Much of my work is firmly rooted in a sense of place, whether it’s the North East coast of England, where I spent my childhood, or the streets of East London, where I live today. Unknown is different; while I created these photos at a single site, I had no prior knowledge that it even existed. I found it by chance while researching another project.
This tucked-away, half-hidden place wasn’t created to be beautiful but utilitarian; in that sense, at least, it reminds me of some of Britain’s post-war industrial architecture, famously chronicled by the architect-turned-photographer Eric de Maré. As de Maré did half a century ago, when he photographed textile mills and naval yards, I found myself drawn to a landscape that was designed to be functional, free of ornamentation or excess but, in some essential sense, sublime.
This location, which for now will remain anonymous, could be a film set, or perhaps it could be a war zone. It could be a ghost town, lost to radiation. In truth, it is none of those things, but when filtered through our own fears, desires, and uncertainties, it could feel like all of them at once. The presence of humanity can be felt without being seen, in architectural sites especially, even ones that aren’t widely known.
I recognise that there is something undeniably dystopian running through the blue-tinged, half-lit moments sprinkled throughout Unknown. That element feels prescient in hindsight because I made these images leading up to the 2020 coronavirus pandemic, following the devastating bushfires in Australia. In the months after, accidents and disasters populated the headlines. The future felt uncertain.
As it happens, the setting that formed the foundation for Unknown is located where you might not expect it–in a lovely part of the world, very close to a peaceful market town where people live and work. People do inhabit this landscape during weekdays, but I chose to visit when no one else would be present.
I feel comfortable in empty places, and this location lent itself well to long, solitary hours. I limited myself to certain lighting conditions, often only shooting during the first and last hour of the day, weighed down by my 5×4 film camera, forced to slow my pace and stand in place. I used one sheet per spot and no more. One chance. I kept my approach honest, simple, and graphic–just like the setting itself.
I’ve always sought out places that felt intimately familiar to me–the coast, the city–but at the same time, I’ve also remained in motion, consciously or not. Throughout my career, I’ve rarely come back to the same place multiple times. Unknown was different in that sense too; it’s curious that one of the few locations I’ve returned to again and again is also the most unfamiliar and unexpected.
This is not a place I set out to photograph. Still, I can’t help but wonder if I would have found it way or another–by fate, fortune, or, more likely, accident. Like de Maré and others before us, I am someone who seeks artistry and grace where few would notice it: in places forgotten and overlooked. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before I stepped off the beaten path, took a left turn instead of a right, and stumbled across this most unusual location–pulled there, inexorably, by some force unknown.
