As I write this, it’s less than two days until my new exhibition, “Watching The River Flow – The River Medway and its Moods”, is due to open at the “Below 65 Gallery” in my home town of Maidstone, in Kent. I’ve just returned from the “dry run” – working out the best order to put the 35 framed pieces of work on show on to the gallery walls. They’ll then be hung tomorrow, with time for any last minute tweaks before we open the show to the public.
I was there for less than an hour and a half, but I’m emotionally drained. There are several reasons for this. I’ve lived for the last several years with hundreds and hundreds of images that were eventually culled into the collection for the show. I’ve seen them as they then grew into a pile of wonderful prints, courtesy of the skills of Chris Clark, but this was the first time I had seen them all framed up and ready to hang.
Gallery supremo Elaine had already laid out the framed photos on the floor around the gallery in a way that she thought would display well. As ever, she did a brilliant and inspiring job off almost no briefing from me. We swapped a few around, selected a couple of shots to stick in the window, and so far as practical input from me was concerned, that was almost it. Next time I see these things, they’ll all be on the wall, and we’ll be preparing to open the doors.
But the whole process really got to me, on several levels. I guess anyone who has ever had a solo exhibition will have been through this kind of thing.
Firstly, I was overwhelmed at seeing the whole volume of work finally come together in one place, other than on the hard drive of my computer. The printing and simple black framing on a white mount was, of course, superbly well done. One gets so very used to seeing photos on a screen these days that seeing your own work as a series of decent-sized prints “in real life” is both a shock and a delight, in equal measure. Everything from “Was this what I expected it to look like?”, through to “Oh my God, it looks wonderful” ran through my head in a matter of what seemed like seconds. I spent a lot of time thinking out loud, too. Sorry Elaine!
The show consists both of colour and monochrome images, and there are a couple of large canvas-based artworks of mine in there too. Several types of view, and a few inevitably recurring motifs that come from photographing a river, trees and reflections, repeat quite often in the show. So, I was very sensitive to the need to break these up to avoid monotony. Elaine was far more relaxed about it. With great wisdom she pointed out that I was far closer emotionally to these images than anyone else was or ever would be, and that I was probably worrying too much about their relation one with another – to the extent that I was worrying about things she’d not even noticed in some of the shots anyway, despite spending a solid two hours with them – longer than any visitor would.
One thing I spotted quickly, because I was intent on looking for it, was evidence of a style. No, not the wooden thing that gets you over a fence. S-t-y-l-e. I’m told that much of my sports work demonstrates a personal style that makes it easy to recognise as mine. I’m flattered, but I wondered whether I had a “landscape” style that showed through in this collection of work. I’m wary of style. I like the thought of it, but would hate to think it meant predictability, or worse: something that becomes overbearing, or just a bit boring. Well, the jury is out. Probably not my call to make, anyway!
And we’ve done something good with the four images in the show that ask the question “What would John Constable have made of this landscape?” What, you ask? Well, come and see the show. All you need to know to find it is here.
Next stop, opening day. 36 hours to go, as I finish this blog.