Photographers on ISOLATION/LONELINESS = (N 6) "Through my lockdown lens: 11 leading photographers capture their confinement"

https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2020/may/10/through-my-lockdown-lens-11-leading-photographers-capture-their-confinement = Through my lockdown lens: 11 leading photographers capture their confinement Acclaimed photographers from around the world share a single image reflecting on their experience of the coronavirus outbreak Alec Soth Minneapolis, Minnesota A leading chronicler of contemporary American life, Magnum photographer Alec Soth is renowned for his images of disconnected communities in the US. Born and based in Minneapolis, he has published more than 25 books and received a Guggenheim fellowship in 2013 Last year, I began a correspondence with a man who has been in prison since 2003. His letters have taken on new meaning in the wake of the pandemic and the “stay at home” orders. While I would never compare these constraints to incarceration, his words are nonetheless helpful. “It all boils down to limits,” he recently wrote. “Whether enforced by nature – biologic or social, tangible or abstractions – we all confront the parameters of our cage eventually. What we do when we reach those bars helps define us.” As a photographer I’m really struggling to respond to the pandemic, because I’m not a crisis-response type photographer. I’ve done little photographic experiments, and they’ve been OK. But by far the most meaningful thing that’s happened to me is this letter exchange. In terms of the image itself, I just took a picture of the letter with my iPhone, using the screen on my bedroom window to make the writing illegible, though a few words pop out here and there. I really do find it interesting to reflect on the constraints of prison, which are a million times worse than what I’m going through, and all the psychological weight of incarceration that you can’t even imagine. I feel like I’m rattling my cage at the moment, but it’s so not a cage. I’m in a city but it’s very spread out. I have a studio, which I have no problem getting to. I’m biking a lot – thank God it’s spring because Minnesota is the coldest part of the US and winters here are brutal. It’s a distressing time, but really my life is not so very different at all. KF Vanessa Winship Folkestone, Kent Lincolnshire-born Vanessa Winship explores concepts of borders, identity and memory in her work, which was the subject of a major exhibition at the Barbican in 2018 Before lockdown a friend sent me a link to a recipe for making vegan honey. All you need is fresh dandelion flowers, sugar, a lemon and water. She suggested that perhaps it was something I could do with my granddaughter, Bella, because she knows we like making things together and doing things outside. Bella is six. In normal times we see each other quite a lot but because we’re trying to obey the lockdown rules I haven’t seen her for many weeks. Dandelions started to appear opposite my house and along the path where I take my daily walk, so even though I knew I wasn’t going to be making the honey with her, I picked them and I’m planning to follow the recipe. I’m not vegan and neither is she but that is irrelevant, really – I just know it is something she would have loved to do. It was a coincidence that the cloth on our kitchen table the day I gathered the dandelions happened to have a pattern on it that looks like a beehive. But coincidence is a fantastic thing and I like it when it comes into my work. I’ve been talking to Bella on Zoom and WhatsApp and because she is a child of the digital age she is very comfortable with that but I can’t go outside with her and pick dandelions so the act of doing that by myself felt like a lovely link with her. What’s really nice as well is that dandelions represent the sun and, in fact, yellow is her favourite colour. I also like the idea that after dandelions are dandelions they become clocks that we blow as a game, counting down the days to the end of our confinement. LO’K Nadav Kander London Winner of the outstanding contribution to photography prize at the 2019 Sony world photography awards, Nadav Kander is an acclaimed landscape and portrait photographer At the beginning of lockdown, my kneejerk reaction was to come to my studio, set things up and immediately start working. I realised quite quickly that this was an internal pressure I was putting on myself, it wasn’t organic or authentic. I needed more time to process what I was feeling. I knew it was around solitude and touch but I wanted just to spend some weeks digesting it and then see how it comes out in my work rather than pushing. Part of that process was to bring a camera home and start looking more carefully at my house, turning my eyes on, in a way, and looking more deeply at my surroundings. I started taking pictures inside the house and spent a lot of time looking out of various windows at the plain blue sky without any streaks. One day we had this rainbow and I happened to notice it through the blind. I find it quite a gentle, poignant image. I like the way the blind drawn between inside and outside asks questions rather than answers them. The clear view would have been less ambiguous, I guess. This is veiled – I think that makes it more alluring. When lockdown was announced all my projects and the work I had just absolutely evaporated. But in many ways this period has been amazing, not frustrating. There are six of us at home – I have four children aged from 24 to 20 – and I feel very privileged to spend this time with them. I’m actually in my element. I like everything being slower and having time to think and look. I feel more sorry for my children than myself: I think they are bursting to get out and hug people, see people and socialise. LO’K Eamonn Doyle Dublin A record label owner and DJ, Eamonn Doyle returned to photography in 2008, focusing on working-class life on Dublin’s north side. Martin Parr called Doyle’s 2014 book, i, “the best street photobook in a decade” Just before the pandemic hit, my dad died after a short illness. While the lockdown was going on, I decided to move to his house in Sandycove, south Dublin, to be near my little nephew, who lives next door. It’s the first time I’ve lived out here since the late 80s, and I’ve been taking a lot of photographs around the house where I grew up, which is up the road in Killiney. I’ve been craving to go back into that house for decades and I’d love to photograph it. In the meantime, I’ve been wandering around the area, within two or three roads of the house, just photographing odd things – lampposts, markings on the ground, some surreal hedges – for a short-form publication. There was something about this trolley that drew me in, I’m not sure what: the particular light, the wall behind it, the direction of the wheels… There aren’t really any supermarkets nearby – the nearest Tesco is a couple of kilometres away – so somebody must have pushed it quite a bit. It’s not part of a narrative or anything. I was just in the mode of focusing on singular objects. The lockdown has been fine for me. In terms of my day-to-day, it’s been really nice to be out here by the sea, walking around, but I’m very aware that it’s a very unrealistic, unsustainable situation. I don’t feel like I’m going through any heavy grieving or anything – the overriding emotion is one of absolute relief that my dad isn’t dying in hospital right now. That would have been so much worse. KF