Martin Parr, remembered by some of his friends and collaborators

The world of photography, and British cultural life in general, lost a huge figure with the passing in December, aged 73, of Martin Parr. Over a career spanning a half-century and more, he was an image-maker who made the ordinary extraordinary, who found the magic in the mundane, who saw our traditions and institutions – day-trips to seaside resorts, windy days at summer fairs, gatherings of hobbyists and collectors – as prisms through which we could better see ourselves.

“I suppose I just like seeing people respond,” Parr told THE FACE in 2022, in a piece about his images celebrating the mud and the glory of grassroots football and its fans.​“I’ve always liked watching people watching something else.”

His lens was true and unflinching, which led some to misinterpret his work. ​“I wanted to correct something,” Lee Shulman, director of the documentary I Am Martin Parr, told us last year, ​“because people think he’s mocking and ironic – that he’s cynical about things – but I don’t see that.​I’ve always thought he had an incredible love for humanity: the people in his photos are the people he cares about, and he talks to everybody when he’s taking pictures, he has a real connection. He celebrates ordinary life, and he’s influenced a whole generation, doing it with humility and absolutely no ego.”

Here, friends, fans and collaborators of Martin Par reflect on the life and legacy of the man who shot Britain.

Martin wrote to me on Saturday [6^th December, the day he died] at 12.14pm, so it was a complete shock when I got a call on Sunday morning from [photographer] Eddie Otchere asking if I’d heard the news. I have been wondering what was on his mind when he replied to my mail from two days earlier, in which I’d confirmed that I’d be arriving in Bristol on the morning of 22^nd December to spend the day with him. It was just one word – ​“Great”’ – and I wondered if he knew he was going to go.

I am very sad that our new relationship, which promised so much, never had the opportunity to bloom. I know how highly he rated me, however, and that he collected all my books. And I have felt a renewed sense of mission since his passing. He was the outstanding British documentary photographer of his generation and, while we are very different, I have to live up to his prolific example and set the standards for mine.

Photographers like Martin Parr don’t come along very often. Beyond his extraordinary eye for composition, colour and timing, he described the power of his work perfectly when he said: ​“I make serious photographs disguised as entertainment.” He will be deeply missed.

I loved Martin’s work when I first saw it in the mid ​’80’s. I collected his stuff in scrapbooks as inspiration when I started working for magazines. Those Parr books I had pored over, along with a couple of other British documentary photographers, would act as a catalyst for my own fashion work in THE FACE in the mid-to-late ​’90s, especially the seagull and girls-on-bikes pictures. Neither of those pics could have existed without Martin Parr.

I did a couple of interviews after those images came out where I cited Martin as an inspiration and somehow after that our paths crossed. I was so thrilled to meet him and he loved that someone from a younger generation found inspiration in his work. I wasn’t the only fashion photographer using documentary photography as an influence. But maybe because I’d gone for something very British and colourful rather than American and black and white, he was intrigued.

Martin introduced me to his curator friend, Val Williams, who put my work in a couple of group shows. After that my stuff seemed to get mentioned in circles beyond fashion.

Martin loved a shoot I did for THE FACE called Mosh, which, again, was inspired by British documentary photography. The kids were wearing fashion clobber, but the images recorded such chaos that it was hard to see where the documentary ended and fashion began.

Martin would buy up copies of that edition of the magazine on his travels, and when he saw me would get me to sign them. He did that kind of thing with many photographers: collect whatever their work appeared in and then seek the person out and get them to sign their images. He was just a photography fan, whatever form it came in, so excitable and almost childlike in his enthusiasm for new discoveries.

I could have guessed that he would one day create a foundation where all the things he loved and collected could be seen and enjoyed by the public. He was the most supportive photographer I’ve ever known, and was like this with all manner of photographers, particularly those whose work he thought deserved to be recognised. He had a nose to sniff out that stuff and get behind it.

He’s been in my life for so long, encouraging of new ideas, supportive of current projects, egging me on to embrace new forms of technology. A constant positive and reaffirming influence. I’ve often thought, when pondering stuff, ​“how would Martin do it?”, then get on the blower to him.

I can’t believe I’m not going to hear his voice again or see that constant flow of brilliant new Parr pictures. I’m going to miss him terribly.

Martin was, and still is, the reason I look at the world the way I do. He completely changed the way I see. I love other photographers, but none as much as him. My other favourite photographers take incredible photos – charged with narrative, social or political commentary. But Martin was the only one that could do all of that and be funny. That, to me, was just everything and what set him apart.

You don’t often get to meet your heroes and, if you do, you of course run the risk of disappointment. The fact that Martin and I met, worked together and became firm friends meant more to me than anything. I’ll miss him dearly and treasure the experiences, laughs and the Mr. Kiplings we had together.

Martin Parr was one of my tutors at UCA, the University for the Creative Arts, formerly the Surrey Institute of Art & Design. I studied on the BA course between 1993 and 1996. Looking back, I realise how fortunate I was to be taught by people who were not only educators but active figures at the forefront of British colour documentary photography.

Peter Hall led the course, alongside tutors Anna Fox, Peter Kennard, David Bate, Yve Lomax, David Moore and Keith Arnatt, to name just a few. It was an extraordinary environment in which to learn. Martin Parr, in particular, was already a distinctive and influential voice. His approach to documentary photography – especially his use of portraiture, and his technical use of colour and flash – stood apart from much of what had come before and challenged prevailing ideas about the genre.

During my second year, Martin was one of my tutors at a time when my finances were tight. He encouraged me to continue developing a project I was working on, and I explained that I simply didn’t have the funds to buy any more film. The following week, at my next tutorial, he handed me a pack of five rolls of medium-format film.

That small gesture has stayed with me ever since. It wasn’t just the practical help that mattered, but the fact that he had listened, remembered and followed through. It made me feel that my ideas were being taken seriously, and that he was invested not just in critique, but in enabling students to continue developing their work.

After graduating, I didn’t have much further contact with Martin, but I have always respected his work. I particularly enjoyed his retrospective exhibition at the Barbican, curated by Val Williams, which brought into sharp focus the breadth, humour and criticality of his practice.

The legacy Martin Parr has left within British photography is a testament to his dedication to the medium. His work has always divided opinion – loved by some, questioned by others – but he was undeniably a figure everyone knew. He made a lasting mark, one that will continue to influence and inspire future generations of photographers.