Now I’ve been two jabbed, my post-pandemic plan is humble and local: I want to get back into Liverpool where the Tate has a Don McCullin exhibition running until September.
McCullin was the first photographer whose work pulled me into street photography, which is why I’d also hope to have a decent camera in my pocket (my trusty old cheap Fuji died recently). I’m no more than a flâneur when it comes to photography, but I love the challenge and surprise of finding interest in the ordinary. Give me something unbalanced and askew by Daido Moriyama or Garry Winogrand over any well-composed banality. On that basis, Liverpool isn’t a great city to engage in street photography. The centre where you find all the people is too clean, the grubby historic parts too empty. Manchester, by contrast, has a vibe closer to that of London. It’s an uglier and less friendly city, but easier to lose yourself, though increasingly plagued by security guards patrolling the privately owned public spaces.
