His portraits telegraph the yearnings of young boys and girls who have the world before them and capture the reality of older men and women who have settled into a life no longer full of promise, only challenge. His portraits also narrate the stories of fathers, sons, and brothers who eke out a living trading on the very same set of trades and skills across generations. In this place he knew so well, Chris captures the knowing expressions of mothers and daughters who sublimated their interests and desires to tradition only to find their voice at some later point in time; and he captures the comradery of friends who at one point in time are the most important factor in your growth, but who fade away or simply disappear. To people who grew up in small towns where everyone knows your name, these images are achingly familiar. And the truths they raise stir memories good and bad.
This is because, in singular images of a particular place at a particular time, Chris reveals the core of what it is to be human – something universal that cannot be confined to a particular place or location.
Newcastle
The series Killip documented in and around
Newcastle for 15 years represent what most
people would see as his most expressive work on “deindustrialization.” In one image, “Girls playing on the street,” you see children playing in front of Tyne Pride, the biggest and last ship ever built on the Tyne. It is an image of innocence, isolation, and desolation that forebears the inevitable, as two years later the ship and the industry that built it was gone and the buildings that had been workplaces and homes were demolished.
Yet it is the image “Youth on wall” that creates the greatest tug on our minds and heart as we try to understand what the young man is experiencing and what the future forebodes: he is hugging his knees, pulling himself into a curl with furrowed brow and eyes closed. Killip’s photo asks us to wonder what has happened, from what he is wanting so to protect himself.
Lynemouth
Killip knew about Lynemouth, a village in Northumberland, where yet another coal mine was closing. Upon arrival, he tried to document the community of sea coalers – the locals who made their living collecting waste coal from the sea and beaches. It was a story Chris felt compelled to tell:
When I first saw the beach at Lynemouth in January 1976, I recognized the industry above it but nothing else I was seeing. The beach beneath me was full of activity with horses and carts backed into the sea. Men were standing in the sea next to the carts, using small wire nets attached to poles to fish out the coal from the water beneath them. The place confounded time: here the Middle Ages and the twentieth century intertwined.6
The community was not, however, initially willing to have their story told. It was very distrustful, and members often ran Chris off when he arrived with his camera.
For seven years, Killip tried to gain their trust. Finally, during the eighth year there, a local at a pub recognized Chris from an earlier time and told the others he could be trusted. A year later, Killip would rent a camper van (a caravan) to live on at the beach in hope he might demonstrate his commitment and gain the kind of trust that would open the door to more intimate images.
With trust thus gained, Chris did not disappoint. In the elemental environment of people and place, Killip captured the hard work that takes place in the sea as men shovel coal or steer a horse-driven cart filled with coal in the swirl. You see the blackened beaches where caravans people call home are set, and the litter and lost items that accompany the community. And you see the sweetness, the humanity, amongst it all, as members ride bareback on the horses once the work has been finished or sit on couches with one another sharing stories and companionship.
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