Martin Parr: 'My colleagues will go to war zones — I’m photographing the leisure time of the Western world'

In the introduction to Martin Parr’s seemingly millionth photography book, United Kingdom, in collaboration with Louis Vuitton, Parr’s home country — perfidious Albion — is described as a place that the celebrated documentary photographer ‘loves to hate’. Hate? Certainly, Parr’s photographs capture a Britain that would make any of us wince and cringe and say: oh God, this is us, isn’t it? A fleet of St George’s flag wheelbarrows piled up by an amazingly dismal pumpkin patch; Mr Blobby rendered in pink meringue; a hairy, pimply neck bearing the tattoo: ‘English and Proud’.

But hate? Hate seems a strong word for this amiable baby boomer. ‘It’s a love-hate relationship,’ he clarifies. ‘There are many things in this country that I love. There are many things, like Brexit, that really annoy me. But I’m able to illustrate this contradiction by taking pictures. One of the things I think about is: I’d like to leave this legacy of pictures of my relationship to Britain over a 50 to 60 year period.’

Parr first came to international acclaim in the early 1980s with his infamous series The Last Resort, shot over three summers on the litter-strewn beaches of New Brighton near Liverpool. It was controversial at the time not only because Parr was accused of exploiting his working-class subjects but because — horror! — he shot in colour.

Now 71, he looks less like an iconoclast and more like a suburban granddad, with neat pullover, blue jeans and rumpled smile. And yet his superstar status is assured. He is one of a select group of photographers in the extremely select Magnum co-operative, and is especially feted in France, where images of Little Englanders and our low-quality food go down extremely well with the elite fashion houses. ‘They appreciate that I’m showing the British as they really are,’ he says. ‘And they like photography more. They take it more seriously.’

We are talking at the Martin Parr Foundation in Bristol, which opened to the public in 2017 and which he hopes will raise the art form in Britain, even after he is gone. ‘It’s all worked out. My archive will preside here. The funding for the foundation is all set up. It will continue after my demise,’ he says. Among the prints and books — thousands upon thousands of them — are collections that speak to a more obsessive side: Soviet space dog memorabilia; Mao-themed wristwatches; ‘War on Terror’ souvenirs; a few jigsaws commemorating English motorways, which he can remember his parents taking him out to drive on as a special treat when he was a boy.

As much as Parr detests Brexit (he brings it up more than once) my hunch is that it has been rather good for his career. ‘Last year I think I did more pictures than I’ve ever done before,’ he says. And the surge in activity is all the more impressive given his impaired mobility. In 2021 he was diagnosed with myeloma, a form of cancer, and as a result cannot stand for more than 10 minutes without pain. He moves with the aid of a rollator mobility device. ‘My rollator means it’s not as bad and I can carry on walking. So when I’m shooting, I just get off the rollator and go and shoot and then come back.’

It must have been terrifying. ‘When I first heard the diagnosis, I thought: well, this is it, I’m finished,’ he says. ‘But thanks to treatment and the drugs I take, I’m okay. I’m perfectly normal, I think. That’s your cue to say: “You look great,”’ he deadpans. It has sharpened his sense of his own legacy. ‘There are plenty of my colleagues in Magnum who will go to war zones. I’m not going to do that. I’m photographing the leisure time of the Western world. That’s my big lifetime project.’

Parr grew up in the 1960s in what he insists were the most boring possible circumstances, ie suburban Surrey. He spent most of his weekends following his father, an avid birdwatcher, around the local sewage works to spot birds with a bit of trainspotting by way of variation. It was Parr’s paternal grandfather George — a member of the Royal Photographic Society who lived in the Yorkshire Dales, who first put a camera in his hand when he was 11. ‘I just knew. This is what I wanted to do. It was intuitive, I can’t explain it. This is it. This is what I will do and sure enough: I’ve done it.’ He feels he is lucky to have had such a head start. ‘Many people don’t turn to photography until 30 or 40. I was up and running by the age of 15.’

Parr studied photography at Manchester Polytechnic and settled up north, first in Hebden Bridge and then in the Wirral, with his now wife, Susie Parr. ‘I like the North. I was really taken with the sense of community that I had when I stayed with my grandfather. In Surrey, where I was brought up, we didn’t really know our neighbours.’

His first major project was a five-year series documenting the community of Hebden Bridge in sharp monochrome. But it was the New Brighton pictures of the early 1980s that launched his career beyond Britain. It’s hard to credit it now, but throughout the 1970s the establishment generally considered colour photography to be the domain of advertising. Parr’s highly saturated images (influenced by American photographers such as William Eggleston and Joel Meyerowitz) changed that — and the way Britain saw itself — forever.

It was not without controversy. ‘First, it was shown in Liverpool, where people know what New Brighton is like so they didn’t take much notice. But then when it came to the Serpentine in London, that’s when people laid into it. “How dare this middle-class person photograph the working class! Who does he think he is? This is exploitation!”’

What was his response? ‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t photograph anywhere I like, thank you very much. This is what it’s like. This is reality as it is. It’s my subjective view of it, of course, but you can’t deny that it’s a litter-strewn resort.’

It also seems to me there’s plenty of affection in those pictures; you can see it in his picnics and barbecues, street parties and festivals, too. But litter, of course, remains a favourite visual motif. There’s a wonderful shot of some Glastonbury bins in the United Kingdom series. But the biggest change in his half century taking pictures is the smartphone. ‘It’s changed everything. That’s what you see now. People on their phones, left, right and centre. Walking down the street, bumping into things. Taking pictures.’

We are also much more aware of cameras. ‘Photographing young people is not easy because they’re so self-conscious. These are people who shoot 50-100 photos of themselves and their friends every day. So you want to avoid those types of pictures.’ He points to an image of a group of young people at a farmers dance. Like a nature photographer, he had to linger there long enough for them to ignore him. ‘It’s quite an event to get one where no one is reacting.

I was here for a while, maybe five minutes, long enough for them to get bored of me.’ For this reason, he is considering dispensing with his camera altogether and simply shooting on an iPhone to blend in more. ‘Apple just sent me an iPhone 15 and the quality is so fantastic, I’m beginning to think: maybe I’ll shoot on an iPhone. Then no one will bat an eyelid.’

His main tip for budding photographers is to be patient. ‘Being there is the most important thing. And you’re waiting for the iconic image which happens very infrequently, of course. But you have to take lots of bad pictures in order to get to the good pictures. You can’t just stop. You’ve got to keep going.’

The same could be said of Parr himself. ‘I always say work is my hobby. I think about it every day. If I’m not here looking at stuff then I’m out shooting or going to meetings. I do get up later than I did before. I guess I need more sleep. But I think if you’re a photographer, artist — anything — you’ve got to be obsessed otherwise you won’t go anywhere.’

‘United Kingdom’ by Martin Parr, the latest in Louis Vuitton’s Fashion Eye Series, £46, at Louis Vuitton stores and louisvuitton.com