A Strange Turn in the Mirror
Hopefully, I’m not going to cry, but I am gripped by a sense of melancholic failure as I’ve just suffered a quite frankly strange out-of-body experience. My life flashed before me. I was there but not really present; I was wandering like a stranger in my own world. It was most disconcerting.
Smaller Shows and Fading Dreams
I know our memory plays tricks on us; however, just like Wagon Wheels, I’m sure The Photography and Video Show was much bigger when I was younger. It wasn’t just the size that was phasing me, but something else—like prawns hidden in the curtains, an all-pervading odour you just can’t place but will never get rid of: the smell of decay. It feels like photography, as I know it, is dying.
The Day the Shutter Fell
Where did it all go wrong? There aren’t many industries where you can define the point of no return with such accuracy, but from the 8th of June 1955, my world was doomed. The day Sir Tim John Berners-Lee was born. From then on, we were the living dead—zombies shuffling to our doom. And that was what I found so discomforting about the show.
Where Are the Pros?
Once, professional photography was the beating heart and the soul of the industry itself. Nowadays, you can hardly feel a pulse. The laws of unintended and untended consequences have hit this industry hard. Walking around, I couldn’t define that something—the special sauce that comes from the company of a fellow snapper. I found no trace of Fleet Street, either. Not that I expected it.
No Stairway, No Platform
Frankly, the whole thing was an amateur affair. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. However, the dream of virtually every hobbyist photographer I have ever known is to become a professional. This stage is just a stepping stone. But what if there’s nothing to make that leap of faith onto?
Hanging Up My Cameras
Believe me, in its present form, photography as a career is unsustainable for most people. After forty years in the business and four redundancies, I’ve learned the hard way. I’m just a resentful sexagenarian has-been, you’d say. Bitter, perhaps. Definitely old. But no fool. Now, I’m as close to hanging up my cameras for good as I’ve ever been. Accepting I’ve done well to last this far – but since they are not exactly queuing up to employ sixty-year-old ex-photographers and former Picture Editors, heavens knows how I’ll afford Chaource now.
Too Much of Everything, Too Little of Value
It’s ironic that today, we are surrounded by images to such an extent that they are oversaturated in our lives—yet enrich nothing. The problem isn’t just digital oversaturation—the internet, smartphones, or even AI—though each has played its part. Once, a photograph was an instant frozen in time, the decisive moment, an art form, a profession. Now, it’s a commodity, an afterthought—something expected to be instant and free. Disposable.
Once Upon a Living
There was a time when you could earn a decent living from photography. You didn’t need to work every day just to stay broke. You could put fine cheese on the table, keep your dogs in the lap of luxury, and build a reputation rather than gain followers. Many did. But now, even the best struggle to survive. Weddings, events, commercial gigs—you name it, the rates have plummeted. Newspapers and magazines? Editorial ghost towns, lands of the undead like me. The industry that shaped me no longer exists. And now, to add insult to injury, The Daily Telegraph wants to pay ten pounds for images used online. Soon, we’ll be paying them to use our pictures.
From Ocean to Puddle
The vast ocean that was the business of photography is now a pond, and already it’s down to my ankles. Soon, it will be a puddle. Who cares? My income has already evaporated. How on earth do you make enough to pay for Adobe subscriptions, public liability insurance or any shiny new kit at the show? While I grieve for my old way of life, it’s the young I despair for. I’ve taken my shot —had a great career and some amazing times. While photography never made me rich, it did make me a millionaire in terms of experiences.
The Speech We Ignored
Just over forty years ago at art college, they made the speech we all ignored—telling us that not all would make it and that even fewer would still be photographers ten years later. We knew that, and still, we took our chances. It was always a gamble—but it was never meant to be a lottery.
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