There’s been quite an outpouring from many circles about the untimely death of Martin Parr, his legacy of work and his long-standing effect on British reportage photography generally. And rightly so. His eye and quirky, bright observations of ‘normal life’ are to be celebrated, as is his work with the Martin Parr Foundation, collecting and securing the work of a range of British photographers.

I’d always liked his style and ability to see and capture an interesting intersection of shape, colour and content. Sometimes for the abstract, but more often for humour, both intended and serendipitous, featuring people. Spotting that opportunity and then capturing the moment as ‘play unfolded’ without, in most cases, intervention: the cardinal sin. This is an inherent, natural and born-with skill in any photographer who reflects, rather than constructs. Like any gift it can be honed and improved but not learnt if not possessed, I believe.

There is a fair part of his work that one could perhaps not get away with now; wandering up and down beaches by oneself, with a full-frame camera and flash, capturing folk in various states of undress, albeit a perfectly natural public, open situation. But like so many things, it is of its time and is a vital part of both British and photographic heritage.

The one time I met him, it was a memorable occasion but not quite as I had expected. It was at my regular visit to Photo London at Somerset House in 2016 and he was hanging around downstairs signing books. Nothing formal, just a small table in amongst the bustle of the various book-sellers.

I chose a little book I wanted, which had been out a few years called ‘Life’s A Beach’ and as the till area was busy, he was free and no one else was about, I thought I’ll just get him to sign it first and then pay, so I wandered over:

“Hello Martin, good to meet you - I wonder whether you could sign your book for me please? “

“Of course. What’s your name..?”

As he was doing this I thought, I’ll try and start up a bit of a chat, being the confident sort of reportage photographic chap I am:

“So, may I ask, what do you believe is the most important skill in documentary photography?

He briefly stopped writing, looked up directly at me with a gaze, and I back at him.

“Have no fear” he said firmly. “Just get on and do it. Be brave!”

I thought to myself, yep that’s fair enough, thank you. And then without taking a breath said “… you’re afraid now, aren’t you? I can tell’ in his quite to-the-point voice.

I was a bit flummoxed to be honest, as I’ve never really been backwards in coming forwards and I’m not entirely sure what I said, if anything, besides looking agog. I think he then half-smiled and handed me the book back, duly personalised and signed.

I stood there for a bit thinking “what the AF?” And I don’t mean AutoFocus. Afraid!? I guess I might subconsciously have been a little star-struck, talking to a photographic ‘name’ which I hadn’t done before and as a result been super polite (having been brought up proper-like). But ‘afraid’? You cheeky old git. I can’t quite remember but in my flummoxed, or possibly, brave moment, I may have ‘accidentally walked off with the book’.

I also recently acquired (yes, definitely paid for that one) a signed copy of his excellent, sort-of, biography, ‘Utterly Lazy and Inattentive’ and wish at some point I’d had more of a chat with him as I’m pretty sure I had words similar to that on my own school report.

I saw him a couple of times at subsequent Photo London’s, once signing books again (!) and the last time, 2024 I think, in the cafe queue on his wheeled mobility aid, drawing, on this occasion as always, virtually no attention or recognition from the people chattering around him. More ‘who’s this scruffy old Uncle Bob snapper clogging up the queue for coffee?’

On both of these occasions I looked directly at him again, remembering that encounter in 2016 and he back at me, holding the gaze for a few seconds, with almost a sense of mutual recognition. But that’s just probably in my mind, or rather that small part of my possibly, but not definitely, guilty soul he was staring into.

Am I braver and less afraid, regardless of whether I was at the time or not? Probably, but in any situation where I question myself, I see his genial little face looking up at me.

In terms of my own work, I don’t consciously look for ‘Martin Parr’ moments or go out trying to replicate such, but his chops are also part of my psyche, if the opportunity allows.