Old Photographers Don't Die They Just Go Out of Focus
I've just had 24 hours in Morecambe staying with a friend who has restored an old seafront house. It’s a beautiful reinterpretation of the building, combining the best of the old with big picture windows and a modern spirit. Quite inspiring to wake up and be able to stare out at the watery horizon and the Lake District across the bay, with the light literally flickering and changing every few moments. I managed a short explore before the wild weather stepped in to stop me. I’ve written before about the battle British seaside towns have to reinvent themselves and Morecambe has a lot of people including me willing it on, but there is a long way to go still. However I like hunting down fragments of curious beauty tucked away in the neglected back streets.
The title of this blog comes from a mug my Granddad (a photographer) had when I was young, and I can remember him laughing at the sentiment. It came to mind as Saul Leiter died this week just shy of 90 years of age. I felt sad for a moment or two and then really heartened that he had in the last few years received recognition for his pioneering colour photography work and his beautiful unique way of recording the world. If you’ve not seen it there is a very watchable, warm film about him that was shown on BBC 4 this year called In No Great Hurry: 13 Lessons in Life with Saul Leiter. It paints him as an ego free eccentric with a very positive outlook enjoying a late burst of adoration and appreciation. A few of images from Mr Leiter as I tip my hat to him: