Don McCullin, the 90-year-old photographer, has witnessed unimaginable horrors throughout his life, capturing them through his iconic black-and-white images that leave a lasting impact on viewers. His latest exhibition at the Holburne Museum in Bath, "Broken Beauty", takes visitors through a poignant journey of human suffering and resilience over six decades.
The show begins with a striking series of photographs depicting ruined Roman sculptures, their pockmarked surfaces and broken limbs evoking the collapse of empires and the fragility of ideals. In these images, McCullin's lens serves as a mirror to humanity, highlighting our capacity for violence and destruction. A crouching Venus, her arms missing and head half-shattered, stands as a haunting reminder of the devastating consequences of war.
However, it is not the grand landscapes that showcase McCullin's mastery but the intimate, harrowing images that expose the human cost of conflict. Pictures of young men, often with blank stares or tears in their eyes, convey the trauma and grief inflicted by war. A 15-year-old boy, his face glossy with tears, stands at his father's funeral, having lost him to AIDS. These images serve as a stark reminder that even among the most resilient, life can be cruelly cut short.
The exhibition also delves into McCullin's extensive body of UK work, capturing industrial landscapes and workers, homeless people, and poverty-stricken peripheries. His lens reveals the liminal states where life and death exist side by side, as seen in a photograph of a homeless man sleeping standing up in Shoreditch.
The conflict pictures in this show are characterized by their immediacy and urgency, like snapshots from a moment frozen in time. The viewer is thrust into the midst of chaos, witnessing the raw emotion and desperation that defines war. McCullin's technique allows us to feel the presence of the subjects, rather than just observing them.
In stark contrast, his landscape photographs feel more subdued, almost as if they are attempting to soothe or appease the viewer. These still lifes, made in his garden shed, evoke a sense of detachment, which stands in stark contrast to the visceral images that follow.
The exhibition serves as an ode to McCullin's immense contribution to photojournalism and his unwavering dedication to capturing the human condition. This brief introduction to his work leaves viewers with a lasting impression of the devastating power of war and the resilience of humanity.
The show begins with a striking series of photographs depicting ruined Roman sculptures, their pockmarked surfaces and broken limbs evoking the collapse of empires and the fragility of ideals. In these images, McCullin's lens serves as a mirror to humanity, highlighting our capacity for violence and destruction. A crouching Venus, her arms missing and head half-shattered, stands as a haunting reminder of the devastating consequences of war.
However, it is not the grand landscapes that showcase McCullin's mastery but the intimate, harrowing images that expose the human cost of conflict. Pictures of young men, often with blank stares or tears in their eyes, convey the trauma and grief inflicted by war. A 15-year-old boy, his face glossy with tears, stands at his father's funeral, having lost him to AIDS. These images serve as a stark reminder that even among the most resilient, life can be cruelly cut short.
The exhibition also delves into McCullin's extensive body of UK work, capturing industrial landscapes and workers, homeless people, and poverty-stricken peripheries. His lens reveals the liminal states where life and death exist side by side, as seen in a photograph of a homeless man sleeping standing up in Shoreditch.
The conflict pictures in this show are characterized by their immediacy and urgency, like snapshots from a moment frozen in time. The viewer is thrust into the midst of chaos, witnessing the raw emotion and desperation that defines war. McCullin's technique allows us to feel the presence of the subjects, rather than just observing them.
In stark contrast, his landscape photographs feel more subdued, almost as if they are attempting to soothe or appease the viewer. These still lifes, made in his garden shed, evoke a sense of detachment, which stands in stark contrast to the visceral images that follow.
The exhibition serves as an ode to McCullin's immense contribution to photojournalism and his unwavering dedication to capturing the human condition. This brief introduction to his work leaves viewers with a lasting impression of the devastating power of war and the resilience of humanity.