June/July 2010 Issue The Photographer. The magazine of the BIPP
A light in dark places
by Jonathan Briggs, editor. Not your average artist, and not your average photographer – Lynne Collins has brought together classical still life, woodland scenes and urban decay in a series of works that stand alone in their beauty. The process of creation is not for the feint hearted, however, as TP discovers I t's a summer's evening, a couple of hours before dark perhaps. The dusk is just beginning to creep forward and the onset of the half-light is enough to make everyday objects take up an unearthly air. Sometimes it's hard to make out what's going on in the shadows, whilst the evening sun shines brightly on, the scene falls betwixt and between. It's the perfect time for what? Grabbing the landscape you've been waiting for all year? No, not right now. That's going to come on another day. Here and now it's time to wait for the all-very-regular security patrol to pass by and hope that there isn't a blip in their routine. There never is and we've been here so many times already – checking, checking and checking some more – this is the one, this is the moment when we must just go for it. We frantically dig out a hole at the foot of the security fence just big enough for an adult to scramble through, followed by a rucksack containing the absolute essentials. Under we go and take a dash across the jumble of scrub and across to this particular derelict building that's due for demolition any time soon. It's been on the list for a while now and it'll be good to get it crossed off. But there's a lot to do before that's possible. Our access point is ahead and we're in. The corridor is dark, brooding and scattered with everyday objects. There's such a tiny window of opportunity that there's no time to be afraid – we must rush. It's a balance between avoiding attention and getting to the right location. The heart beats ever faster – part with exertion and part with fear. Pigeons try to scare you to death, wings beating as they respond to human presence – too much of this and we'll be in trouble. Our destination is a single room where the reccy has told us the sun will be streaming in, just in the way we want and just enough. As we twist through the maze of corridors it's imperative that the way back is held in the memory – escape is as important as access. But we're in and everything's right. The room is just as we knew it on the last visit, the light is right. Wouldn't it be just so tempting to grab a few snaps and run? Of course it would, but that's just not the game – it wouldn't be enough. So it's out with the tripod and camera gear whilst an assistant keeps watch. Everything has to be set up just so – you could say that we're here doing extreme architectural photography, that is to say doing it under pressure. The fact is that the guards don't come into the building – they're not insured to do that – their job is to patrol the perimeter and then call the police if anything is seen. That's also the game – not being seen and then escaping under the cover of just enough darkness. Now it's time to be 110% photographer and not think for a split second about anything else, of getting caught or anything silly like that. Thankfully the light is right for so short a time there isn't the temptation to hang around – it's either a success or it's not, but no, we don't want to be having to try again tomorrow night. Anyway, in a few days all of this will have disappeared. With the gear packed up we must focus on the escape. The guards will look in through the windows from time to time so, again, timing is everything. The dogs aren't to be taken lightly either so we retrace our steps, checking continuously that the next stretch is clear. We're back at the door and out, back under the fence and away. When our heart rates have settled back there's a glow of achievement quickly followed by a moment's wonder at our own sanity. But it's not always so successful…
Not for kicks This is just one aspect of the unusual world of artist come fine art photographer Lynne Collins. Not content with an easy life, Lynne came up with an idea for her photographic art and then went about finding a way. You could say she began with the end in mind and then just was never put off. Does this mean that when we meet Lynne she's in combat trousers and shades, rather like Sarah Connor in Terminator II ? No, not one bit – Lynne's a very interesting interviewee with a gentle personality who makes a fine cup of tea. Clearly, though, not everyone would be up for such adventure: ‘Before I'm a photographer, I am an artist,' states Lynne. ‘I used to work in the film industry as a sculptor and model maker and it's as if I work on a set all of the time. I was once given a commission by the BBC to sculpt a 3ft sized exact copy of ‘The Kiss' by Auguste Rodin in just one week. I hardly slept at all. I didn't have time… Everywhere I can see sets and I'm looking to create the images I have in my head – so I constantly see parts of the finished sets. It never stops.' Lynne has spent many long hours searching for suitable buildings thanks to Google Earth. She knows exactly what she's after too: ‘I look for a place where something has happened, where perhaps people have not had a good time – so we're talking old hospitals, asylums and so on. I want to put forward the story of it and spend time researching the records of a location. What's surprising is how you can still find masses of personal items littering the floors – there's the personal still remaining and it adds to the atmosphere. I hope that my images communicate the feelings that remain in these places.' On a more practical level, such places are not for the feint hearted, as we've already demonstrated. Lynne explains: ‘The buildings are usually asbestos-ridden and falling apart. You would never get permission to go in. It is dangerous, it would be easy to fall through a floor and never be seen again. Even in daylight it's creepy and you have to get over that. It would be madness to go alone.' Lynne takes the plunge with her able assistant and husband. Lynne expands: ‘What I'm after is the decay and the damage, plus the human story. On top of this is another level where you know that people have been in there over time. Often there's graffiti and the like, but once we came across a Banksy on the wall. I wonder how many people had seen that?' The outside in All this effort goes together with another two aspects of Lynne's work. After the interior comes the woodland scene – she comments that it's always this way around: ‘The woodland images are very difficult to capture. They must fit perfectly topographically, with the right angles and the right lighting conditions. I can spend a really long time searching for the location and then the same again to actually capture it in the correct way. Weeks and months can pass by before I've got the correct fit. I drive around the South East searching for places. I know exactly what's required in my mind's eye and will not compromise one inch!' The alternative option is the still life approach: ‘I try to replicate the Old Masters paintings in how I light the still life element. There is great symbolism for me in the items I choose. They are all from my mother's possessions that I had stashed away until this idea came about. I suppose in some way it is part of me dealing with her death.' But all of this has naturally come together as a developing process: ‘When I first got into an asylum building and started making pictures I didn't definitely have an outlet lined up for the imagery. Then I went back – I was shaking and really scared. There was such an air to the place and there were beds pilled up, curtains blowing in the wind streaming through broken windows. The temptation was so strong to just grab a few pictures and then get the hell out. But I was drawn to the place. The Cane Hill Asylum closed its doors to patients in 1991, and demolition was due to be complete by this January just gone.' Art that stands for itself Lynne's finished images seek to communicate the coming together of past and present and comment on the way in which we use things and leave them – we seemingly do not care about what's not immediately in our perception. But at the same time, these are not images that require a lengthy paragraph sitting alongside, describing the scene and telling the viewer what it's all about. They stand alone as works of some real beauty, and indeed tell their own story in whatever way the viewer wants to understand it. Lynne is not an artist who is desperately forcing an attitude on the viewer. ‘As an artist I'm affected by the environment and politics. I don't like seeing nature harmed or disturbed. That was what started some of this work – I see the woodlands rejuvenating the decay of the buildings – whilst the cleared sites will doubtless become some faceless and soulless development of apartments in keeping with the nature of our suburbia.' She continues: ‘I've always moved away from people – perhaps that's what many artists do because there's so much happening in our minds? People are more frightening than being in an abandoned building. I do, however, like to cause some uncertainty – I like to be pondering a question in terms of my intentions behind a picture. They must, however, appeal immediately – at first sight. Obviously, Lynne is creating composite images but does comment that it's not manipulation for the sake of it: ‘My work involves lots of Photoshop, but it is manipulation in order to combine, not in order to change. The finished images can take weeks to create.' Lynne does all of this post-production herself (unlike many well known photo-artists) and clearly revels in the possibilities: ‘Photoshop is a big part of my life! Over time and thanks to more manuals than I could ever mention I am now fully at home with all aspects of digital photography.' Naturally, there is a need for a very specific outlet for work that takes a long time to produce. Lynne has been selling large-format limited edition prints of her work ever since her work was accepted by the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition in 2007 and now her work is represented by Troika Editions and Saatchi Online. ‘The Summer Exhibition in 2007 was the first time I had actually ever thought of showing my work. I worried intensely that people would reject it, but I sold work on the opening celebrity private view and took that to be a good sign!' Lynne uses the services of respected print outfit Spectrum Photographic to create her limited editions, and her larger sizes can run to around £4,000 each. Keep on running A quick Internet search will come up with various images and videos taken in around some of the locations Lynne has herself visited. The genre of decay has become fashionable, but clearly Lynne's going a whole lot further with her work and it's not for the thrill of it: ‘We did once get spotted by the guards. We ran like mad. I had a crowbar in my hand, so that had to go for starters. I've never run so hard in all my life! I was scared of losing the pictures and of never being able to get a chance of being in there again.' So does Lynne ever take time off from such excitement? ‘I don't have much spare time. My work takes me over and it's always in my head – it couldn't be any other way. I dream about it and sometimes, yes, I'd like to take time off but if I go away on holiday I can't help seeing the scenes and sets. I've always worked as an artist in one form or another. I couldn't do anything else.' Lynne concludes: ‘Even if I worked in a supermarket I'd be visualizing scenes and images. It's not hard to be motivated as I actually find it difficult to keep pace with the thoughts in my head.'

That's a comment from a true artist. t P