FRIDAYS RAINSHADOW.
WHAT YOU CANNOT SEE
By Darren Lenton
“A certain kind of outlaw culture. This is what you see at first. But these are not fugitives or
people that necessarily break the law, these are the inhabitants of the Mojave Desert.”
In the deathly heat of August 2024, I traveled with Marcus Doyle to the Mojave
region where he had been working for the last few years. The Mojave Desert lies
on the Eastern side of the large Californian mountain ranges, in the rain shadow
of the Sierra Nevada and the transverse ranges of Southern California. There
was a vast sense of stillness in this part of the desert, bleak yet somehow
serene, as though the excruciating heat had caused not just the people to move
slower in order to cope, but also made the landscape itself more still, as
though preserved in an eternal pose.
Rain shadows in deserts are able to form when mountain ranges lie parallel to
coastal areas. Prevailing winds moving inward cool as air is forced to rise over
the high crests of the mountains and moisture falls on slopes facing the winds. A
rain shadow forms when the winds, now very dry, move over the mountain
peaks and down the far side. Once the rain shadow occurs, this area sees a
significantly reduced amount of rainfall due to being on the side facing away
from the prevailing winds known as its leeward side.
On our first excursion together, Marcus shared with me that after the first six
months of visits to the Mojave, he ended up discarding almost all of the pictures
he had taken, lamenting that he just hadn’t found the visual voice of the
area yet. He went on to tell me that the unchanging nature of the landscape left
him still searching for the truth in this part of the desert.
The project technically began during the Pandemic and was many years in the
making. As the world shut down, people stopped working and roaming, and for
perhaps one of the only times in history, human beings were separated on a
mass scale. Interestingly, Marcus found himself alone in a desert on a weekly
basis with almost no human contact, searching for signs of life among the
artifacts and diorama. On one of our visits, he explained that “with the
constrictions and social distancing practices of the pandemic, the desert was
literally one of the best places in the world to go, because you might not
encounter a single person all day.” Being there, with his undisturbed purpose
and contemplation, while the world slept and wild dogs roamed around him, his
trips felt granted, allowed and needed. In fact, he told me that “this series
helped bring me back to the feeling of being an artist again.” But I think he also
realized, that being out there, under the skies of a world in the grips of
pandemic, and in this incredibly bleak time for all of humanity, that one of his
main working objectives was to “just look for interesting things.” I believe those
“interesting” things he was hoping to see in that particular time and place, were
the signs that we exist, despite everything rather than because of anything.
As in other Doyle series such as Urban Sprawl or The Salton Sea, the Friday’s
Rainshadow photographs appear at first to be devoid of visible people and living
things. But look closer and you will see that these landscapes teem with the
presence and footprints of human life. The tracks of ‘being’ are always there,
imprints that reveal existence, seemingly without the confirmation of a
suspicious look or distrusting glance from an individual, staring back at the
camera lens possibly pointed on them. Being out there with Marcus in the dead
of night, it was clear though that in certain locations, there is a wanton
destruction and undeniable abandonment that suggests a permanent exclusion
from any possibility of modern life emerging there. Many of the places where the
pictures were taken appear to have never been in a heyday or a state of
becoming and it is certain they were never destination spots. This is in contrast
to other parts of the Mojave which have become a booming region and is home
to over 400,000 residents, primarily in the Lancaster-Palmdale area—where new
people move every day. Although in the more remote spots we inhabited, one
would never know that.
On my trip out to the desert in July of 2024, I went to many of the locations
where some of the photographs had been taken, such as Caddy Scrap, Narrow
is the way, Green Truck, Signs and Gas Station. What struck me immediately
was how difficult it was for Marcus to have captured these shots. Just looking at
the images, one might surmise that Doyle just sets up a tripod opposite the
scene and presses the button. But being at these places, I realized that many of
them were in off-limits buildings and locations or they were of subjects that were
positioned on a busy desert road where trucks would go barreling by at 80 miles
per hour.
This is actually the second series upon which I have adopted the role of the
accomplice to Marcus as the artist in search of his vision. I decided pretty early
on in the process of Friday’s Rainshadow that no matter what obstacles were in
the way - notably two states, one of them Texas no less, one teenage daughter,
two significant others and three day jobs, that it would be absolutely essential
that I travel, at least once, with Marcus to the desert scenes where these images
had been captured. During the Salton Sea days, I had the privilege of making
many trips out to the forgotten landscape with him. But now, modern life had
kept us apart for almost a decade, and another pilgrimage out west was vital to
my understanding of this new series.
If The Salton Sea series contained a feeling that our perception of beauty is now
so wrapped up in the newness of everything (what could be
called the immediacy of viewing the ‘capture of the image,’ especially at that
time with the growing age of Instagram); then ten years on from the advent of
this new time of how we see photographs, these pictures remind us that nothing
in our modern culture encourages us to retain a connection to what has
deteriorated or corroded around us. For most people, that decay is something
simply to be replaced or removed, either from the picture in post or at that very
moment, before the picture is taken. But for Doyle, he preserves it in its moment
of abandonment and with his photographic vision reminds us that accompanied
by the vastness of a stark, raw beauty, Nature, even when broken down and
ravaged, can actually act as a luminary to the ever regenerating world around
us.
Over time it became apparent to me that the taking of these pictures had
actually made Doyle one of the desert outlaws, too. It is a role that I believe
Marcus willingly takes on; The eternal outsider, solitary, subterranean, a prowler,
politely lurking in the shadows, always searching for the picture that he is
looking to take. It is a strange way to spend your life in art, but it is a way that
Marcus has become completely at ease with. This ‘photographer in exile’ role
that Marcus finds himself in during Friday’s Rainshadow, ends up giving these
pictures both a futuristic feel and at the same time, conjures an almost vintage
look. It is a strange juxtaposition, but one that feels very much in keeping with
one of the central themes to Doyle’s work; Exploring ‘what remains’ versus
‘what is added or changed’ in order to create the scene in a photograph.
Furthermore the collection of ‘relics’ in many of the pictures feels at odds with
the current cultural onslaught of our insatiable appetite for ‘what comes
next’ and I feel that these particular desert photographs form a stark paradoxical
vision of what has always been at the heart of Marcus’ ongoing message, in
other words Doyle constantly reminds us in his work that we are always treading
the path of ‘what has come before us’ while bravely trying to set forth into an
‘ever looming tomorrow.’ What is clear though is that these Mojave photographs
contain an even greater depth that is both yearning and oddly insouciant.
Perhaps this indifference becomes a trait that a desert community needs in
order to survive.
To many people, I would imagine many of these photographs seem to present a
lack of concern for the subjects or residents, seemingly due to their
inconspicuous absence. However, I would argue that with greater scrutiny they
reveal that the photographer himself is an omnipresent surrogate for the absent
human being. And an almost womb-like stillness and warmth is felt in the detail
and silence of each image. The one who chose this moment to represent life in a
desert did so with great care, treasure and admiration; the bloom created was
hoped for and exalted, the detail, labored over. These moments are transient
and honored.
A question I am always faced with upon examination of a new series of Marcus’
photographs is this, ‘Is life elsewhere or is life still hiding within these pictures?’
That question can only be answered by the viewer upon seeing his work. I have
tried to give my answer to that question many times, but it seems to change
upon seeing another photograph in a new series. One such example was the
photograph, ‘Liquor,’ I very much thought that this was a photo exploring the
alienation of desert life, but upon viewing the location it transformed into an
image of community instead, especially when I saw the life that the little corner
store brought to this area of the desert.
When Marcus and I were out in the desert this summer, looking for many of the
locations where he had taken the pictures, he told me that he was using a very
difficult camera to operate and that it had added to the struggle of the work, but
also had led to the beauty in many of the photographs because it had the same
range and capability of an I-Max camera. He went on to tell me, ‘that the sheer
scale of the project forced him to limit himself to taking just three rolls of film and
he restricted himself to only being able to take twelve shots per visit.
After all of the trips that I have accompanied Marcus on, I have come to find his
process mystifying. It always begins with him walking for a long period of time,
his camera in his hand, not taking a single picture, sometimes for over thirty
minutes. He stops often and observes, then he moves on, hunting and always
chasing the light and the ever changing position of the sun in the sky. I often say
his work possesses a trespasser element, but the irony is he never enters a
single location that he is forbidden from going into.
Over the years, the greatest way I have been able to express to someone that
has never seen “A Doyle” - just what his photography is like, is to tell them that
all of Marcus’ pictures seem to ‘live by night.’ And they live on both sides of the
night. Indeed almost of his pictures are at the start of night or at the end of night.
It is in these fleeting moments, when light becomes dark or the dark transitions
back into day that Marcus reveals a truth to us.
And we learn that both ends of the night tell a different story. As evening falls
there is both the promise of the coming night with all its mysteries and
expectancy—and then the other side of the night, just before dawn, which is the
actual end of the night. However that end of night is quickly forgotten when the
sun rises again, which begins the expectancy of a new day and the wonder of
what that day might bring. Especially if you are one of the lucky few that have
stayed up all night in the mysterious darkness of the world as those around you
were asleep in their beds. Marcus holds onto the wonder of that feeling with
the photographs he captures and for him that wonder is never dampened by a
burnt out car (‘Devil’s Playground’) or the head of a plane (‘Plane Head’) or a
dilapidated, disused, abandoned building as in the photographs “Valley of
Death” or “White House.” All of these “finds” are part of the inherent magic of
the overnight.
I have remarked many times to people, that Marcus Doyle’s photographs literally
stop me in my tracks. I often can’t stop looking at them because there is always
something I feel that I can’t quite see yet. And I am not sure what that is. I
sometimes think that it is ‘life’ that I cannot see. Actual life or at least life that
once happened here that is now perhaps gone. Maybe it is human beings
‘simply being’ that is what I am not seeing. Or that is what I am looking for. Or
faces that are not present. Or figures that have now somehow vanished from
view.
Mostly I have grown to believe that it is simply the art of what you cannot see
that draws me into every Doyle picture. But this is no magic trick. Marcus is not
trying to create an illusion, he is just making you look for the clues as to where
the life went. That is the mystery within each picture. The hidden. The nebulous.
The unknown. The unseen. The lack.
And ultimately the absence of something that was once there, but now
has disappeared; or possibly worse, has actually been left to stay and decay in
one of the most unforgiving places on earth.
THURSDAYS BY THE SEA
Foreword by Darren Lenton
Upon first reflection, it is the absence of life that is most apparent in Marcus
Doyle's work. Yet, closer inspection finds that life is indeed there, but it is hidden and far
from view, subterranean, almost outlawed. And so it is at southern California's Salton
Sea; the largest lake in California, which was formed in 1905 after heavy rains and
melting snow, caused the Colorado River to flood and breach at the Imperial Valley. For
a time the Salton Sea was actually a bigger tourist attraction than Yosemite National Park,
but now is little more than a sparsely inhabited ghost town, haunting visitors with lives
once lived, others only half lived, and some never even begun.
To an outsider the Salton Sea probably represents an apocalyptic vision of the
future, a man-made seaside town that has been ravaged by nature; chaotic, dirty,
disorganized and left to rot like the dead fish that often gather up on its shores. But that
is only the starting point for Marcus Doyle; it is the beauty amidst the tragedy that truly
interests him. When viewing Doyle's work you are reminded of the old adage, even a
stopped clock tells the right time twice a day. Viewed at the right hour and in just the
right light, even the most dank, destroyed place may take on a beauty and truth that can
change our perceptions of that which we call paradise. Without an artist like Doyle to
stop time and capture the oft-unseen beauty, we may never behold its profound
magnificence.
Doyle avoids the well-trodden path of previous explorers of the Salton Sea,
choosing instead to focus on the splendor that once was. As in all his work, he is more
interested in how life operates in spite of concrete intrusion or ruin through flood--there is
never a sense of pity, more so a feeling of respect for the valiance and heroism that
emerges from the swamp of hardship. But he also inadvertently finds a strange renewal,
a kind of re-birth that the current residents form by their determined presence in the face
of such slow decay.
From my own firsthand experience (I made three trips out to the Salton Sea), I
have learned that beneath Doyle's meticulous planning and carefully thought out
composition lies what some might call the music of chance, in other words, openness to
spontaneity, where rather than being constrained by the ever changing strands of light, he
instead works with the moving picture, like a jazz musician takes a note and riffs on it
during a jamming session. His process is slow. He is dedicated to capturing within the
swiftly sinking magic hour and often only procures a couple of photographs per trip. His
shots are always first seen and then noted down. He lives with them in his mind allowing
time to pass (often weeks) and then sees them again with fresh eyes on the day of the trip.
The resulting shots are then reinterpreted through his relationship to the light as it makes
a willing supplication to the coming darkness.
Upon talking to Marcus (often on our long trips back and forth out to the desert)
he expressed a strong advocacy for the process of film in all its various stages; the taking
of the picture, the uncertainty of what is captured, the time that passes and finally the
reveal in the developing. Interestingly, in his early years Doyle developed and printed
pictures for many respected photographers who trusted his dedication to perfection in the
final outcome. Now it is he who is able to put the finishing touch to the work as it
eventually reaches completion. For him there are artistic decisions and choices made
within each stage, even before the shot has been developed. What is clear is that he is
more drawn to this storied way of taking pictures than the immediate gratification of
digital photography.
For Doyle The Salton Sea quickly became more than just an interesting place to
take photographs. As the project took shape it became as much about the journey there
and back, morphing into what Doyle began to lovingly refer to as “the daytrip.” A word
that for him harkens back to his childhood when like all traditional British families his
parents would organize seasonal day trips to seaside towns such as Blackpool, Morcambe
and Whitley Bay--all of which have featured prominently in his growth as an artist. In
fact he studied photography in Blackpool. One of his most recognizable works (#8
Whitley Bay) highlights this stark, lonely coastal town, filled with the ghosts of people
who have come and gone, a place that calls out to be populated again with the bustle,
noise and charm of life. The Salton Sea certainly lends itself to Doyle’s aesthetic.
Indeed, it is worth remembering that the incredible popularity of the town in the fifties
had started to rapidly decline in the late sixties/early seventies and by the mid eighties the
state was warning residents of the high toxicity levels in the lake. Along with the
increased toxins came high levels of Saline, (the Sea actually has an even greater saline
quality than ocean water) which in turn caused a sudden increase in Phytoplankton algae;
an organism that has a rather foul smell not unlike rotten eggs. This decay saw to it that
by the late eighties the people were all but gone and what remained was a feeling of what
once was. That void and energy left behind when the people leave, is a mystery to which
Marcus Doyle’s photography seems inextricably bound.
Much has been made of the dilapidation of this once thriving community, but
Doyle’s lens often chooses instead to focus on the regenerative quality of man in the face
of such despair. Many of the photographs in this series show signs of life that is not only
still present, but also actually coming back to the area. This regeneration is mirrored in
the sea, which is constantly re-circulating, due in large part to agricultural run-off from
irrigation in the Imperial and Coachella Valleys.
The heart of Marcus Doyle’s work beats with disparity. The pictures are often of
modern subjects, but the process of taking them is very old. Pictures such as #___ and
#___ also show us that there is something otherworldly about the work, almost as if the
people have been removed by someone or something. Perhaps the most astonishing truth
is that he never removes anything from his pictures either manually or digitally. This is
the world as we know it, albeit for brief glimpses. There has been no alien abduction.
Instead we are left with an eerie, yet comfortable feeling that when faced with no people,
it only makes us see the landscape with even more clarity and elucidation.
At first glance, the Salton Sea represents a world marginalized and separate to the
world in which most of us live. However, look a little deeper, as in each time the water
recedes, and what comes to the surface are the same lives, pastimes and habits you might
find anywhere else in America. People watch television, make dinner, read a book--it is
only the grandeur and serenity that is missing. Perhaps from the outside it looks very
different but once inside it all, we see a familiar fumbling toward the same inevitable end;
where the only thing that can be hoped for is a life lived.
BY COASTAL
INTERVIEW WITH LAURA NOBLE
LN
This project began four years ago (2008) I understand, after discovering a journal that belonged to your grandfather, John McGregor?
MD
Yes, my Grandmother had passed away at the age of 101 and we were clearing out her house. I was looking for paintings and sketches my Grandfather had made when I came across his journal relating to a trip he had made in the 1950’s around the coast of Scotland from East to West. LN So you embarked upon retracing his steps, how long did this take you ?
MD
I purposely gave myself exactly one year from the date of finding the journal which was the November of 2008. I knew I had to give myself a deadline in order to commit to the project.
LN
The decision to expand upon this project has now resulted in a huge body of work, which you have expressed will never be complete?
MD
It really wasn’t long after finishing the North Shore series that I realized the potential of expanding the project around the rest of the UK. I thought I could do the whole of the UK’s coastline in a couple of years if I made one trip per week. This in fact took four years. But as with the North Shores series I was not getting a sense of completion regarding the work. I think part of it was that even if you visited the same place ten times, it was never the same. The light, the level of the sea, the atmosphere. All things made a place feel different. The Coast is constantly changing, the sea is constantly moving, and it is difficult to sum up an area just in a photograph. It was this realization that a project like this would take a lifetime to complete, and even then you probably still wouldn’t get it.
LN You gave yourself clear boundaries on what constituted a 'By Coastal' location, how did you measure this?
MD
Just because you can’t see the sea, it doesn’t mean you’re not near it.
I didn’t want the project to be just seascapes, it had to have more scope, and so with the help of a Sat Nav device I was able to pin point my location and worked within a ¼ mile of the sea which is actually only a few minutes on foot. This gave me very accurate distances and locations, which I thought was important in regards to the images and opened up all kinds of interesting subject matter which still held reference to the coastline.
LN
There seems to be two stark contrasts in these 'By Coastal' areas; they are either populated or very baron? How did these places feel by comparison?
MD
What I found most fascinating on my journey is how quickly the coastal landscape changed. One minute you would be in a populated area and the next minute you would be surrounded by strange rock formations or sand dunes without a single person in sight. There’s a strange quietness to be found when places are void of people, especially by the sea, yes there is the sound of waves and perhaps the wind, but you almost don’t hear it, they are peaceful sounds. Compare this to the noise of fairground rides and slot machines and you have quite a contrast. LN Having photographed the coastline over such a prolonged period, has your relationship or appreciation of the sea changed?
MD
The fond childhood memories of sandy egg sandwiches on Blackpool Beach and runaway donkeys will always be present each time I visit the coast. I think appreciation comes from photographing any subject matter over a period of time. What has changed is my perception of the sea and its coastline. One of the problems I have always faced with my photography is when to stop shooting and leave the place alone. The coast on the other hand is very final and you can’t go any further without getting wet. It’s a line you cannot cross and this is what gives completion to the work as you just can’t do anymore. I had never really thought of the sea in this way until I started to shoot it. LN Some of your images are deceptively calm in their appearance, whereas in fact the long exposure can often disguise the less than hospitable conditions at the time?
MD
One thing, which is apparent in this body of work, is the quality of light I try to shoot under. Landscape photographers often prefer to shoot in bad weather as apposed to a bright, cloudless sunny day. I would say 50% of this work is made under an umbrella with my camera wrapped in plastic bags. I love the idea that a photograph made in a storm can look so peaceful with the help of a long exposure and a large format camera. Shooting this way is a real challenge, but incredibly rewarding, even if it has cost me a couple of lenses. As deceptive as this may seem I wanted to give the impression of being at peace with the sea, not fighting against it. LN You have mentioned your avoidance of well known landmarks in this series. Did this decision make your scouting for locations more difficult or interesting?
MD
I really wasn’t interested in doing what had gone before photographing places and landmarks everyone is familiar with. It was far more interesting looking for something different. It actually makes things a little easier as you don’t fall foul of the postcard syndrome. I would still head for well known places but usually walked under the pier rather than along it. LN There is a lot of humor in your work, places with glamorous names like California and Dreamland, do not quite live up to their billing.
MD
A lot of my work is made with a tongue in cheek aesthetic. Take for instance California located on Norfolk coast. On a sunny day, in a certain spot it really does look like parts of California along the Pacific Coast Highway. But I was more interested in its row of three houses, a chip shop, a pub, and a run down amusement arcade behind me. It could be said I went there just for the name, but as luck would have it, it was one of the quirkiest places I have been to in the UK a wonderful part of the project. The UK is full of places like this and its not until you photograph them that you make people notice. LN The effect of human interaction with the natural environment has been a major theme throughout your photography for many years. This must be even more prominent in coastal areas as the sea itself, weather conditions and the like are all forces to contend with?
MD
Every photograph I make contains some element of the man-made. It is indeed an approach I have used for as far back as I remember. I did think this approach would be quite difficult, especially where the sea was involved, but somehow I kept finding these extraordinary situations. A washed up tricycle or a half inflated toy Dolphin. These were one off moments never to return. I found the more I looked for these kind of things, the more I found them. But what I became really interested in was how man had adapted to the sea, defending himself against it as well as harnessing its power. There’s an area located along the John Muir Way in Berwickshire near Torness Power Station. Huge concrete wave breakers like giant Lego bricks defend its shores, while a Hydro Electric generator harnesses the waves power and turns it into electricity. Its really quite something and a fantastic place to make photographs.
LN
The seaside has always been synonymous with entertainment as if the seaside alone was not enough. These added on entertainments often promise much but deliver little? Is this what attracts you to them?
MD
I think this goes back to what I was saying about my ‘tongue in cheek aesthetic.’ Seaside resorts always model themselves on bigger attractions elsewhere like calling an amusement arcade Las Vegas or a thirty second rollercoaster The Big One or the Revolution, but in reality there are very poor substitutes. I am always looking for contradictions as subject matter and seaside entertainment is awash with them.
LN
What are your own first memories of being by the coastline?
MD
An orange Volvo Estate with no air conditioning on the hottest day ever with my Mum, Dad, Auntie and Uncle, Two cousins, Me and my Sister heading for BlackpooI.
I had one pounds worth of 10p’s and I have never been so excited as when I saw the glimmering Irish Sea for the first time.
LN
The architecture of seaside towns seems to compete with the natural beauty in colorful weather-beaten hues of blues, greens and pinks. Coastal living seems to be a strange combination of highlights and lowlights. They must be a gift for you as a photographer?
MD
So many photographers (myself included) spend their lives traveling abroad seeking out new places to photograph. A few people told me I was brave to tackle such a subject here in the UK. But I approached the By Coastal project as I would any other. In fact a lot of the time I did feel like I was in another country. The diversity of the coast makes it one of the most interesting subjects I have had the pleasure to photograph.
LN
You manage through displaying the manmade environment to populate your photographs without including figures in your compositions. This could be deemed as a more anthropological approach to your subject?
MD
I think a lot of the time you can tell more about mankind using photography without actually putting someone in a photograph. I am very interested in the evidence and monuments left behind and also the interaction with nature and the man-made. For example the Black Rocks, Eyemouth image looks at first glance to be a natural rock formation somewhere along the coast of Scotland. It is in fact a purpose built wave barrier made to look like a natural reef. You could say it’s a bit like Man playing God trying to create his own world, but in truth the area is protected and any form of wave breaker had to look natural. I am pretty sure images like this do define mankind, albeit in a very subtle way.
LN
A photograph of your grandfathers paint box is a very poignant reminder of his journey and the pictures you never got to see yourself?
MD
I put the photograph of my Grandfathers paint box at the back of the book in the acknowledgement section as it never really fit anywhere, although may be I should of made a bigger deal of it as its such a beautiful thing. My Grandfather did sell a lot of his paintings, but he also gave a lot as gifts and even some to pay off small debts. I found it very sad that people had thrown a lot of them away and for this reason the paint box itself is my most treasured possession. LN Your use of colour is akin to that of a painter through the lens rather than the brush. How important was it to render this project in a colorful way, as many turn away from colour to focus only on the bleak and banal?
MD
A lot of the work in this series is very monochromatic, especially in reference to the sea scapes. But by adding colour you create a different mood to black and white. It was not my aim to create a stark contrast of the coast, which I feel, would of happened had I not shot in colour. Its also interesting to see the subtle changes in the light depending on the time of year and position of the sun. Again something you would not get shooting in black and white.
I have shot in colour for so long now that it’s the only way I see an image. Sometimes I am drawn to a scene just because of a certain colour. The Green Bus stop being an excellent example. LN Industry plays a large role in this project. Your photographs belie a sublime beauty even when capturing coal furnaces. However, the 'interruption' of the natural landscape is a stark reminder of the human encroachment upon the land?
MD
It was important for me to include some Industry within the project and perhaps a little of what damage these industries create. I had intended to focus more on the nuclear industry with Selafield being the obvious choice, but I was more drawn to the blast furnaces of the North and its working class surroundings. Having said that there is an image in the book taken near Chapel Cross (Red Lights, Pow Foot) which was the oldest nuclear reactor in Britain until it was decommissioned about five years ago. LN You say that this is a lifetime project. As the inevitable erosion of the coastline over time, will you revisit any of the places you have already photographed in the future?
MD
That is the ongoing question and possibly something I will return to. Its difficult knowing when to stop a project like this, but I think the real answer is that you cannot. Putting the images in book form is one way of making closure, but its definitely ongoing now and something I will return to again and again. I don’t think the work is accurate enough to be a documentation of Britain’s coastline; after all it is simply my interpretation and perhaps a little bias at that. LN Has this project altered any preconceptions you may have had about the UK before embarking upon it?
MD
We are often led to believe that areas around Britain’s coast are bleak inhospitable places as some often are. People thought I was crazy to venture out in the middle of the winter months and head for the coast. I had visions of shipwrecks and fat old fishermen with big white beards mending nets. But it really wasn’t like that at all and a lot of the time I felt like I was on holiday and was about to be found out.
Britain has some of the most beautiful parts of coastline I have ever seen only to be ruined by tacky shops and over priced car parks. When my Grandfather set out on his trip in the 1950’s there was none of this and I feel that that’s how it should of remained. We build attractions on the site of the attractions. Tacky cafes and bars have replaced places where people used to have picnics. People walk along a sandy beach eating ice cream only to be sick later on a fairground ride. Car parks are built on land that people would walk through enjoying the scenery and all to make money. But I knew all this before knowing it would make good material for a photography project.
LN In the last chapter you open up the coast again with your visual language and also on a metaphoric level as roads lead us out towards the unknown.
MD
I didn’t want the end of the book with a ‘final’ image simply because the work is nowhere near a completed project. The coastline will always be changing and for that very reason its outcome will always be unknown.
Laura Noble is a London based Artist, Writer and Gallerist
Artist, Lecturer, Author of 'The Art of Collecting Photography' and primary essays in monographs including 'Crazy God' by Yvonne De Rosa, 'Chrysalis' & 'Circus' by Anderson & Low, 'London' by Lluis Real.
Contributor to magazines including: Eyemazing, Snoecks, LIP, Photoicon, Image, Next Level, Foam & Leisure Center. Director of Diemar/Noble Photography, a new Commercial Gallery in the heart of London's West End.
NIGHT VISION
by Matt Damsker
The photographs of Marcus Doyle transform the familiar spaces and landscapes of the modern world into twilight zones--nearly surreal, almost alien, yet always recognizable for what they are…Doyle's large-format approach, with saturated colors that result from exposures as long as three hours, turns his unstaged tableaux into visions of exalted expectancy amidst man's tendency to trivialize. Indeed, it is as if these easily overlooked spaces are awaiting the arrival of nothing less than an intergalactic mother ship. But Doyle doesn't strive for any rhetorical or ironic effect, although his photographs are rich with aesthetic ironies. Photography, after all, is fundamentally about light, yet for the most part Doyle photographs darkness, painstakingly capturing the fugitive illumination that is always there yet often invisible to the naked eye. Just as ironic is the rigorous absence of human figuration, yet all of Doyle's deserted landscapes have been impinged upon by human development, urban sprawl or feeble gestures that aim to reincorporate the natural world where man has more or less rolled over it.
2004
THE ACCIDENTAL TOURIST
BY MARCUS DOYLE
“The greatest thing about photographing America is that it loves to be photographed. Nowhere else in the world is more open to being presented in photographic form.”
It was a hot July 2004 when I first set out across America. The previous months had been spent looking for a camper van and acquiring all the necessary equipment and supplies including a bulldog puppy called Piglet who would later join many an adventure.
My first road trip trip was to The Salton Sea in California. Eager to start my adventure I set off early in the morning from LA in my Dodge Camper arriving in the toasty mid day heat with a broken speedometer and what appeared to be no A/C. As the temperature climbed to 120c, I spent most of the afternoon hiding in derelict houses to escape the sun. Hot, sweaty and dirty, my dream of photographing America was already not how I imagined. But as the sun began to set and I made my way outside everything suddenly made sense and I began to photograph.
Since the invention of the automobile America has become synonymous with the ‘road trip,’ but perhaps this has made things too easy for the photographer. With its desert roads, sweeping vistas, and road side oddities crying out to be photographed, one only needs to pull over. Photographers like Stephen Shore pioneered and presented an America many would emulate in their own photography whether they intended to or not, myself included. But over time one finds their own voice and reason to photograph.
After 20 years in the States I still feel like the Accidental Tourist looking in at a country that really wants to be photographed, and may even be offended if you don’t.