He has a prolific career and extensive portfolio, with his images of British life especially iconic. At 72, he tells Miranda Sawyer, he’s still thinking about what to shoot next
About 20 years ago, I was on a judging panel for a photography competition, and one of the other judges was Martin Parr. He was charming and affable, almost teddy bear-ish. He was also utterly ruthless. When it came to deciding which photographs were worthy of a prize, he went through the selection swiftly – no, no, yes, no – without hesitation or doubt. His eye was impeccable.
Has he always known what makes a good photograph? “Oh yes,” says Parr. “Right from the beginning. Total conviction. I knew I would be a photographer from the age of 13, 14, and I knew what was good even then. I was obsessive about photography. All artists are obsessive, I think.”
We are in his agent’s office, a small upstairs flat on a market street in east London. Parr owns the building, and this room used to be packed with his work as well as Parr-type things: his collections of Saddam Hussein watches, Soviet-space-dog ephemera, Spice Girls merch. He was obsessed with gathering all sorts of daft stuff, but he’s stopped now to concentrate solely on his work. Though as he says, “photography is a form of collecting.”
His obsession now is the Martin Parr Foundation, headquartered in Bristol, which he established in 2017 and which is where all of his photos have been moved to (along with the watches, space dogs and Spiceys). The foundation is a collection of documentary photography of the British Isles, his own and other people’s. Alongside maintaining Parr’s huge archive, it buys work by lesser-known photographers, gives bursaries to those who are just starting out, has a library and gallery, curates shows, and is Parr’s legacy, what he’s most proud of. He’s 72, is in cancer recovery and is conscious of his age. “Hopefully it will be of some benefit,” he says. “I’m not going to say I’m saving the world. I never expect photography to change anything.” Perhaps not, but the Foundation is clearly a good thing: the website is great and the current show, featuring Siân Davey’s photos of family life, is excellent.
“Have you been to visit it?” he asks. I haven’t. He looks a bit miffed. He’s quick to pick up on things he thinks I’ve missed about what he does. When we go for a coffee after the interview, he says, almost triumphantly, “You just missed me taking a photo with my phone, of that wall!”
In my defence, there is so much of Parr’s work to see that you could spend your whole life looking at his photographs. He’s been working since the 1980s, has had well over 80 exhibitions all over the world, has published more than 145 photography books. He is madly prolific, with an archive that’s endlessly recategorisable. “If you want me to do a book on dogs, no problem,” he says. “I can come up with 100 pictures straight away. Or cigarettes. I’ve just done a book called No Smoking, using my archive, edited by my gallery here in London.”
Is he constantly thinking about work?
“More or less, yes. I’m either thinking about things I haven’t shot, or things I’ve done. What’s got to be done. What can I do next? Where can I go?”
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