Welcome to this edition of [book spotlight]. Today, we uncover the layers of 'A Country Kind of Silence,' by Ian Howorth (published by Setanta Books). We'd love to read your comments below about these insights and ideas behind the artist's work.

Photographer Ian Howorth discusses his journey of exploring identity through photography and the evolution of his projects. He shares how his experiences living in different countries influenced his perspective and the development of his photographic style. Howorth also reflects on the concept of home and the significance of colors in his work. He offers advice to aspiring photographers on exploring their own identity through photography and encourages them to try new things and experiment. Finally, he hints at his future projects, which will continue to explore themes of identity and mystery.

Hello Ian, could you share what initially drew you to photography as a medium for exploring and expressing your sense of identity and belonging?

Ian Howorth: It was pretty much a perfect storm, really. It wasn't any one specific thing that did it. I've always been quite an inquisitive person. Since I was very little, I've been interested in the way things look to me. My parents would tell me I was always very nosy. I always wanted to know more, see more. I was always amazed by my surroundings, and that's something that has continued throughout my life. Having lived in three different countries has made me even more curious. It prompted me to ask a lot of questions because there was so much contrast.

When you're that young, all that contrast makes you wonder why things are different. I was born and raised in Peru until I was 12 years old and then I moved to the United States, where I lived for about four and a half years, before coming to England around the age of 16 or 17. So, my life was segmented into these specific times: 0 to 12 in Peru, 12 to around 16 or 17 in the US, and then onwards here in the UK. These were crucial times, especially during the development of the brain and going through adolescence. It sparked a lot of interest in understanding why things were different.

Before settling in one place, I was traveling a lot between Peru, the States, and the UK, visiting family on both sides. I've been traveling really since I was a baby, practically all my life. This constant movement planted seeds in my mind about identity, culture, and their meanings. These concepts were always there, dormant at first during my younger years. But as I grew older, I realized they significantly impacted how I viewed the world and what interested me.

Although I studied media at university, I didn't immediately pursue anything related to my degree for many years. It wasn't until a few friends started exploring media that I picked up a camera and began filming a bit here and there. This gradually evolved into more extensive filming and eventually led to a slow-building career in video, working as a cameraman for about five or six years.

And then, just by sheer luck, a friend of mine who was leaving the UK gave me his Olympus OM-1, an Olympus film camera. Before this, I already owned a DSLR and would do some personal work with it. However, I never used it as a serious tool for image-making; I didn't take many stills with it. But with the film camera, things felt different—it felt more purposeful to me. Initially, it was all about the process. I enjoyed the process of using it. But as time went on, I realized that I not only liked the process but also the output. It became about both—the enjoyment of the process and the satisfaction with the results.

I was also fortunate around that time to have jobs that paid quite well, even though this was only for a period of about two years. Because of this, I didn't need to work long hours, which meant I had a lot of free time. I used this time to really delve into photography—I would go out, shoot, and learn about the medium, constantly trying different things. I’m very grateful for that period because it allowed me to learn extensively about photography and get the most out of the experience.

The reason I mention this is because that specific time gave me the opportunity to use my free time effectively. Without it, I don't think I would have been able to learn as much as I did in terms of taking photographs and really maximizing the experience.

What inspired the creation of your project, 'A Country Kind of Silence'? Did the idea shape the project from the beginning, or did you assemble it retrospectively from existing pieces in your portfolio to convey a specific concept?

Yeah, I would say it was more like the latter. Essentially, both of my books have come together in a similar fashion; they were never initially intended to be books. For example, with "A Country Kind of Silence" it was slightly different, but with "Arcadia," especially, I never planned for it to become a cohesive body of work. I was just continuously shooting, without a specific project in mind.

And then, I began to understand why I was doing what I was doing. It takes time, you know. I believe many photographers who attend university are taught the process and how to compile a body of work. I didn't have that luxury. My understanding of photography was basic, no more than, say, my mom's. I knew what photography was and how to use a camera, but that was about it. I really didn't grasp anything beyond the basics.

It was only when someone approached me about publishing that I started to become more aware of the process. I began to research and learn more about structuring a body of work. So, it was perhaps in the last third of creating "Arcadia" that I actually began to shoot specifically for the book, identifying and filling in the gaps as needed.

As for "A Country Kind of Silence," that was never intended to be a book either. It comprised mostly work I had already been shooting, but then the pandemic hit. I continued shooting extensively, whenever I could. In fact, I had another project underway that was meant to become a book, and obviously, because of the pandemic, that project stopped. I couldn't continue it. So, photography just became something I did because I enjoyed it. Then, when I began sharing more of my work, a publisher approached me. After seeing the images, they believed we could definitely make a book out of them. However, that partnership didn't quite work out, so I went back to my original publisher, Setanta, and we ended up publishing "A Country Kind of Silence."

For me, "A Country Kind of Silence" is about England, about its sense of identity. So, while the two books may seem to exist in similar worlds to others, they are distinct to me because of my personal feelings towards them.

Okay, because the description suggests "A Country Kind of Silence" continues your internal exploration of feelings surrounding your sense of identity. So, do you feel like it's a second part of your first book, or like a new episode?

It is, in a way. I think it's fair to say that because it's impossible to claim it isn't. As a photographer, it's impossible to be completely objective. The moment you're involved, objectivity is compromised, and subjectivity takes its place. Although the feelings that drove "Arcadia" weren't as present in "A Country Kind of Silence," it's more focused on the subject matter, yet it still contains a lot of me because it follows a timeline. But as for the work itself, I believe it represents a different perspective, a realization that emerged over time.

It's one of those things, you don’t always think about it at the moment; you’re just shooting instinctively. But over time, as you review the work, you realize it's different in how it feels to you. Although it's open to interpretation, for me personally, it feels distinct.

Had you been taking pictures before you moved to England, or did you start afterward?

No, I was too young; I was only 16. I mean, yes, my brother had bought me a camera, but I never really used it seriously. At 16, the mind is too young to take photography seriously.

So, would you say you developed your photography style in England, or would you say that England influenced you in some way to develop your style?

No, I wouldn't say that either. America had a significant effect on me. I wouldn't say that England influenced my photography at all, in fact. In terms of my work, there's very little of Peru, but I would say my experiences in Peru and America influenced me the most. Those experiences began the process for me. The photographs themselves are just photographs—crude matter, in a sense. But what's important to me is tracing back to where it all started, understanding the idea behind it. For me, it's about going back and figuring out the origins. It's about the idea.

Because I think the idea is the most important thing. It's about understanding how something comes to be. You can have an idea and not execute it for 25 years, but it remains an idea; execution is separate. For me, moving to England and getting a camera put into my hands made me go out and shoot, but it was the previous 25 years of my life that influenced what I was doing.

It's like a journey. Suddenly, I arrived, someone handed me a camera, and that was the turning point. If no one had given me a camera, maybe I would have never pursued photography and just continued with video. But who knows? America, visually, has probably influenced me the most, maybe because of films. I've always been a big film watcher; my parents were massive cinephiles. So I've been greatly influenced by visuals from a young age. And America, I believe, is very visually documented in culture.

It’s like, you grow up seeing all these films, then you visit the places where they were made, and it's just astounding. This exposure likely influenced how I perceive and capture my surroundings. However, over time, I've given England its own distinct vibe in my work. Initially, I might have been attempting to capture America but in England. As time passes and I continue to shoot, I've been focusing more on giving England its own identity through my lens. It’s a gradual process, changing as you gain more experience and see more of the world. That's the nature of growth and observation—it naturally alters your perspective over time.

Since this work revolves around identity, as we've discussed, has your perspective on it changed since you began the project? How do you feel about it now compared to the beginning?

It's an interesting question. For me, the process of change began with "Arcadia." After completing it and engaging in interviews and articles, discussing it extensively, I naturally started to feel more at ease with my identity. I had been striving to assimilate, to become more British—wondering how to make my prolonged experiences in this country align with those of my native English friends or my girlfriend at the time. I was convinced that I could fully adapt and feel as they do.

This pursuit was influenced by something my father told me years ago. Despite not being English, I performed quite well in English classes at school. My dad, acknowledging this, expressed his pride but also mentioned that my English would never match that of someone born and raised in England.

That comment from my dad always lingered in my mind, not negatively, because I grasped his point, but it was always there. That was the seed planted for me. It was like a personal challenge to see if I could ever feel as English or as British as someone born here, which, of course, isn't feasible since I was born elsewhere.

By the end of "Arcadia," I came to terms with that fact. Beginning "A Country Kind of Silence" further solidified my acceptance. I'm not sure if this shift was due to the process of creating the books or just a natural part of getting older and caring less about fitting into a specific identity. It's hard to pinpoint exactly, but it was around that time that I fully embraced who I was, despite my fragmented identity.

Does it represent your home, or what does the concept of home mean to you, and how is it reflected in your work?

I discuss this often with my partner, as she's Irish and has lived in England for over 15 years. For her, the notion of home differs because she moved at an older age compared to me. For myself, while I refer to England as my home, I don't have binding ties here apart from it being my current residence. If a better opportunity arose elsewhere, I wouldn’t hesitate to relocate. I’m not particularly attached to places.

Even after 25 years here, my view hasn't shifted. I'm here like anyone else; it’s more about convenience than a deep-seated desire to stay. Ownership of a house, a car, a job, or having friends here doesn’t equate to an immovable attachment. Leaving wouldn’t trouble me. So, to me, the concept of home is complex. It's about where you feel most at ease, or perhaps where you find happiness, and these feelings can evolve. I’ve seen people spend decades abroad, living fulfilling lives, only to return to their birthplace. Conversely, some depart and never look back.

It’s very difficult to define, but one thing I am certain of is that I will probably never return to live in Peru. I don’t feel the need to.

Why do you think colors like pink and blue are significant in your images?

Hmm, that's a good question. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure. But reflecting on it, my work is filled with vibrant and unusual color combinations. I've never been a fan of uniformity in any aspect of my life; I prefer things a bit unpredictable and lively. Regarding the significance of color, I observe that the modern world seems to be dulling in terms of color use, especially in everyday life. Fashion and high art continue to embrace vibrant hues, but everyday streets seem dominated by beige, black, white, and shades of grey.

I recall, however, when I first came to England, noticing how the streets brimmed with color – cars were mustard, blue, orange. That vibrancy always attracted me. Initially, my response to colorful scenes was automatic. I was instinctively drawn to them and would capture the moment without second thought. It was only later, when reviewing my images for a book or selection, that I noticed a pattern in my choices. That realization prompted me to explore the continuity in my work, helping me understand my inclinations better.

To be honest, I can’t really remember the exact conclusion I came to when I first thought about the use of color. However, I’ve realized that my eye is naturally drawn to certain things, and I don't really question it anymore. If I'm compelled to take an image, I just do it and reflect on it afterward.

So, that’s roughly my approach. But in terms of the significance of color, it’s not conceptual for me; I don’t use blues to denote sadness or pinks and reds for more vibrant, joyful scenes. When creating a book, I think it’s easy to become critical.

I own many photo books and notice that some photographers aim for consistency, like shooting on misty mornings during winter. There’s nothing wrong with that; consistency can be powerful. However, my work is less conceptual. I aim to give an accurate representation of the environment I’m capturing. There's a variety of weather conditions where I shoot—rain, mist, winter, autumn, summer. It’s crucial to present a general impression of what one might encounter. But naturally, like everyone, I’m drawn to sunshine and color, so sunny days are more likely to see me out shooting. There are a lot of factors that influence when and what I capture, but essentially, I shoot what draws me in.

Over the last seven years, much of what I’ve captured could be described as 'ugly things in nice light.' These subjects aren't inherently beautiful or picturesque; they're ordinary, yet they're illuminated in an extraordinary way. This juxtaposition, the contrast between mundane subjects and remarkable lighting, is a recurring theme in my work.

What advice would you give to someone trying to explore their identity through photography?

My advice is straightforward: just shoot. When I started my photographic journey, I realized I had few influences; I was unaware of many iconic photographers like William Eggleston or Stephen Shore. Unfamiliar with the greats, my photography was uninhibited by their styles or methods. I was simply capturing moments, perhaps subconsciously drawing on unseen memories. Essentially, exploration through photography begins with the act of taking photos, unfettered by preconceived notions or comparisons.

I never aimed for comparison; initially, I wasn’t deeply thinking about the process—I was simply shooting because I enjoyed it. Photography stemmed from a place of enjoyment for me, not a deliberate career path. It was pure chance that led me here. In today's era, marked by Instagram and social media, there’s a perceived necessity for photographers to be active online. This creates pressure, but it’s crucial not to get caught up in it, especially not in the pursuit of a career right from the start. Focusing on money too early can doom your work before it even begins.

Once established, considering finances becomes inevitable due to the investments you've made into your craft. However, in the initial stages, when photography is more of a hobby or a passion, it’s essential to allow your style and voice to develop naturally and organically. Introducing pressure or financial motives too early can skew the natural progression of your work and lead you away from your true path. So, my advice is to shoot organically. Capture what you know and understand, and let your vision evolve naturally. Your unique perspective will guide you.

I still believe in that approach. Many years have passed, but my belief remains unchanged. Many photographer friends of mine started in a similar manner, drawn to photography for the joy it brings. That initial spark is crucial. From there, everyone takes their own path. My advice, particularly for exploring your identity, is to shoot what you know and what’s around you. If you’re visiting your hometown, for instance, take your camera and document everything. But always reflect on your actions and their reasons.

Consider the images you dislike and pinpoint the reasons for your disdain. Likewise, analyze the images you adore and understand why they resonate with you. This reflection is crucial.

If you, in your current position, could offer advice to yourself at the start of your photography journey, what would it be? Specifically, advice that could enhance your photography skills.

This might not be a popular opinion, and I’ve faced criticism for it before, but honestly, I don’t mind. I tend to adopt a somewhat kamikaze attitude towards others' opinions; I simply don’t pay much attention to them. You know, I believe one of the real tragedies is that we will only ever listen to about 0.5% of all the music in the world that we might actually enjoy, simply because there isn't enough time to explore every album and song. And it's quite tragic, but when you reflect on the music you have managed to hear and consider how you came across that music. You might have been at a party, in a restaurant, or a shop, or perhaps a friend introduced you to it. Had those encounters not happened, you might never have discovered that piece of music you now love. Photography is similar; there are countless experiences and styles you may want to try but never do unless you take the leap.

So, my advice is not to fear experimentation. If you’re accustomed to color, don’t hesitate to explore black and white if the thought intrigues you. If an idea piques your interest or seems suitable for a project, embrace it. Whether you’re contemplating abstract photography, considering studio work versus fieldwork, or debating between studio and natural lighting, give all these options a chance.

Many photographers struggle with the need to maintain a consistent look, which can be limiting. It's normal to become bored with your own work; I often look at mine and think, “Oh, more of the same.” But this is exactly why you shouldn't shy away from experimenting and trying new things.

Many photographers experience this phase, and it’s crucial to constantly evolve and see where it takes you. You never know if a new style or method might not only fulfill you more deeply but also turn out to be commercially viable, which is an ideal scenario. Experimentation is key, and even if you don't commit entirely to a new direction, the process itself enriches your photography and expands your skills. Over the years, I’ve learned that the more I explore, the more I understand. I store these experiences, knowing they could come in handy for future projects.

I’m in a phase of experimentation. Although I continue to capture the subjects I always have, my approach is evolving significantly. My upcoming project will adopt a distinctly different approach. While working on it, I’m exploring new avenues constantly. So, my journey in photography has taught me the value of adaptation and the importance of embracing change.

The way I view and enjoy photography is evolving. I no longer feel the need to be out every day capturing images as before. Nowadays, I can go a month without shooting and still feel content, provided I am developing ideas and getting excited about new concepts. What drives me now is the process of building towards something, planning, and executing an idea in a more comprehensive manner.

Can you share a bit more about your future projects?

I'm afraid I have to be a bit secretive, as is common among photographers. But I can share a little.

Is this upcoming project going to be a continuation of your previous work, or is it going to stand alone?

The new project will be based in the UK, so it continues to tell a very English story, but not in the same manner as before. It will significantly reflect my personal experiences, although it’s not directly about me. Instead, it addresses universal themes, presented in a specific context about a particular place. The approach won't be as literal as my current work; it's intended to be more interpretative.

The concept is somewhat universal—or at least semi-universal—but with an element of mystery. The images will aim to convey this sense of mystery, so it's going to be a bit different from my usual projects. That’s about all I can disclose for now.

Martin: I’ll be looking forward to it. Once it’s ready for publishing, I’ll be excited to see what it turns out to be. Thank you.

Ian Howorth: Thank you, really. I appreciate your time.

Martin: Thank you for your time and insight.

To discover more about this intriguing body of work and how you can acquire your own copy, you can find and purchase the book here.

Ian Howorth (Website, Instagram) is a UK-based documentary photographer, known for his exploration of identity and culture. Living in Brighton, his notable works include "Arcadia" and "A Country Kind of Silence," both celebrated for their introspective look at the English landscape and societal nuances. Ian's multicultural background, moving from Peru to the US, and finally settling in the UK, profoundly influences his photography, adding depth and a unique perspective to his work.

Though his initial career path was not in photography, a transition from media studies to receiving an Olympus OM-1 camera shifted his focus to visual storytelling. His compelling narratives and thematic consistency have earned him features in top publications like The Guardian and The New York Times. Ian continues to captivate audiences with his ability to blend personal experiences with broader societal themes, making his work both reflective and relatable.

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