Hannah Starkey: Artist Profile

Hannah Starkey’s photographs are not about grand gestures or dramatic narratives. They are about the quiet moments, the fleeting interactions, the subtle dramas that unfold in the everyday lives of women. They are about observation, empathy, and the unspoken narratives that shape female experience. Starkey’s work, one might argue, is a kind of visual anthropology of contemporary womanhood, a study of gesture and pose, of the spaces women occupy and how they inhabit them. Her images, often coolly detached yet deeply felt, are both familiar and unsettling, reflecting the complexities and contradictions of modern life. They are, to my mind, less about the what and more about the how – how women present themselves to the world, how they navigate the spaces they occupy, how they perform the delicate dance of identity. As Starkey herself has noted, “When I first started out, photography was very male and not really considered art. I didn’t set out to have a feminist agenda, it was more that my interest in making work about women comes from the simple fact that I am one. That commonality of experience is at the heart of what I do as an artist.”  

Starkey's work exists in a complex dialogue with the history of art and photography. One detects echoes of the Pre-Raphaelites, their attention to detail, their focus on female beauty, their penchant for narrative suggestion. There's a hint of Degas's voyeuristic gaze, his intimate glimpses into the lives of women, though Starkey’s perspective is fundamentally different. It’s not the male gaze looking at women, but something more nuanced, a recognition of female agency within the act of being observed. As Susan McCrory observes, “Some critics have read sadness and loneliness on the faces of the women in her photographs. To me they seem lost in a vast expanse of thought.” This “vast expanse of thought,” I’d argue, is crucial to understanding Starkey’s project. It's not simply about capturing a likeness, but about suggesting the internal world of her subjects. Her influences, as she explains, are diverse: “In the beginning, I wanted to create a hybrid out of the different approaches I had been taught, by somehow bringing together the emotive language of documentary with the slickness of advertising and the observational style of street photography. I think I’ve become more reflective and considered, but the performative element has been a constant.”  

Her work also engages with the history of photography, though she rarely makes explicit references. One might think of the street photography of Helen Levitt, her ability to capture the fleeting moments of everyday life. Or the staged tableaux of Jeff Wall, his carefully constructed narratives that blur the lines between reality and fiction. But Starkey’s work is quieter, more understated. It’s less about the dramatic event and more about the subtle nuances of human interaction. As she has said, “I’m interested in the everyday. The things that we often overlook, the moments that pass us by. These are the moments that make up our lives, and they are the moments that I want to capture.” The book Pleasures and Terrors of Domestic Comfort, as she notes, also played a significant role, exposing “the anxieties at the heart of the American ideal of home through images by the likes of Nan Goldin, William Eggleston and Cindy Sherman.”  

What, then, is the importance of Starkey’s work? It lies, it is argued, in its ability to make the ordinary extraordinary. She finds beauty in the mundane, poetry in the everyday. Her photographs are not about sensational events or dramatic occurrences. They are about the quiet moments of reflection, the fleeting interactions with strangers, the subtle gestures that reveal so much about human experience. They are, in a sense, portraits of contemporary life, but portraits that are not focused on individual personalities, but on the shared experiences of womanhood. It's not about celebrating the exceptional, but about acknowledging the significance of the ordinary. As she has explained, her interest lies in “explorations of everyday experiences and observations of inner city life from a female perspective.”

Starkey’s work has evolved over time, though her core themes have remained consistent. Her early photographs, often taken in public spaces, focused on the interactions between women and their surroundings. They explored the ways in which women navigate the urban landscape, the subtle power dynamics that play out in public spaces. Later, her work began to focus more on interior spaces, on the private moments of reflection and introspection. These images, often more intimate and contemplative, explore the inner lives of women, their thoughts, their feelings, their dreams. There's a shift from the public performance to the private contemplation, a movement inwards, exploring the psychological landscape of her subjects. This exploration of the inner world, the “unknowable depth of the female subject’s character and personality,” as McCrory puts it, is a constant thread throughout her work. As she has explained regarding her process, “I think I’ve become more reflective and considered, but the performative element has been a constant.”

Her use of colour has also evolved. While her early work was often characterised by a muted palette, she later began to incorporate more vibrant colours. These colours, however, are never simply decorative. They add another layer of meaning, enhancing the emotional impact.

Starkey's books are not simply collections of images; they are carefully curated narratives. They offer a glimpse into her world, a world of quiet observation, subtle interaction, and unspoken narratives. Her exhibitions, too, are carefully considered experiences. They are not simply displays of individual photographs, but immersive environments that invite the viewer to engage with her work on a deeper level. They become spaces for reflection, mirroring the contemplative nature of the images themselves. Her MA show, as she recalls, “set me up. Suddenly I was in demand and simultaneously I became very aware of the different space that women occupy in the photography world, both as practitioners and subjects.” This early success led to her first solo exhibition in 1999 at Cornerhouse, Manchester, further solidifying her position in the art world.  

Starkey’s work occupies a unique position in the history of photography. She is not a photojournalist, nor is she a fashion photographer. She is something more, a visual poet of the everyday. Her work resonates with the tradition of street photography, but it is also deeply personal and introspective. It engages with the broader themes of contemporary art, such as identity, gender, and representation. She's part of a generation of artists exploring the complexities of contemporary life, using photography as a tool for social commentary and personal exploration. As she has observed, “I have been acutely aware of that ever since, the ways in which women are constantly evaluated and judged. My gaze is not directed in that way. A lot of what I do is about creating a different level of engagement with women, a different space for them without that judgment or scrutiny.”  

It is difficult to quantify the influence of an artist, but it is clear that Starkey’s work has resonated with a wide audience. Her photographs have been exhibited in galleries and museums around the world, and they have been published in numerous books and magazines. Her work has undoubtedly influenced other photographers, particularly those working in the field of portraiture and social documentary. Her focus on the everyday, her quiet observation of female experience, has opened up new ways of seeing and representing women in photography. As she has said, her photographs are “explorations of everyday experiences and observations of inner city life from a female perspective,” and it is this perspective, this nuanced understanding of female experience, that forms the core of her legacy. And, as she notes, she is also inspired by “how younger female photographers are making their presence felt. It just feels like things are opening up because so many young women are expressing themselves through photography.”  

Starkey’s legacy lies in her ability to capture the quiet drama of the everyday, to reveal the beauty and complexity of female experience. Her photographs are not just images; they are invitations to look more closely, to see more deeply, to understand the unspoken narratives that shape our lives. They are, in short, a vital contribution to our understanding of the contemporary world. Her work, one suspects, will continue to resonate, to challenge, and to inspire for many years to come. It's a body of work that asks us to pay attention, to look beyond the surface, and to recognise the epic within the everyday, the monumentality within the seemingly mundane.

Rut Blees Luxemburg: Artist Profile

Rut Blees Luxemburg (born 1967) delves into the urban underbelly, the forgotten corners, the liminal zones where the city breathes, sighs, and sometimes, whimpers. Hers is a photography of unease, a visual interrogation of the spaces we often choose to ignore, the architectures of alienation that define so much of modern life. Luxemburg’s work, it can be argued, is less about the seen and more about the felt. It’s about the residue of human presence, the unspoken narratives etched into concrete and steel.

"I'm interested in the city as a psychological space," Luxemburg has said, a statement that resonates throughout her oeuvre. It's not just bricks and mortar, but the anxieties, the dreams, the sheer weight of human experience that she seeks to capture. This, it can be argued, is the crux of her work. It's not simply documentary, though it certainly engages with the fabric of the city. It's not purely aesthetic, though her images possess a stark, often unsettling beauty. It's something more profound, a kind of urban psychoanalysis rendered in the language of light and shadow.

Luxemburg’s work exists in a dialogue with the history of photography, though she rarely makes explicit references. One can detect echoes of Atget's melancholic flânerie, his documentation of a disappearing Paris. There's also a hint of the New Topographics' detached gaze, their focus on the banal and the overlooked. But Luxemburg transcends mere documentation. She infuses her landscapes with a palpable sense of atmosphere, a feeling of something lurking just beneath the surface. "The city is a palimpsest," she has explained, "a layered text where the past is always present, even if it's invisible." And it's this invisible past, this spectral presence, that she makes visible.

Her influences, it is suspected, are not solely photographic. One can sense a kinship with the urban chroniclers of literature, the writers who have explored the darker recesses of city life. Think of Baudelaire's flâneur, adrift in the labyrinthine streets of Paris, or the alienated protagonists of Kafka's novels. Luxemburg’s images, like these literary counterparts, are filled with a sense of displacement, a feeling of being lost in the crowd, even when utterly alone.

What, then, is the significance of Luxemburg's work? It lies, it is believed, in its unflinching portrayal of the contemporary urban condition. She doesn't shy away from the ugliness, the decay, the sheer indifference of the modern city. Instead, she confronts it head-on, forcing us to look at the spaces we'd rather ignore. Her photographs are often unsettling, even disturbing, but they are also profoundly moving. They remind us of our shared humanity, our vulnerability in the face of the urban behemoth.

"I'm not trying to romanticise the city," she has insisted. "I'm trying to understand it." And this understanding, it is argued, is what makes her work so compelling. It's not about judgment, but about observation, about bearing witness to the complexities of urban life.

Luxemburg's work has evolved over time, both stylistically and thematically. Her early photographs, often in stark black and white, possessed a raw, almost brutal quality. They focused on the fringes of the city, the industrial estates, the abandoned buildings, the spaces where the city's discards gather. Later, she began to incorporate colour, not as a decorative element, but as another layer of meaning. The colours are often muted, desaturated, adding to the overall sense of unease.

"Colour is another form of light," she has explained. "It's not just about what you see, but how you see it." And Luxemburg sees the city in a way that few others do. She sees the poetry in the mundane, the beauty in the broken.

Her use of long exposures is also crucial. It blurs the lines between reality and dream, creating images that are both familiar and strange. The city becomes a stage for a kind of urban ballet, where time itself seems to slow down, allowing us to see the subtle movements, the fleeting interactions that make up the fabric of urban life.

Luxemburg's books are not merely collections of images; they are carefully constructed narratives, each telling a different story about the city. Amnesia (1997) felt like a dispatch from the urban unconscious, a collection of images that haunted the viewer long after the book was closed. Liebeslied (2001) was a more intimate exploration of urban desire, the longing for connection in a city of strangers. Phantom Estates (2004), perhaps her most politically charged work, documented the rise of luxury housing developments in London, exposing the social inequalities that underpin so much of urban development. "These buildings," she said of the Phantom Estates, "are not just houses. They are symbols of a new kind of city, a city where the rich get richer and the poor get poorer."

Her exhibitions, too, are carefully curated experiences. They are not simply displays of individual photographs, but immersive environments that invite the viewer to enter into Luxemburg's urban world.

Luxemburg's work occupies a unique space in the history of photography. She is not a documentarian in the traditional sense, nor is she simply an artist using photography as a medium. She is something more, a visual poet of the urban landscape. Her work resonates with the tradition of urban exploration, from the flâneurs of 19th-century Paris to the Situationists of the 20th century. But Luxemburg's vision is distinctly her own. She sees the city with a critical eye, but also with a sense of empathy.

"I'm not trying to judge the city," she has said. "I'm trying to understand it, to feel its pulse, to hear its whispers." And it's these whispers, these subtle clues to the city's inner life, that she captures so brilliantly in her photographs.

It's difficult to quantify the influence of an artist, but it is suspected that Luxemburg's work will continue to resonate with photographers and artists for generations to come. Her unflinching portrayal of the urban landscape, her ability to find beauty in the mundane, her exploration of the psychological dimensions of city life – these are all qualities that will continue to inspire and challenge.

"The city is always changing," she has said. "And I'm always trying to keep up." And it's this restless curiosity, this desire to explore the ever-evolving urban landscape, that defines Rut Blees Luxemburg's enduring legacy. Her photographs are not just images; they are invitations to look more closely, to see more deeply, to feel the pulse of the city in all its complexity and contradiction. They are, in short, a vital contribution to our understanding of the urban world.