Zed Nelson

Zed Nelson London-based freelance Zed Nelson’s practice combines hard hitting
photojournalism imbued with intelligence and humour, with corporate and
celebrity photography. How does he strike a balance in the work he
undertakes? He speaks to David Land

Zed Nelson says that one of his criteria for going anywhere dangerous is: is the story already being told? “If it is and there are a lot of journalists and photographers there, and I don’t think I have anything new to say, then I won’t do it.”

Nelson was born and lived in Uganda until he was two and his family moved to London, “so the country hadn’t made a huge impact on me”, he says. “I got into photography because my parents were freelances, and I enjoyed using my mum’s old manual Pentax SLR. I used to photograph animals. I distinctly remember following a dog around all day. It wasn’t a conscious realisation at the time, but I was seeing life from a different perspective, and it must be this, and being given the excuse to go there, that appeals to me so greatly.

“I remember having access to my parents’ friend’s darkroom when I was little. I found it fascinating that I could produce my own little black and white print, instead of sending them to the chemist.

Education

“Having left school impatiently with poor qualifications, I did a course at London College of Printing (now Communications) where one of the units was photography. I still had the Pentax at this stage, although it was soon stolen. I then did the BA (Hons) photography degree at Harrow (now Westminster University). One of the tutors, Ted Welsh, saw politics in everything. At first, everybody rebelled against him and thought he was talking about issues that weren’t relevant to what we were interested in, but he turned out to be a very inspiring tutor. He used to make us traipse around London on assignments. If anyone complained, he’d tell them they had to be physically fit to be a photographer.

“In my second year, I went back to Uganda to do a photojournalism assignment. I hadn’t been back before, and on finding myself there alone, as a student photographer, I felt I didn’t have a strong connection with my environment, but there was a genuine interest. I was aware of the politics. I remember being led to the site of a massacre, which had taken place years before, and there were still remains of bodies - dried skin and clothing, in the bushes outside populated villages. I was shocked at myself for not knowing of this incident that had taken 30,000 lives, over a period of several years. The blow of not knowing confirmed my belief in photography’s ability to tell the story and I wanted to use it as a vehicle to do so.

“I was clear that I wanted to be a photographer by the time I left college in 1989, but the course had been theory based and offered little insight into the industry - leaving most graduates feeling lost and unprepared. I pre-empted this. In my final year, I did a dissertation on the state of photojournalism in Britain, which gave me the excuse to contact picture editors, and this way I got to know them and other photographers, as well gaining an insight into the industry. It was off-putting that everyone was complaining, saying there was little room for photojournalism and documentary, but at least I had the knowledge, and left college aware of the atmosphere.

Photographing demos

“I set out to build up contacts and my portfolio by attending big demonstrations and selling the images, although usually with little financial reward. The demos could last hours and involve police clashes, for example the anti-racism and poll tax riots, which in many ways were defining moments for me.

“There is a point in your life when it’s difficult to call yourself a photographer. You feel you don’t deserve to describe yourself as one until something happens. First you feel like a student, and then a wannabe photographer. The poll tax riots quickly escalated, and I was there at this historical moment, with one camera and three rolls of film. It signified the end of the Thatcher years, and there was anger and frustration in the air which erupted like a volcano. I felt torn between demonstrating and taking photographs. I remember rushing around afterwards trying to sell the pictures to newspapers and magazines such as Time Out and (the now defunct London listings magazine) City Limits.

“If you were lucky, a picture would sell for £20, and it would be incredibly exciting to get something published. Often, the money wouldn’t even cover the amount you’d spend on materials and processing, but it felt like a necessary stepping stone. In retrospect it was, because it quickly taught me how to conduct myself, how to deal with stress, find images in difficult situations, and how to approach newspapers and magazines.

Somalia

“The trip to Uganda had triggered an interest in Africa, and I ended up travelling there a lot. The stories I was drawn to became more extreme, and I was freelancing without any backup. One time, there was a report on Radio 4 about Somalia’s war and famine, and as I listened, I realised I hadn’t seen anything in the newspapers about it, and spontaneously decided to go. In retrospect, I was quite naïve, as I hadn’t fully considered the reality of making such decisions, but it had caught my imagination and seemed important and serious, so my mind was set.

“I had previously sold a few stories to The Face, so I pitched it to them, and surprisingly they went for it. I went with a friend of mine, Gavin Hill, who was in a similar position to me. He’d never even been to Africa. He was one of the most disorganised journalists I’d ever worked with but one of the best, most creative writers. Gavin became quite well known, but he died in a freak accident.

“I approached the aid agency Care International and offered to take photographs of the projects it was doing over there in return for help on the ground, which it agreed to. So we got a flight to Kenya, and then an aid agency flight into Somalia – stepping off the plane into chaos, with no government or police force. Men were riding around in four-wheel drives, with anti tank guns welded to the roof, and there was catastrophic famine and complete anarchy. Luckily, we had the aid agency, so travelled in its vehicles and slept in its compound for the three weeks we were there.

“Before we’d left, I’d been to The Independent but, as with many papers, it wouldn’t commit to a commission, although it agreed to develop the film and look at the images. While out there, the story had become headline news, with few other journalists there, so I was shipping films back to The Independent, and it used around five pictures front page. Apart from the money, it gave my work a sense of worth, which is important: otherwise you feel like a tourist. “Gavin wrote an amazing story, which was unusual in its honesty, and The Face ran it. I had my doubts about the story appearing in such a fashionable publication, but the editor gave it seven pages and didn’t trivialise it in any way. It taught me that interesting stories could get into unexpected places and reach a different audience.

Back to square one

“I shot black and white and colour, and aligned myself to Katz picture library. The material launched my career, but at the same time it didn’t, because everything was back to square one within a few weeks. You’d ring up the picture desk, pitch them an idea and it was still difficult. Though I’ve heard the saying ‘you’re only as good as your last story’, this instance taught me that it’s a fickle business, with no

guaranteed loyalty. The story was an important stepping-stone, but it didn’t change everything overnight.

“Due to the success of the article, The Face had become interested in running hard hitting social stories, so Gavin and I went to Angola and El Salvador. I work comparatively slowly and spend time editing material, so I haven’t ever thought of myself as a hard news photographer.

The Face editors selected a picture of a young beggar in an Adidas T-shirt from my Angola images, which normally would have been edited out. It’s easy to create a cliché of Africa where everybody is seen in rags. The Face was interested in the Adidas T-shirt because it helped the viewer relate and realise that though they were suffering, these people were humans like them, with similar interests. It was a challenging revelation, to find the similarities rather than differences. It makes war stories more shocking if you see kids murdered by the guns of men in Manchester United T-shirts.

Developing style

“My photo essay style evolved after the assignment in Somalia, where I photographed children who were literally falling on the floor and dying of hunger in front of me; but then I’d walk down the road and found a market selling meat and vegetables. “I took pictures but didn’t know how to process what I’d seen or how to submit the photos, because I could no longer explain what a famine meant. I had always thought it was when a whole country had no food, due to crop failings.

“You begin to starkly realise the influence of politics and economics, and that we have social problems in England too. It’s like stepping over somebody outside the cinema, who’s lying on the ground in a sleeping bag –it’s just an extreme version of it. The media in the UK generally doesn’t want to explore the issues I cover, as the majority of magazines and newspapers are filled with celebrity and lifestyle, making it difficult to tell stories as you see them.

“The media want it simplified, and with photography, that can be a danger. Images can simplify in a beneficial way, showing truth, or they can miss the complexity. I prefer to think of my work, not as single pictures, but as photo essays, as the writing is important as well.

Afghanistan

“Afghanistan was where things started to go wrong. Our car was machine-gunned in an ambush, and a journalist and our interpreter were shot. The whole episode was traumatic, but what shocked me more was the reaction of the magazine back in England. It took no interest or responsibility, instead scrambling to distance itself from the injured journalist because it was scared of having to pay compensation. It was a warning, and an insightful lesson, for the dangers of freelancing.

Gun Nation

“By then, I wanted to do a bigger project, having realised that all the countries I’d been to were victims of the Cold War, and that their current position was affected by the involvement of the superpowers.

The series Gun Nation took three years to produce, and stemmed from an emerging disillusionment with the media, and America’s enduring love of the gun. In each of the countries I’d been to, I’d seen civilians and soldiers shot with American, British and Russian guns, and I wanted to do a story on my terms that was personal and challenging.

“I discovered that 30,000 people are shot and killed every year in the US, and that based on statistics, they had an internal war almost as bad as any foreign one. I carefully avoided going for the clichés, such as gang members and militiamen, and instead looked at the American gun industry. I discovered that large numbers of gun-users are white and middleclass, and that victims are frequently the result of domestic arguments or kids at school. I wanted to look behind the stereotypes and unearth the contributing factors.

“During the three years, I balanced my finances by doing corporate work, and it was straightforward and reasonably well paid. I worked for design agencies and magazines, doing portraits, features, and the odd advertising job, but found that advertising demands a lot more from you and can start interfering with your personal work. Although advertising’s better paid, I found corporate work to be more straightforward, and allowed my mind to focus on the work I wanted to do.

Personal work

“People in the advertising and design industry have been interested in the non-commercial work I do. For instance, most of my advertising jobs have been for charities or government agencies, such as the drink-driving campaign, where the clients were looking for someone who could take everything in their stride. In a way, the work I’d done had equipped me for dealing with that.

“I did a project in America about pollution, and I like to think that indirectly corporate America helped finance the story. You have to be clever or cunning about how you balance assignments, as documentary work is not that well paid, and involves a lot of travelling, research and thought, for a story that may in the end be hard to sell.

“You have to want to do it and believe it’s important. You must ensure you don’t become a bitter, out of work photojournalist, and you have to be proactive about coming up with stories and pitching them, in order to buy yourself the freedom to choose stories.

“It’s hard in the beginning as you are unsure of the system, and although it doesn’t get much easier, you gain an understanding of how to get someone to speak to you, and how to emphasise the importance of your work, but there’s still no guarantee they’ll commission you. The best way I’ve found is to show them you’re ploughing your own money into the cause you personally believe in.

Balance

“I spent two years doing lots of corporate work, and as I improved, was offered more work, and lost the balance of what’s important. I realised I hadn’t done enough personal work, as it gets hard to turn jobs down. I think I’ve got the balance right now, but it can be worrying how few commissions there are out there. It seems that magazines have got used to documentary photographers doing the stories, which they then buy rather than commissioning them – resulting in less original material in circulation.

Iranian nose jobs

“It got to the point where I began to question my work, and felt that I’d contributed to reinforcing

negative stereotypes. It’s not enough to take a picture of someone in misery unless you

can explain the politics that have led to it happening, I became frustrated with the

media not telling the full truth.

“I started researching positive stories, in countries we refer to as the Third World. The Iranian nose job story was a response to that. It showed the people in Iran to be similar, not activists of an evil, extremist society. There is an element of truth in stereotypes, but there are those who don’t conform to them and this was a way of challenging preconceived ideas.

Digital

“Learning Photoshop is like learning how to print again, and it’s been time consuming. I have one commercial client I use digital for, on four shoots a year, but everything else is on film. I’m realising digital is good for certain things, but that it has limitations with medium format or larger due to the editing and file sizes.

“I shied away from it because I didn’t want to edit on screen, but I’m used to it now, although I sometimes have issues with images looking indefinably digital. It’s not always a problem, but occasionally it’s frustrating, as you spend a long time retouching, only to produce an image that appears sterile.

Colour vs black and white

“I’ve almost exclusively shot in colour for the last three years, whereas I used to do my personal work in black and white. It depends on where you are and how you feel, as well as what you are shooting and trying to say. I rebelled against clichéd photojournalism, but I shot the story about pollution in Texas in black and white because I wanted it to look foul and scary.

“I like to take an outsider’s point of view, because as soon as you get used to something, you become less effective at commenting on it.”