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Food photography, women and the Pink Lady Food Photography awards

April 23, 2014 4 Comments Filed Under: Uncategorized


This is Valter Mlecnik, who is a wine maker and spelt farmer. I took this shot while on a trip to Slovenia.  This picture was a finalist in Food And Its Place. 
 
 
I didn’t win but there was an impressive selection of pictures in the gallery at last night’s awards. Tessa Traeger won The Lifetime Achievement in Food Photography award.
She gave an interesting speech about how food photography used to be regarded as the poor cousin to other genres of photography and how that perception has changed drastically. In fact food photography is probably the fastest growing and most popular type of photography. She mentioned how few women photographers there used to be in photography in general (although women photographers have always been stronger in the fields of food and still life photography). Certainly in food photography, this is changing. There were many female photographers amongst the finalists in these awards, and the winner was a woman, Tessa Buney, with a stunning shot of noodle making, which is heartening. But in other types of photography, women photographers (as are ethnic minorities) get less work, are paid less and have less prestigious jobs. 

I’ve always been interested in controlling the image. At school I spent assemblies giving the other pupils a makeover in my mind’s eye and working out how I would photograph them. By the age of 18 I was shooting groups, at the gigs I regularly attended. I grew up on the NME when it was the coolest weekly newspaper with funny, dark, intimate, writers like Charles Shaar Murray, Nick Kent, Mick Farren, Chrissie Hynde and Julie Burchill. I remember ‘Susan Wells’. The boys at NME, and make no mistake, it was mostly male, public school educated at that, were thrilled that they had a great new female writer. Susan turned out to be Steven ‘Seething’ Wells, the punk poet, not a woman at all.
There used to be fierce hand-wringing debates in the music press as to whether women could write and perform rock. Looks stupid now doesn’t it?

One of the other things that women were deemed not to be able to do was photography. As a short, young-looking woman, I struggled to be taken seriously as a photographer. I’d take my portfolio into Art Directors’ offices and hear:

‘Who helped you shoot these?’

No one, I replied, it’s my own work.

Women Art Directors weren’t much help either, they often preferred to hire young good-looking men who would make them feel attractive (a quality in short supply if you are an older female in a position of power).

When I did get commissions, and took a male assistant, inevitably the subject would assume that my assistant was the photographer. One writer said to me: “The problem is you don’t look like a photographer”.

Photographers, if they had to be female, looked like Annie Liebowitz, tall, skinny and fairly asexual. You see, a camera doesn’t hang right if you have breasts. Or something.


Are things different now? I don’t know. Front covers still seem to be shot by men, while women photographers still get the little jobs. Photography bylines still seem to be mostly male too. White male, of course.
One of my most unsettling experiences of sexism was, sadly, with female photographers. Channel Four hired me to get portraits of some extremely good, but overlooked, female photographers, from the past. It was at a busy reception and I found it hard to get these women to respond to me, to look at the camera, to listen to my instructions. I put it down to distraction. But then a middle-aged white male photographer arrived and quietly asked the women to look his way for a group shot. He didn’t have to battle for this. He just asked them. To a woman, their heads swivelled meekly towards his camera. They responded to his instructions for a set of shots.
I almost didn’t believe my eyes, I wondered if I was being paranoid, if it was my imagination. After all, this was a documentary series on the difficulties these female photographers had faced and their lack of recognition, despite having covered some of the most important stories of their era.
But I knew I wasn’t imagining it when one of the Channel Four press officers came over to me saying:

‘Did you see that? How they obeyed the male photographer and not you? How sad’.

We were both baffled. And I felt slightly humiliated, to be frank.
But I loved photography, loved it to the point that I’d print all night, sleep on the canvas backgrounds in the studio so I could continue early in the morning. I had one green hand, my printing hand, from the developer chemicals.
In terms of influences, I admired the purist philosophy of Henri Cartier-Bresson: no cropping, catching the moment. Although unlike him, I rarely used the ‘standard’ lens, a 50mm, which is closest to what the human eye sees. I mostly used a portrait lens (85mm or 105mm) and a wide angle (I had a 35mm and a gorgeous 24mm). My cameras in the analogue era, were Nikons, solid metal but light-weight, and manual. Everything was manual, focussing, light readings, the lot. And I still think that this is how you learn. 

And of course, it was mostly black and white. Kodak TriX was my film of choice, lovely crunchy contrasty pictures. I printed on Afga Record Rapid, a paper with olivey blacks. 
I loved printing, emerging squinting into the daylight after a long session. I liked the darkness, the smell, the isolation. I’m a damn fast printer, for I trained in Fleet Street, where sometimes films were printed wet. Sometimes the story was needed so fast that you wouldn’t wash the film after fixing, you stick it through the enlarger still wet. Then you’d have to print 50 10 x 8’s, identically, by hand, creating a rolling flick through the dev, then briefly in the fix, then squeegeed, dried through a roller and packed into a manila envelope. A messenger would run down to Fleet Street and deliver by hand to each picture editor. 
At the beginning I was the messenger. It was thrilling to enter the black and white marble of the Art Deco Daily Express, the dark, cramped Daily Mail and Evening Standard, in Fleet Street proper. The Times and The Guardian were a pain as they were off my route. I grew strong and fit running back and forth Farringdon Road all day. The noise coming off the hundreds of typewriters, clattering, the sheer scale of the newsroom, the gruff picture editors, smoking indoors. We don’t see any of this now in the modern office, hushed to the padded sound of computer keys, aglow with digital light, everyone in their own world. 
Now I’m shooting mostly food and travel photography, I’ve gone digital and Canons have replaced Nikons. Financially it’s cheaper to shoot digital. I stopped shooting for years because I couldn’t afford to pay for film and paper. Now we can shoot non-stop. That’s progress. 

Joana Roque, who at 76 is still baking bread at her home in a village in the Alentejo region of Portugal. Here is the blog post about that trip.  This photo was in the last 400 finalists.

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Comments

  1. Sally - My Custard Pie

    April 24, 2014 at 4:14 pm

    Fascinating story behind the pictures. You paint a vivid picture of Fleet Street.

    Reply
  2. Elena

    April 25, 2014 at 8:07 am

    Baking bread at 76?.. Bless her!

    Thank you for such an interesting post!

    Reply
  3. Shannons Point Of View

    May 27, 2014 at 6:53 am

    What a great blog and such wonderful pictures. I have spring fever now..

    Reply

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MsMarmiteLover aka Kerstin Rodgers.

Chef, photographer, author, journalist, blogger. Pioneer of the supperclub movement.

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Kerstin Rodgers/MsMarmiteLover
On a very steep street in siena, Tuscany. They’v On a very steep street in siena, Tuscany. They’ve had to be creative with the table legs. We went to the Palio horse race in the shell-shaped piazza where the passion & downright enmity of the different contrada or districts, each represented by an animal or mascot, was on display. The riders go bareback. It’s the horse that wins not the jockey. A riderless horse can win. There are many false starts, a massive explosion going boom in the square each time which led kids to cry. We waited for hours in the cheap seats- the burnt ochre brickwork of the centre. While tourists at windows paid 600 euros for the privilege. I loved the singing, like football chants but operatic- lots of finger pointing at each other. After I went to a contrada dinner on the streets of Siena, a rare opportunity. For 35 euros you attend the largest ‘supper club’ ever- 800 people, 4 courses, generous helpings of chianti. The servers are local teenagers. I wore my ‘Oca’ or goose scarf around my shoulders, looking like a girl guide. A bucket list item ticked off. I only wish my daughter @siennamarla was with me. #travel #food #italy #chiantishire #siena #palio #supperclub #oca #contrada
Looking at vegetables in Italy. Photo by @loredana Looking at vegetables in Italy. Photo by @loredanaparisi72
My piece in the @hamandhigh about the 3 day @heat My piece in the @hamandhigh about the  3 day @heathostile training course. Incredibly interesting & challenging. Link: https://www.hamhigh.co.uk/things-to-do/hostile-environment-training-9037980 to read more #hostileenvironmenttraining
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Last nights supper club. My first supper club in 2 Last nights supper club. My first supper club in 2 years was great fun. I’m pleased with my food, the guests were lovely, it looked magical in the garden. But the weather! I even had to bring my duvets from the bedroom out. They looked like refugees. But this brought even more laughter! Next event September
My first supperclub in two years will take place t My first supperclub in two years will take place this Saturday 18th June starting at 7.30pm. Tickets are £50 byo you can book here: https://msmarmitelover.com/product/midsommar-supper-club there are still a few places left. Pescetarian menu. Scandi and botanical influences. #gettingbackonmyfeet #postpandemic #smallbusinesses #supperclub #london
I recently completed the 3 day @heathostile train I recently completed the 3 day  @heathostile training course. On the last day I was kidnapped by ex-special forces for a few hours & learnt how to deal with compliance training & a hostile environment. It was one of the most interesting experiences of my life. 3 intense days of combat first aid, navigation & how to survive in a war zone. I handled short, long guns, mortars, grenades, bullets, and tourniquet & bandaged an amputee. I learnt where to sit in a car, where to hide from a bullet, where to protect myself if in a car. It was brilliant. Highly recommended for any journalists, photographers, cameramen, charity workers, paramedics going into any difficult environment say a disaster or war. The stories from the tutors & the other participants were so interesting. My piece on it out soon. Book a course: https://hostile-environment.co.uk/  They also do jungle & desert training. I’d love to join the Antarctic expedition. Anyway that’s me hooded in the front. #adventures #het #hostileenvironmenttraining #experiences #travel
Bundoran beach, Donegal. I spent a week knocking o Bundoran beach, Donegal. I spent a week knocking on doors, going to libraries, searching through graveyards for my Irish forebears. It’s really hard to find information prior to 1850. I found this in last years trip to Arbroath in Scotland. Headstones wear out, records are lost or burnt in a fire, everybody has the same name and are known by nicknames, successive children have the same first name, that usually means they died and the next one is called by the same thing. Women did have children out of wedlock, and people remarried more often than you’d think, plus families fall out & never see each other again. I learnt that my Irish great grandfather michael went to Glasgow & met a woman who came from a similar place: somewhere wild & beautiful by the sea. Then they and their children came to london. Chasing the work & the money always. Politics and economics matter for they push people around from rural to city. And now we rodgers are Londoners. #ireland #scotland #family #travel #roots
How some of us celebrate the Queen’s jubilee! My How some of us celebrate the Queen’s jubilee! My sister & a random Irishman come for the Rory Gallagher festival in ballyshannon. Sis has pulled already!  #getyourcoat #sexpistols #ballyshannon #rorygallagherfestival #ireland
Tullaghan, county Leitrim, Donegal, where my grea Tullaghan, county Leitrim, Donegal,  where my great great grandfather john Rodgers was a postman, then a tailor, then a pawnbroker. #irishheritage #donegal #myancestry #irish #rodgers #travel
I’ve taken down the previous post as it’s poor I’ve taken down the previous post as it’s poor timing considering what’s happened over the last 24 hours. Being British I’ve not grown up around guns. It’s interesting to be on this course and find out more about the reality of them, although my focus is learning the ‘golden triangle’ of first aid, communications and navigation. But at the same time It’s depressing how in America nothing will ever change regarding gun law. RIP.
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Sniffin’ glue: Me n @Jaybladesmbe at the Loctite Sniffin’ glue: Me n @Jaybladesmbe at the Loctite pop up yesterday. I’m all about repairing and upcycling my brocante finds: this time a beautiful pale wood lamp shade stand which had broken off at the bottom. I’m going to rewire it with 2 core sky blue twisted fabric wire, pop on my hand sewn pleated lampshade I learnt to do @workshopminerva and it shall be beautiful. Don’t chuck out your chintz: repair it! #therepairshop #selfie #interiors #popup
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