David and Bever, into the sea. Bever made it to shore. Leso and David drowned.
Killip spoke of his fondness for Leso and his mates, and they were often the subject of the many photographs taken at Skinningrove. An interesting twist to the story that noted this fondness for the boys, as well as the character of Chris, was revealed in a story told about David’s funeral. At the funeral, David’s grieving mother asked Killip if he had any photographs of David. Chris said “no,” thinking her question identified a concern whether such a photograph would be exhibited.
However, waking in the middle of the night, Killip realized he probably had many such photographs; and checking his contact sheets, he confirmed such. In further thinking about her request, Chris realized David’s mother was not asking whether he was intending to exhibit or sell photos of her son but simply asking ‘did he have any pictures of her dead son.’
Killip returned to the village a couple weeks later and presented to David’s mother an album of some 36 photographs of David from the time he was 13 to the time he was 17. Chris later created another album for Leso’s father. Chris said the fact he could present these items – representing life and loss – to their parents was enough to justify the time he spent in the village.
Gateshead
During Killip’s work documenting life in Gateshead, a large town in the North, across the river Tyne from Newcastle, Chris heard about The Station, an ‘80s punk venue. Sensing an interesting opportunity, Killip embedded himself at the club and through his photos takes the viewer through the looking glass into the world that was the Anarcho-Punk movement of the ‘80s.
Killip found the venue invigorating:
At the time, I was trying to photograph nightlife in Newcastle. I was going to clubs and a lot of illegal venues that weren’t licensed because they were empty warehouses – they were great places. I photographed goths and the Jesus and Mary Chain crowd, but people like that were in and out of Newcastle. It wasn’t very interesting because it seemed predictable.8
The Station was not in any way predictable. He had, in many ways, found that kernel which would reveal so much about the time and place:
1985 was a tough time – it was just after the miners’ strike and employment was difficult. These guys were unemployed, and there was no chance of them getting a job. Most of them left school without qualifications, they had a few GCSEs at most. So, this was where their energy went. It had real significance.9
It might have been one of the stranger immersions for Killip. As Chris stated, there was no hierarchy or power structure and as such no one seemed to mind the 39-year-old dressed in a suit who was taking photographs. All simply went about their business. It took Killip 15 visits to the dark space over a period of eight months (March to October) to get the shots he needed. And as a result, as the BBC noted, “[Killip’s] stark but sympathetic observation focused attention on issues and communities often neglected or hidden.”10
Interestingly, Killip had forgotten about the photographs until his son, Matthew, rediscovered the work in 2016 when perusing his father’s archival material and shared them. Fortunately for us not only do you see in these photographs the character of a place and people, but you also learn about the character of Chris Killip.
His Legacy
What is, what will be, Killip’s legacy? That is a difficult question to answer.
First, a great many artists took portraits or chronicled history through photographs. No need to extend the conversation beyond Strand, Evans, and Sanders – the three who
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