You can see a few here but you’ll have to log-in to see more.

That style means that I am inevitably drawn in the direction of documentary photography. This is fine, and I find such work rewarding, but it really doesn’t satisfy the more artistic parts of my nature. For the last few years I’ve been working more and more on the documentary aspect – I think partly through the mistaken belief that I would be able to make money out of this kind of thing, fool that I am.

It’s time for a change.

I’m going to move back into more artistic work. For me that means portraits, and figure nudes. I’m planning a few shoots over the next few months and I’ll post some samples of work here as I go along.

Seems like such a small thing, but believe me – it’s taken a lot of soul searching to decide on this change of direction!

Administration office in the military prison used by the Gestapo during the Nazi era to hold political prisoners. Small Fortress, Terezin, Czech Republic. November 2003.

It really was an extraordinary day that I spent there in 2003, and quite unexpected. Have a look at more pictures here, or download the PDF, in which you can also read my thoughts on the place.

That day sparked a long term project about the prisons used by repressive regimes to suppress opposition. I’m hoping to do some more work on this over the next year.

Sarajevo, February 204.

You can see more pictures from Bosnia here.

So I pitched up at the new home of the Photographer’s Gallery on Sunday morning clutching a copy of The Constant Eye, a pile of work prints and a large bag of curiosity. I was to see Larry Towell, David Alan Harvey and Susan Meiselas. I’d never met any of them before, but of the three it was Towell’s work that I was most familiar with.

The café room of the gallery was full of people already and Fiona from Magnum’s London office, who had organised the whole thing, greeted us all, introduced the photographers, and got us organised. Suddenly I was sitting at a little table facing Larry Towell, with my book lying between us. I think we were both wandering what was supposed to happen next.

Well – we caught our breath – and Larry looked through the book. There were some pictures he thought were good and some he thought shouldn’t have been included. He took a lot of care over explaining to me what does and what does not work in a book – the captions, the design, the visual impact of the pictures. After many minutes had passed I realised that we hadn’t really discussed the merits of individual photographs, and I asked for his views. What struck me, as he described what might have been improved in certain pictures – a change of composition, a shift of focus, a vertical format instead of a horizontal one – was that I already had, in many cases, the improved pictures he was describing. They were on the same rolls of film, a few frames either side. I had eliminated them during my editing process. Clearly, I need to work on this aspect of my photography.

In the blink of an eye our allotted time was over and I was packing up my wares. I thanked him for what had been a very helpful review. It put certain things in their correct place which I, working away on my own at my own work, had overlooked. “I sometimes wonder” I said, “whether I really am a photographer.”

“So do I,” he replied. “I wonder whether I’m really a photographer too.”

Back down in the café I met Mark Seymour, who had also just finished his first review, and Marcus Brierley, who was waiting for his scheduled time to go in. I was buzzing with the ideas that Larry had sparked off, and Mark, who had just seen Constantine Manos, was similarly excited. I’d never before met Mark or Marcus, but one of the great things about gatherings like this is the people you bump into.

After lunch I sat down with my book at a little table again, this time with David Alan Harvey. David understood quickly that The Constant Eye, Vol.1 is purely a collection of pictures from the last few years, and that what I really needed to do was a book with more of a story. I hadn’t realised how much David had worked in Spain – the work prints I’d brought, from my Bous al Carrer project, sparked interest.

He suggested I should approach my next book in the same way as I would a novel. Don’t be too tied to a strict journalistic approach – let the story live it’s own life. “It’s not the story that is interesting, it’s how it’s told,” were his parting words.

Again, I felt I was buzzing, more excited about my work than I’d been for many months, and ready only to give myself the time to sort out all the thoughts and ideas generated by talking to these folks. Time for a quick coffee then back in the review room with Susan Meiselas.

Susan’s opinion of my pictures contrasted in some ways with the earlier discussions, which re-enforces what a subjective business this is! She was very clear about the pictures she liked and the ones that shouldn’t be there, and why, and also why I should work on a book with a common theme. The landscapes in The Constant Eye were the most comfortable, she noticed, which is dead right. I am much more comfortable taking pictures at a distance, for instance:

River Sava, Belgrade, Serbia. February 2004.

and

Karadjordjeva, Belgrade, Serbia. February 2004.

work better than:

Elmeyer Dance Academy, Vienna, Austria. November 2003.

Susan was also the only person other than myself who has ever said they liked this one:

Michaelerplatz, Vienna, Austria. October 2003.

And so, far too soon, my part in the review was over and I could go away and think through all that I’d picked up. I have to say I was amazed to find there were spare places available during the day, and that some people paid but didn’t turn up – this was the most valuable day I’ve spent for many years, and I’m very glad I was able to go. One irony is that many of the things I was told were actually things I already knew, but had lost sight of or forgotten in the course of the daily grind.

I’m very excited about getting my next book out, and the discussions of format, selection and theme were invaluable. And I love the idea of actively engaging the reader in a story. As Susan said just before I left: “Let’s see Constant Eye 2!”

Thanks Larry, David and Susan, for your time. I’m pretty sure you weren’t there for the money!

Now – what I want for my birthday is a good picture editor!

Turns out ‘Пол Харди Картер, фотограф’ means ‘Paul Hardy Carter, Photographer’!

I think I might get it on a t-shirt.

The two of us wondered in past someone leaning nonchalantly in the doorway holding a plastic cup half full of wine, and who didn’t even glance at me as I passed, into a very good little gallery space – quite small, but well finished and lit. There must have been about a dozen other folk there, clutching their plastic cups. We wandered about, had a look at the 5 or 6 pieces in the show (which were not bad, but included a couple of very large digital photographs that I can only describe as conceptual). This took us about 15 minutes.

Then we stood around, waiting for the gallerist – or the artist – to come and introduce themselves, tell us what it was about. Or at least offer us a plastic cup of cheap fizz. Nothing. Not even did anyone acknowledge us.

What’s up with these folk? What do they have a gallery for? To show and sell work? Or is it just some kind of toy, like a dolls house where they can re-arrange things and invite their friends to have a look?

We gave them another five minutes to notice us, and then left. Clearly nobody expects to sell any work from this gallery at any rate.

In this post a few weeks ago I discussed the nature of this type of prison, and the improbability of the US allowing access to Camp X-Ray – the original prison camp – if it still exists. Maybe they will, but for the moment we have Mr Sims’ pictures, which are all the more powerful for not including any people.

He clearly felt, as I did at Theresenstadt, the contrast between the guard’s family lives and those of the prisoners.

And before anyone gets offended, I should point out that I do not equate what happened at Theresienstadt with Guantanamo, except that they were both built to contain individuals that the authorities did not want roaming free.

It was Benidorm this morning – old folks, sent by the state to fill up the gazillions of empty wintertime hotel rooms in “Spain’s Las Vegas”, were out and about in all their wondrous variety. And the bloody light was perfect. And my camera was sitting on a shelf at home.

It’s all because I’ve been getting a little strung-out recently about this residency paperwork. My mind was a long way from taking pictures. A good sign, though, that the first thing that came to mind once the paperwork had been sorted was “why haven’t I got a camera with me?” Maybe I’ll go back tomorrow, or at least soon.

What happened to all those people who spent their lives producing good B&W prints? Have they all retired?