked like a Scalextric car turned upside down, you know that spinning thing under the car, which was gold, or maybe red and white, I can't remember now. It all seemed like an inflated Mechano model, which I suppose it was, really. Maybe that should be the other way around? Being able to legally walk through those doors between carriages was also pretty cool. But with all those childhood dreams fulfilled, it soon lost its novelty, and turned into another routine to be slotted into and dealt with, like all the rest of it. Surely the art of happiness is being able to stay tuned into these pleasures?
I started off on the London Underground as a graffiti control officer, no pretence, I was simply a cleaner, although it sounded impressive. I found myself taking off some of the most spectacular pieces of graffiti I'd ever seen; precious works of art which had been plastered all over the side of the trains, and sometimes inside, with uncanny skill and speed. I must admit, it hurt to take those beautiful murals off the trains. What a waste. Although, it didn't hurt as much as the suspect chemicals that the Underground had us using, rotten stuff it was. We had to take a break after ten minutes of using it or there was the likelihood of you passing out, even with one of those heavy rubber masks, like the ones they used in the war. God knows what the chemical actually was, but it didn't look very nice. It was like an orange jelly type stuff, that looked a lot like jelly come to think of it, but you certainly wouldn't want to stick it your mouth, I can tell you. For four hours' work, you needed two pairs of quality rubber gloves, so it must have been pretty corrosive gear. It came in these awful looking rusty silver tubs that looked like something Greenpeace should be trying to stop existing. It was probably illegal, and judging by the state of the tins, they'd been dumped in some storeroom until the cleaners came along and decided to use it for the graffiti removal. Free chemical is cheap chemical. It was probably toilet descaler or something and not meant for taking graffiti off trains at all - that might be why over time, the surface of the trains started to darken, and take on a marvellously scorched effect. Not nice stuff. Wasn't our problem though, they told us to scrub the fucker clean, and that's exactly what we did. We do what we're told, we're told what to do.
Friends laughed at me when I told them what I was doing, not because it was a shit job, although it certainly wasn't what you'd call sought after work either, but that it was some kind of divine justice, as they put it. You see, for years I'd put graffiti all over North London, on hundreds of buses, literally thousands of walls, bridges, lampposts, you name it, I'd hit it. I wasn't as good as these guys, who created beauty, no, I was just into tagging everything that was taggable. Such insecurity, such a self-loving need to be accepted and recognised; it would be entertaining if it weren't so sad. Still, everything that goes around, as they say. Thing is, although it was such wonderful work, and as much as it hurt to take the damn stuff off every fucking night, and it was every night, I couldn't help wondering if they had anything better to do. I suppose they kept us in a job. The glamour of being the graffiti control officer didn't last. Bodies were needed on nights to do special night cleans or something, and me and Luke, like the eager new kids that we were, said we'd love to do it.
Nights were completely different from the day shift. There was no canteen, no visitors, no day time noises to help you keep a grip on reality, keep you anchored, just the echoing clangs and bangs of the overhaulers working under the trains, in the big shed next to the cleaners' shed. We didn't miss the sun though. During the summer, it got real hot in those sheds, and you used to cook. You couldn't work for longer than ten minutes inside the train. I think we measured the temperature once, and it was about 145° in there. The sun never touched the train itself, but the huge aluminium, or metal shed, got roasted by it all day, so come fourish, you had to call it a day, or die. The nights were hot, but nothing like the oppressive daytime onslaught.
Our boss had asked us what we wanted to do on nights, we had the choice of two things: one was sweeping the trains that come in from their hard day in London; which meant basically getting all the newspaper and shit that the commuters had dropped on the train throughout the day, and bagging it up and chucking it out. The other option was cleaning the train windows. I'd always fancied myself as a bit of a window cleaner, so me and Luke chose the second option. Idiots. Little did we know what was in store for us. People on the night shift, especially the overhaulers and technicians, seemed to be less sociable, than those on days. Everyone just wanted to get the night over and done with, work through it, and make it go as quick as possible, which you can understand. The night shift was full of African fellas, who seemed to effortlessly float around knocking their work out. They were on another level: powerful, silent and very efficient. They were a much friendly bunch than the moody overhaulers and soon made us feel like part of the gang, accepted us into their group. A lot of them were working in the day as well, for a different company, or studying. I don't know how they did it. They must've had some ulterior motive for punishing themselves like that. Although, how could it be punishment when they were bettering themselves? I know a lot of them also sent money home for their family in Africa, which must have been some sacrifice, but clearly underlined their sincere and admirable sense of duty.
The window cleaning was a nightmare of a job, an absolute bastard of a graft. It has its own name, the D clean, short for dummies, or dickhead, one of the two. Me and Luke weren't put together for the D clean, and I started working on my own with this huge beast of a man called Alf. We had a whole train each, which for those of you who don't know, that's eight carriages, or units as they are called. Each unit was just over 52 feet long (roughly 16 meters in length), and 8 feet wide (a little over 2.5 meters) and had its own stock number on the side, 3058, or 3055, for example. You needed to know these numbers, so you could clean your specially allotted units. Those numbers became important as there were certain carriages that were easier to clean. Some people even liked a particular carriage because the numbers were like important birthdays in the family, or a lucky number, and what have you. Ridiculous in hindsight, but quite important at the time - as well as simply a harmless way to make the toil easier. No shame in that.

That was fine, and made it all tick along quite nicely, until some dozy prat who was in charge, gave you the wrong job, or train, or the train was still out in service. Or it was there, but they'd just written it wrong, probably because they were getting the numbers mixed up with their bloody golf scores from the weekend. You didn't have to be thick to work there, but it evidently helped. The D clean wasn't simply cleaning a few windows, it was more like a psychological battle with yourself and the train, a battle of wits between you and the sheer concept of glass. Or perhaps it was a duel with the universe itself.

1972 Tube Stock trains.
Each unit possessed fifty-four windows, awkward, filthy, and unsympathetic things they were. Let's try to break the numbers down so we can come to terms with how daunting an experience it was. There were 12 sliding doors - 8 in the doubles and 4 singles - and 2 connecting carriage doors, that's 14 doors in total, these were accompanied by 4 end of carriage windows (we only had to clean the internal panes). Unfortunately, that was not the case with the 12 dividing windows, they were double-sided so giving us 24 actual panes to clean - but these were easy, quick things to knock out. Not quite the same with the 12 large windows behind the seats (in groups of four between the sliding doors). These were the heart of any unit clean, the most time-consuming of them all and the most back-breaking to deal with. Technically 36 pieces of glass per carriage once opened up: 12 internally facing, another 12 once hooked up, and 12 eternal windows (but not the outsides of these). Not at all confusing, is it? So that's a total of  54 windows - meaning 78 panes per unit if we include the double-sided windows to be cleaned - which we can multiply by 8 giving us a grand total of 432 actual windows but 624 panes per train in an 8-hour shift.
For £4.20 an hour.The hardest part, once you had taken in the numbers was hooking up those 12 windows to the handrail in every unit, itself a quite daunting task as they just seemed to get heavier and heavier as you went on, and the bastard hooks were fiddly bloody things that took ages to get used to. But with time, these things become muscle memory, habitual and less challenging. Soon enough, me and Alf got into a reasonably smooth system, where he would go through hooking up the windows, and I'd follow him down dusting them. You had to dust them, or your water would turn black in seconds once you started cleaning them, so it was better to spend a bit of time wiping them down with a dust rag to save yourself the agony of carting those big, unpleasant buckets back and forth along the even more unpleasant cleaning platform, which was some kind of rough, and what seemed unfinished concrete surface. The hooking and the dusting done, we'd prepare the water. We'd use the big, extremely unpleasant buckets with dodgy wheels, and fill them up with piping hot water and a touch of detergent, and just a bit of degreaser as well. The big, unpleasant buckets had a mind of their own and used to go off in their own direction and you needed to use so much physical effort just to get them to go in a straight line, which was so hard thanks to the treacherous, uneven floor which regularly robbed you of a quarter of your chemical in the buckets. It was relentless - a real test of your mettle. It was war."
- Kev Byrne, 1997