In Praise Of Blandness

In Praise Of Blandness is in no way mundane.

I see the silent in the world. It is a coincidence that most of my pictures have very few or no people in them as we are just coming out of a world wide lockdown. None of the exhibited pictures were taken during this time. In fact, I didn’t take a single picture. I did as advised and stayed at home.

I have predominantly photographed places that go unnoticed. Places and areas that are walked past without a second thought. Often until that particular vista is gone or changed forever. I find myself photographing these views as they are quiet and suit my slow method of photography. I like working without hurry. Shooting with Large Format film demands patience.

In Praise Of Blandness invites the viewer to appreciate the aesthetic of the ordinary and the everyday.

Foreward to my new book available to purchase from Manchester Central Library shop or via the contact page.

With great thanks to Barry JC Purves.

Animator and Director.

This book contains a startling collection of haunting landscapes and seemingly desolate, often brutal, urban symmetries.

Seemingly desolate, I said, but look closely and the images mostly contain some touch of human history. Even among the faded blandness, there’s some warmth. Some experience needing to be acknowledged. Dwarfed by the fearful mathematics of Manchester architecture there’s a human arm carrying on regardless. On the most spectacular of beaches there is a figure defiantly undaunted by the scale of the surrounding elements. In the saddest of laundrettes there’s a used box of soap powder possibly still warm from human contact. All these details suggest a world similar to the ‘Marie Celeste’. But here if sometimes the crew have gone, look at the burst of colour insinuating its way in the otherwise monochrome – the vehicle adding some warmth to the overpowering quarry, the colourful clothing of the pool attendant, the random trickling of something oozing its way down the regimented precision of the bricks. The red of the mechanical cranes gathering almost as an avian murmuration over the high rise construction.

The accidental presence of a lost passer-by strays into compositional perfection in the deserted car park made ironic by the flash of the blue sign reading ‘Customer Service’. The lettering of ‘ToysRus’ still trying in vain to be cheerful in a harrowingly barren location terrifyingly empty of children; and in the woeful emptiness of a shop where you can almost hear the distant chatter of those on the long gone tills.

All these images, as good images should, invite you to look at them, to flirt with them, to engage with them; though they do not always reveal their secrets straight away. Linger and maybe you’ll find some hint of a back story, some humanity among the mechanical. If not, just enjoy the detail, the structures, the flashes of colour and the textures of these remarkable, epic visions.

However, through Robert’s eyes I did find hope and warmth amongst the coldness. And in these times, well…how satisfying is that?