Conversation with David Moore, and actor and Theatre Maker Angela ClerkinJune 2017 for Source Magazine
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‘Journal of a C21st Explorer’ 2000-2003
These semi-satirical musings were written after my visits to the House of Commons to produce the series ‘The Commons’ published in 2004. The foundation for this work was what I then described ‘an anthroplogy of the near’ and a sense of being inside of ‘panoptic’ spaces, facilitating a view only allowed by my presence as an image-maker.
“And after much to-ing and fro-ing we eventually secured access to the Palace of Westminster, a building at the heart of the nation's political life.
1st Day
The equipment we had chosen for the task was as follows;
Bronica sqa 6×6 body
Bronica sqa 110 mm macro lens
Bronica sqa 50mm lens
Several film backs
Two Metz flashguns with extension cords and spare batteries
Minolta auto IV light meter.
Mamiya c330 6×6
Mamiya sekor 65mm lens [this eventually proved unreliable]
We exclusively used Kodak Portra 160 vc 120 colour negative film.
My assistant, Laurent Betton and I met at 7.45 am on the first morning with a high sense of expectation. The project had been thought about and discussed for several years. Previous sorties, via correspondence from significant institutions, had resulted in terse denials of my entry to the chamber [1] and whilst others had had a degree of access in the meantime, their findings had barely touched on what we were about to discover.
So, on a bright June morning in the year 2000, I found myself outside of Black Rod’s garden entrance at the extreme western end of the Westminster. We passed through the first cordon and entered a room through a [proscenium] archway. There sat an X ray machine and a security guard. Our equipment was passed through and we waited for another doorway to open before us allowing us into the next preliminary level. At precisely 8.00am the small and hirsute desk clerk from the other side appeared and we went through, a little further toward our destination.
Foolishly, I had forgotten the authorisation sheet sent to me by
facsimile the previous week and the rather troubled clerk made much of this.
We sat and waited whilst various telephone calls were made and the situation began to resolve itself. Our guide was supposed to be
present as we arrived to meet us and lead us to the chamber but there was no sign of him. This coupled with the clerks boorish and unhelpful attitude had us waiting for a considerable time before we were able to proceed. It was apparent that unlike other visitors to the building, we were regarded suspiciously. Perhaps from now we should consider our appearance a little more. An ominous start.
After twenty minutes our escort arrived, a pleasant middle-aged man from the north east of England. He bore none of the anger of the clerk and we proceeded through labyrinthine corridors to the heart of government.
We passed oil paintings of indeterminate value, medieval sepulchres, domestic staff and cleaning equipment reeking of disinfectant. Oak panelling surrounded in marble walls crowded in on us as we made our way through the building.
Closed rooms and half open doors along endless corridors all promised something of my undefined goal, of power, lineage, an idea of England, dark dreams, long submerged within us and indistinguishable from our day to day thoughts.
At 8.23 am we arrived at the Central Lobby which opened up above us like a storm. The ceiling representations of Ireland, Scotland, Wales and England gave some sense of urgency to our passage through this anteroom and turning right we caught our first sight of the chamber of The Commons, warmly lit and largely un-navigated by outsiders such as ourselves.
The excitement was insufferable and as soon as we entered the chamber I instructed Laurent to unpack and assemble the equipment. I was immediately drawn to the space occupied by the leader and stared intently at the carpet immediately in front of his microphone until disturbed by Laurent handing me the camera and flashgun.
I began making my first photographs in that space at 8.30 am on the morning of the 26th of June 2000.
I started from the point that Laurent handed me the camera. Kneeling down, my first thought was of evidence of activity over the years preceding our visit. I made photographs of the bench area around the leaders sitting position, taking particular attention of how heels and toes of presumably well polished shoes and boots had scraped the surfaces, revealing lighter wood beneath the dark, oak surfaces.
Whilst in this position I looked up and could hardly believe what I was seeing. A piece of chewing gum or similar, had been left; maybe for devilment by another occupant of the chamber, maybe out of necessity by the leader himself, underneath the ‘Table of the House’ and directly beneath his microphone. [2] This was startling and I began making photographs of it immediately. The object itself can of course be found in many other places of interest, but it’s presence here lent an air of considerable excitement and hilarity.
We kept this from our guide, who possibly would have been compromised by the information. As we were to find out, the guides were an assorted bunch of characters, all ages, mainly of the working classes, many ex police or armed services. Their duty as incumbents of the Serjeant at Arms was to protect the Crown at all costs, even though the Monarch can never actually enter the chamber, vigilance is their code and they look like they would prove to be extremely efficient in hand to hand combat especially.
Our morning continued and we meandered around the chamber under the watchful eye of our guide. Photographs were made of the following;
Microphones, Carpet areas, Debris, discarded speeches, sweet wrappers and so on. [3], [4] and [5]. Conscious of time closing in on us I shot off the few remaining frames, concentrating on the microphones hanging from the ceiling. This was rather rushed and it was uncertain if any of these have any real value for my work.
Laurent and I then hastily packed away the equipment and were escorted off the premises by our friendly guide. This time we crossed directly over St Stephens Hall in a [northerly] direction, passing the cavernous [Westminster hall] on our right and being amazed at its size and beauty.
We thanked our guide, who was to return to his duties for the Serjeant immediately and found ourselves on the street at the St Stephens entrance. Slightly disorientated as we anticipated our exit from the chamber to be at the same point as our entry, but we were in fact, a 100 yards further west. We acknowledged that the proportions of the house and it’s nature would easily confuse all but the most experienced.
Laurent and I found a coffee house in St Martins Lane and sat for a while discussing the morning.
2nd day.[27th June 2000]
We again met outside of the Garden entrance. Two early mornings for us then and we began the same procedure at entry as the day before. The same attendants were in evidence and the desk clerk was perturbed to see us again. However, our guide was absolutely on time and at two minutes past 8 of the clock we were on our way to the chamber. We were taken an entirely different route today, no sense of our tracks yesterday but still we passed through areas rich with significance making me realise that a complete survey of this space would be an incalculable undertaking.
My concentration was not as intense as the previous day. I began to see the chamber in a different light and observed different things. Many trips would have to be completed I knew, before I could begin to make sense of exactly what was going on here.
Today we came across other people in the chamber. Men in brown technicians overcoats pored over the time keeping devices, attentive and concerned. They barely acknowledged our presence. A friendly young man whose accent placed him as from the Balkans, polished the Table of the House with care, the scent of industrial polish lingered after he had left and as I began to photograph the table this made me sneeze violently, permeating my olfactory senses. What compelled me however was that the area had just been ‘worked’ on. Our agreement with the authorities was that no people could be photographed.
Also this morning we saw our first sign of members of the house. A common practice, to reserve your seat for the day’s debate, is to insert a prayer card [6] in the back of the bench area where you would like to seat. Special receptacles have been provided and this practice assumes that you are at Chapel, or wherever, praying to your God. Because of this, your seat cannot be taken. Mr Skinner the notorious ‘Beast of Bolsover’ makes use of this practice everyday so I assume that he is a particularly godly fellow.
Some of course are the sorts who disgrace our nation with their misdeeds and on first sight there is little to differentiate the assorted types. This is also true of political allegiances, though today we did find the Conservatives to be rather more brusque.
Today there were several members of the House passing through, some known to us, some less so. Some left prayer cards and others were merely ‘en route’. The response to our presence was mixed. It was becoming clear to me that as my intentions were ambiguous we seen as either mildly amusing or slightly irritating. A more accurate way of putting it would be to say that we were tolerated. We had a commercial arrangement with the Serjeant at Arms, so we were not exactly ‘persona non grata’, however I was acutely aware that my negotiations with him were always in the balance and had to be undertaken with the utmost care for fear of my project being curtailed.
Today I photographed obsessively as if a fever had hold of me. It seemed thankless and endless. I began to wonder, to what end? After all of this waiting, I knew that perseverance and single mindedness was the only way forward.
Again our time flew and we packed our equipment together and walked through the hall to the exit. The sun outside was too bright after the low lighting and muted concentration of the chamber, the traffic too loud. Crowds of tourists queued amongst petrol fumes and my anxiety was the question of return. I had only arranged these two visits, leaving it open to re negotiate the others as and when was necessary. This of course gave the Serjeant at Arms leeway to bar my re-entry if it were deemed that my face did not fit or that I was some republican with ulterior motives. My task now is to look at the work I have made and consider it’s worth.
It’s soon to be summer, and Parliament will close.
3rd day [6th November 2000] 7.30am
It was cold and raining when we met. Laurent was sitting hunched on a bench, alone on St Stephen’s green, as the early morning traffic crawled into London, the weather thrashing around him. Summer had been demanding, travel to America and Europe had sharpened my appetite for this task. To see England from a distance is always beneficial, one understood it’s position in the world so much more fully. The position of the monarchy appears particularly precarious and open to ridicule.
[For Americans particularly, the Windsors are not much more than one amongst many attractions, I fear that the British nation regards them similiarly, our status as subjects largely hidden within citizenship].
Entering the security vestibule offered little comfort, and shortly our guide led us to the chamber. We proceeded, a different route again! As we entered the Central Lobby we found ourselves ahead of our guide, a young man of relative inexperience. What happened next was all over in a wink of the eye but exemplified the ingrained and unquestionable duty to ‘protect’. We turned into the Commons, Laurent and I, and were spotted by two uniformed and armed guards who, one of them, on seeing us and not our guide, as his small frame was hidden behind mine, reached for and unbuttoned his revolver. He was ready to shoot! Calamity! Our nerves were tested. He saw our guide an instant later and put the weapon away. We were not shaken. It is not after all
commonplace to have firearms presented toward you but the speed of the incident minimized the effect. We duly showed our authentication and we were allowed to continue.
We were wet and dripping against the hallowed carpet of the Commons chamber, unpacking equipment. Today I made many photographs of the ‘red line’. It’s presence in the chamber, as a piece of décor which catches the eye, far outweighs it’s apparent symbolic value. More ‘debris’ photographed and many more recordings of time keeping instruments, some apparently archaic.
4th day [7th November 2000]
It is difficult to imagine the noise and strife, which must be generated when this chamber is in full use. I understand that after the chamber was bombed, some 50 years ago; the emphasis on rebuilding it was placed on architectural sympathy with the original design rather than any changes which would assist the acoustics. Each sound is deadened, footfall is unheard and yet outside of this dark sanctum we hear shouts and activity as the Palace comes awake. The chamber gives an unreal sensation of security. The symmetry itself, if one is not wary, begins to order the photographs one makes. The near converging parallels of Tudor green benches, the red line, the symmetry, all conspire against me, as if to impose an appreciation of England, an illusion of order and democracy. It will be necessary to smash this down if I am to get to the bottom of it all, to understand.
Today was rather desultory, we were packed and ready to head back on time. On leaving Westminster we proceeded straight to a commercial engagement in the East End.
5th day.[27th March 2001]
The Palace of Westminster in cool, spring sunlight. The usual rigmarole with security and on to the chamber with our guide, who today was a pleasant middle aged female. Her knowledge of the house surpassed any other guide’s and we enjoyed our traverse to Commons, again a new route.
The chamber of course was unchanged, and today I used more rolls of film than ever before. Renewed vigour and a sense of a small breakthrough over the intervening period since my last visit here. Little to report, words are becoming superfluous.
6th day.[28th March 2001]
Today we showed the guide the way. He was a young man who had only been working here for a short while. In previous weeks we had generally arranged our visits on Mondays and Tuesdays, through some administrative quirk on my part, we were here on Tuesday and Wednesday this week. The chamber had more visitors than usual, inserting prayer cards all over the place. I was told that today was Question Time and various important matters were to be put before the Leader.
At one point a strident and fragrant lady member [Mrs Bottomley] for a country constituency asked Laurent for the use of a pencil. He became immediately enamoured of her, and rather distant I noticed. As she crossed the house to her chosen seat to write her name, Laurent’s eyes followed her. As a Frenchman he had not been living in this country enough years to have any history of her political life and was therefore bewitched by her apparent charms
No more diary entries after this date”
An ad-hoc diary during my production of what became ‘The Last Things’ project and book
“I don’t understand how you’ve got this far”
MoD official, London 2007
Between September 2006 and April 2007, supported by Arts Council of England, David Moore worked in a secure military location below ground in central London. This space will be used as the first port of call in any situation where the safety of the country is under threat. The Ministry of Defence allowed David Moore an unprecedented level of access which has enabled him to observe a live working space, continuously on standby, and fully prepared for the most extreme national emergency.
The Last Things develops ideas about the institutions of government and the manifestations of power first seen in The Commons (Velvet Press 2004).
Diary Fragments
Final “Sign Off Meeting”, as Angela says, they ‘wheel in the bigwigs at the end’. Today’s bigwig was AD Lt Col ******* ******* who was wearing a pinstripe double breasted suit and shiny clean. Around the table, were Angela Weight, Danny **** from the ****** ******, Charlotte ******* from the MoD art collection, her assistant Patrick, and Tom *****. John ******** from the *** was off sick. I expected all sorts of conditions were to be applied to the work. It was made clear I was ‘very lucky’ to have gained access and that if I applied now it would have been a firm, but polite ‘No’. The Ad Lt Col seemed annoyed I had pulled it off. Looking at the body of work I had made he had concerns with words and numbers within my photographs, and as the objections have not been about imagery per se , but details within them, I will have to censor the photographs digitally. This will be an interesting condition for the work to absorb. One which reflects my relationship with the MoD. The AD Lt Col didn’t want the work to be a ‘terrorists guide to the facility’ but was more than happy for me to use the projected map of Iran I found in a conference room. Smoke signals for those who care to look. I listened his commands as security alarms went off around us and a broad northern accent on the PA told us to remain where we were. I suggested I use conjectural descriptions of a environment I had been denied access to in replacement for the photographs I could have taken. I was an emphatic ‘No’ and ’who told you about these rooms..?’ I gave an unsatisfactory explanation of how I even knew about them. The truth was that no one told me anything, you just get to understand that certain things exist.
23rd January 2007…..
the air never feels quite right and in certain areas is dead and hot. Today we looked at the diesels that would power the facility in an emergency, and the transformers which would give 17 minutes standby time transferring from one power source to another. David, my assistant, asked if there was any where to pray, Matthew said the first aid room would have to do. Maybe by then faith would really only reside only in ones self. I felt ill as Matt showed us the ‘back door’, a series of interconnecting gas tight doors. Each door must weigh several tons. We all swung it to and fro to feel its weight.
After photographing the ‘bomb shelter signs upstairs We met ******** who turned the questions on me … asking for my website address and what I thought about the existence of the facility…from time to to time we meet people who ,…an ill disguised psychoanalytic interrogation, pursue this line. It comes from people with less power and is probably something all staff here are instructed in……questions like ‘ what do you think about our involvement in Iraq?’; are occasionally dropped into conversation.
1st March 2007
Today we waited outside one particular room whilst the people inside covered up various bits of hardware and notices with post it notes. We were then allowed in a 20ft sq sealed area , obviously a space where cleaners don’t’ go, paper strewn everywhere, with two shirtsleeved men working in it. A ladder to a support cell connecting hatch and a very aesthetically inhospitable space. I spent 15 minutes making a few photographs, mainly of the ladder, and of hardware with sticky notes on it. One of the men left, the other sat and watched me, waiting for me, observing what I was doing, before he could turn his monitor on again. On leaving I thanked him for allowing us in, he said ‘ no worries’ but as I was talking to Kenny about the room opposite [ we were waiting for the keys to turn up]. The man started talking to us. ‘ For my part I didn’t want you here, you are shooting with wet film ,and having to take the film off the premises’. Me, “yes there is some trust involved here. Matthew and the powers that be are having sight of everything” HIM’..’ we don’t trust anyone here, its our job, we aren’t part of anything that goes on here and are in this room by grace and favour [ by which I assumed he was **** ***or similiar]..nothing personal, but we work with nasty bastards everyday and are trying to delay the inevitable happening, sooner rather than later. The work you are doing may put you at risk…before you go into the next room make sure it is all hunky dory..no disrespect to him [ he pointed at our guide] but he doesn’t know what is what in there and you need to be prepared. We then found more neutral conversational ground and talked about cameras, what they used to use [ RB 67’s] and with lots of “cheers mate” ‘s he closed the door with a bang.
6/11/06
A day in the basement, the lowest point within the whole complex, the diesel room the engine room, full of pumping equipment, oil fumes. Difficult to make work in this environment, I feel the weight of a London and military above us. Down below, noisy hot , difficult to make work, sitting astride one of the enormous diesels, thinking of Lee Miller on the Griffin building…and, the gung ho airman on the falling atom bomb in the final scene of ‘Dr Strangelove’ After that we go to an ‘office’ space, where we find ‘……….’ watching an early morning chat show. We discuss the furniture in the Prinicipal’s bedroom, [ ‘the only double bed in the whole place’…. ‘Good’ I think; it IS real] and how if you wanted to steal it you would have to smuggle it out in bits much like the escapees in ‘The Wooden horse’, gradually dispersing soil down baggy wartime flannels, facilitating an escape. We all shake our trousers in the way of the film.
email from J****
“Leaving aside work for a little while, I went to the Burnley FA Cup match. They won but didn’t look too convincing. Might go to Colchester for next round. I might also go to the game at QPR on 15 April if I can get the wife’s permission – do you fancy going and meeting up for a beer somewhere?”
16th October 2006
Alert state ‘heightened’
We are escorted by Kenny who tells us about his hobbies [ he asks if we have any ,I tell him I run twice a week ], he tells us that he makes models but only from the Vietnam era because they had the best kit. He goes on about about U.S. military history, ‘the USA went into Vietnam as peacekeepers’ ; [‘PEACEKEEPERS!’ said my assistant David ] and also really helpful, saying ‘yes’ a lot to my requests to get into various rooms. At one point he interrogates , David about is opinions on the Iraq conflict…I think he is onto him because he is wearing love beads…. anyway, everybody knows him down there and he eases our passage, [perhaps a little more than he bargained for] showing us rooms we were unaware of. These finds come as a result of me leading the way , photographing in corridor space and David and Kenny following. We see faces ,people nod … Only one uppity senior officer plays a power game, talking over me and to Kenny and saying ‘what the bloody hell is going on?’ I try to appease him, though maybe with not the correct amount of grace.
4th April 2007
As we move toward the end of shooting, I am beginning , again, to question, why have I been allowed to do this. Did the Mod think it would be a PR exercise? Am I being used in some way? Or have they just not thought it through? There is no critical sub text here, it’s about being able to look, but wonder about the context and how this has been understood, or even knowable by the ‘powers that be’. My exotica is their everyday, their everyday, is chilling. No reply from M***** requesting a couple of extra days.
May 2007
A break in at darkroom space, drawers rifled through, etc. No expensive cameras touched. several studios in same complex affected. Nothing of value taken.
21st June 2007
David,
Thanks for your email.
I have had a quick chat with ******. Whilst I wasn’t at your meeting in MoD with ******and ******, ***** has stated that nothing was agreed (signed-off) at that meeting; merely that he agreed to take away the wording for the captions in order that he could discuss with his colleagues in ******* ****** and with me when I returned from sick leave.
We have looked at the extracts from Hansard and have no problem with that. The issue is the association that could be made between your pictures and any words that you intend to use or have been published anywhere (incl in Hansard) that uses the word ”*********t” in a sentence with “…protected crisis management facility…”.
You should know that senior Cabinet Office staff have requested the changes to captions. It is for this reason that we insist that you accept all the changes that both Danny and I have asked for.
J******
All words © David Moore 2008
MoD official, London 2007
Between September 2006 and April 2007, supported by Arts Council of England, David Moore worked in a secure military location below ground in central London. This space will be used as the first port of call in any situation where the safety of the country is under threat. The Ministry of Defence allowed David Moore an unprecedented level of access which has enabled him to observe a live working space, continuously on standby, and fully prepared for the most extreme national emergency.
The Last Things develops ideas about the institutions of government and the manifestations of power first seen in The Commons (Velvet Press 2004).
Diary Fragments
Final “Sign Off Meeting”, as Angela says, they ‘wheel in the bigwigs at the end’. Today’s bigwig was AD Lt Col ******* ******* who was wearing a pinstripe double breasted suit and shiny clean. Around the table, were Angela Weight, Danny **** from the ****** ******, Charlotte ******* from the MoD art collection, her assistant Patrick, and Tom *****. John ******** from the *** was off sick. I expected all sorts of conditions were to be applied to the work. It was made clear I was ‘very lucky’ to have gained access and that if I applied now it would have been a firm, but polite ‘No’. The Ad Lt Col seemed annoyed I had pulled it off. Looking at the body of work I had made he had concerns with words and numbers within my photographs, and as the objections have not been about imagery per se , but details within them, I will have to censor the photographs digitally. This will be an interesting condition for the work to absorb. One which reflects my relationship with the MoD. The AD Lt Col didn’t want the work to be a ‘terrorists guide to the facility’ but was more than happy for me to use the projected map of Iran I found in a conference room. Smoke signals for those who care to look. I listened his commands as security alarms went off around us and a broad northern accent on the PA told us to remain where we were. I suggested I use conjectural descriptions of a environment I had been denied access to in replacement for the photographs I could have taken. I was an emphatic ‘No’ and ’who told you about these rooms..?’ I gave an unsatisfactory explanation of how I even knew about them. The truth was that no one told me anything, you just get to understand that certain things exist.
23rd January 2007…..
the air never feels quite right and in certain areas is dead and hot. Today we looked at the diesels that would power the facility in an emergency, and the transformers which would give 17 minutes standby time transferring from one power source to another. David, my assistant, asked if there was any where to pray, Matthew said the first aid room would have to do. Maybe by then faith would really only reside only in ones self. I felt ill as Matt showed us the ‘back door’, a series of interconnecting gas tight doors. Each door must weigh several tons. We all swung it to and fro to feel its weight.
After photographing the ‘bomb shelter signs upstairs We met ******** who turned the questions on me … asking for my website address and what I thought about the existence of the facility…from time to to time we meet people who ,…an ill disguised psychoanalytic interrogation, pursue this line. It comes from people with less power and is probably something all staff here are instructed in……questions like ‘ what do you think about our involvement in Iraq?’; are occasionally dropped into conversation.
1st March 2007
Today we waited outside one particular room whilst the people inside covered up various bits of hardware and notices with post it notes. We were then allowed in a 20ft sq sealed area , obviously a space where cleaners don’t’ go, paper strewn everywhere, with two shirtsleeved men working in it. A ladder to a support cell connecting hatch and a very aesthetically inhospitable space. I spent 15 minutes making a few photographs, mainly of the ladder, and of hardware with sticky notes on it. One of the men left, the other sat and watched me, waiting for me, observing what I was doing, before he could turn his monitor on again. On leaving I thanked him for allowing us in, he said ‘ no worries’ but as I was talking to Kenny about the room opposite [ we were waiting for the keys to turn up]. The man started talking to us. ‘ For my part I didn’t want you here, you are shooting with wet film ,and having to take the film off the premises’. Me, “yes there is some trust involved here. Matthew and the powers that be are having sight of everything” HIM’..’ we don’t trust anyone here, its our job, we aren’t part of anything that goes on here and are in this room by grace and favour [ by which I assumed he was **** ***or similiar]..nothing personal, but we work with nasty bastards everyday and are trying to delay the inevitable happening, sooner rather than later. The work you are doing may put you at risk…before you go into the next room make sure it is all hunky dory..no disrespect to him [ he pointed at our guide] but he doesn’t know what is what in there and you need to be prepared. We then found more neutral conversational ground and talked about cameras, what they used to use [ RB 67’s] and with lots of “cheers mate” ‘s he closed the door with a bang.
6/11/06
A day in the basement, the lowest point within the whole complex, the diesel room the engine room, full of pumping equipment, oil fumes. Difficult to make work in this environment, I feel the weight of a London and military above us. Down below, noisy hot , difficult to make work, sitting astride one of the enormous diesels, thinking of Lee Miller on the Griffin building…and, the gung ho airman on the falling atom bomb in the final scene of ‘Dr Strangelove’ After that we go to an ‘office’ space, where we find ‘……….’ watching an early morning chat show. We discuss the furniture in the Prinicipal’s bedroom, [ ‘the only double bed in the whole place’…. ‘Good’ I think; it IS real] and how if you wanted to steal it you would have to smuggle it out in bits much like the escapees in ‘The Wooden horse’, gradually dispersing soil down baggy wartime flannels, facilitating an escape. We all shake our trousers in the way of the film.
email from J****
“Leaving aside work for a little while, I went to the Burnley FA Cup match. They won but didn’t look too convincing. Might go to Colchester for next round. I might also go to the game at QPR on 15 April if I can get the wife’s permission – do you fancy going and meeting up for a beer somewhere?”
16th October 2006
Alert state ‘heightened’
We are escorted by Kenny who tells us about his hobbies [ he asks if we have any ,I tell him I run twice a week ], he tells us that he makes models but only from the Vietnam era because they had the best kit. He goes on about about U.S. military history, ‘the USA went into Vietnam as peacekeepers’ ; [‘PEACEKEEPERS!’ said my assistant David ] and also really helpful, saying ‘yes’ a lot to my requests to get into various rooms. At one point he interrogates , David about is opinions on the Iraq conflict…I think he is onto him because he is wearing love beads…. anyway, everybody knows him down there and he eases our passage, [perhaps a little more than he bargained for] showing us rooms we were unaware of. These finds come as a result of me leading the way , photographing in corridor space and David and Kenny following. We see faces ,people nod … Only one uppity senior officer plays a power game, talking over me and to Kenny and saying ‘what the bloody hell is going on?’ I try to appease him, though maybe with not the correct amount of grace.
4th April 2007
As we move toward the end of shooting, I am beginning , again, to question, why have I been allowed to do this. Did the Mod think it would be a PR exercise? Am I being used in some way? Or have they just not thought it through? There is no critical sub text here, it’s about being able to look, but wonder about the context and how this has been understood, or even knowable by the ‘powers that be’. My exotica is their everyday, their everyday, is chilling. No reply from M***** requesting a couple of extra days.
May 2007
A break in at darkroom space, drawers rifled through, etc. No expensive cameras touched. several studios in same complex affected. Nothing of value taken.
21st June 2007
David,
Thanks for your email.
I have had a quick chat with ******. Whilst I wasn’t at your meeting in MoD with ******and ******, ***** has stated that nothing was agreed (signed-off) at that meeting; merely that he agreed to take away the wording for the captions in order that he could discuss with his colleagues in ******* ****** and with me when I returned from sick leave.
We have looked at the extracts from Hansard and have no problem with that. The issue is the association that could be made between your pictures and any words that you intend to use or have been published anywhere (incl in Hansard) that uses the word ”*********t” in a sentence with “…protected crisis management facility…”.
You should know that senior Cabinet Office staff have requested the changes to captions. It is for this reason that we insist that you accept all the changes that both Danny and I have asked for.
J******
All words © David Moore 2008
Review of Small World by Martin Parr 1995
Photoworks Magazine
We are in the Gambia looking out of the back of a Landrover: tough, open topped and safe. As we rattle and bump along the dusty track, four or five young Africans chase after us. We see them, in our mind’s eye, running from war disease, and for their lives. Our vehicle throws dust in their faces as we casually observe from our position of security. The scene is framed or us by a camouflaged arm, a military arm, profiteering from our co-operation. The metal bar which would normally support a tarpaulin cover becomes a weapon to protect us. We might imagine that our holiday maker on the left of the frame, with his zoom lens SLR, is seeking a few extra holiday souvenirs, firing off a few last shots, cropping around desperate faces, his
young white female companion, recoiling, but compelled to look. As we close the book of Small World, the word ‘Boy’ on the opposite page snaps shut on the young Africans face.
In Martin Parr’s latest book and major project, only a handful of images have such economic and cultural resonance. As a photographer, Martin Parr is concerned solely with surface appearance, although occasionally, he creates images which hit exactly the right spot and perpetually reverberate. ‘Pattaya, Thailand’ suggest to us a similar inequality of relationships, the trade in holiday souvenirs continuing, as what appears to be a European holiday maker getting to grips with some local culture in the form of a younger Thai woman.
From here, we visit Germany, no hang on, I mean Japan. The ‘Happy Kingdom German theme Park’, whereupon we observe a happy camcording mother dutifully recording an authentic replica of Germanic period decor. As Umberto Eco said, why bother with the original when you have an original fake?
In Small World cultures are commodified, confused and thrown up in all sorts of places, the thing is that we now expect to find a McDonalds in Thailand, and for that matter, everywhere else. Parr skillfully arranges this information into a narrative which is intentionally without principle or law, but is no revelation. The big problem with Small World is that work inconsistently spans eight years. Although specific trips were made to carry out this work, the impression is, that for purely logistical reasons some locations were included just because Parr happened to be there. Because of this certain images seem to be token inclusions, not greatly contributing to the whole.
Martin Parr’s trademarks are witty and intelligent observations of late C20th goings on. His satirical approach and uncompromising intentions account for popularity and accorded respect. For my money his work succeeds when it becomes more politically charged and delivers a harsher, more relevant and less cynical version of ourselves, one which doesn’t give itself up too easily. With this project, few enigmas appear unless borne by the medium itself. Like his subjects, from Global hippies to Packaged families on the continent, Parr appears to glide over the surface tension of the world only hanging together for the sake of re-appropriated translations of the past.
Photoworks Magazine
We are in the Gambia looking out of the back of a Landrover: tough, open topped and safe. As we rattle and bump along the dusty track, four or five young Africans chase after us. We see them, in our mind’s eye, running from war disease, and for their lives. Our vehicle throws dust in their faces as we casually observe from our position of security. The scene is framed or us by a camouflaged arm, a military arm, profiteering from our co-operation. The metal bar which would normally support a tarpaulin cover becomes a weapon to protect us. We might imagine that our holiday maker on the left of the frame, with his zoom lens SLR, is seeking a few extra holiday souvenirs, firing off a few last shots, cropping around desperate faces, his
young white female companion, recoiling, but compelled to look. As we close the book of Small World, the word ‘Boy’ on the opposite page snaps shut on the young Africans face.
In Martin Parr’s latest book and major project, only a handful of images have such economic and cultural resonance. As a photographer, Martin Parr is concerned solely with surface appearance, although occasionally, he creates images which hit exactly the right spot and perpetually reverberate. ‘Pattaya, Thailand’ suggest to us a similar inequality of relationships, the trade in holiday souvenirs continuing, as what appears to be a European holiday maker getting to grips with some local culture in the form of a younger Thai woman.
From here, we visit Germany, no hang on, I mean Japan. The ‘Happy Kingdom German theme Park’, whereupon we observe a happy camcording mother dutifully recording an authentic replica of Germanic period decor. As Umberto Eco said, why bother with the original when you have an original fake?
In Small World cultures are commodified, confused and thrown up in all sorts of places, the thing is that we now expect to find a McDonalds in Thailand, and for that matter, everywhere else. Parr skillfully arranges this information into a narrative which is intentionally without principle or law, but is no revelation. The big problem with Small World is that work inconsistently spans eight years. Although specific trips were made to carry out this work, the impression is, that for purely logistical reasons some locations were included just because Parr happened to be there. Because of this certain images seem to be token inclusions, not greatly contributing to the whole.
Martin Parr’s trademarks are witty and intelligent observations of late C20th goings on. His satirical approach and uncompromising intentions account for popularity and accorded respect. For my money his work succeeds when it becomes more politically charged and delivers a harsher, more relevant and less cynical version of ourselves, one which doesn’t give itself up too easily. With this project, few enigmas appear unless borne by the medium itself. Like his subjects, from Global hippies to Packaged families on the continent, Parr appears to glide over the surface tension of the world only hanging together for the sake of re-appropriated translations of the past.