MANCHESTER AND ITS BROWN BRICK WALLS, LONDON’S LADS PLAYING IN THE FOGGY STREETS, AND ELAINE CONSTANTINE SCREAMS ‘ENGLAND!’
Project by
Niccolò Lapo Latini @niccololapolatini
ELAINE CONSTANTINE, London, 19th December 2024 // At Industry Art, Essex Road // Revisiting her photographic archive and dearest memories at the advent of Christmas.
The reverence, the audacity, the glory. The Scream by Edvard Munch, trapped in the canvas, wanting to break free. The sound of rain, the scent of fog, the taste of the cold grass of Richmond Park. The child who abandons his parents to run towards his friends and dive into the mud, the clothes that will need washing just hours later. England roars through the shots of Elaine Constantine! Dear readers, I invite you not to investigate the author’s birthdate, which even fooled me, because these moments of magic captured on film could have been taken by a daughter, a mother, a grandmother. Her photos simply live forever through the impetuous generations of Great Britain.
“Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I go to my friends.”
Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own (1929).
Dormitory, 1998.
Credit – The face. Digital lambda print.
How would you describe your photographic style in three words? And how have these approaches evolved over time?
Three words? Well, in some ways, these are ideals I work towards but don’t always achieve. If the pictures I take end up embodying these qualities, that’s great—but I can’t always say I get it right. The first word would be FUN (divertente). I like to bring elements of positivity into my images. I don’t particularly enjoy creating or looking at miserable pictures. The second word is REAL. For me, it’s important that the people in my pictures are represented authentically. In the world of fashion advertising, so much is highly edited. Models are often chosen for how slim or “perfect” they look, and they’re frequently posed in ways that feel unrealistic or objectifying. I strive to counter that by fostering a real and honest feel in my work.I don’t like images where people are overly posed or simply positioned for the camera to be admired as objects. I aim to show a human side—something that’s more about individuality than just the products or postures. The third word is ENERGETIC. I’m naturally a very busy person—I always have been, even as a child. I get bored quickly, so I tend to keep things moving. I like to work fast with my camera, and often, the people I photograph are moving fast too. I enjoy capturing that energy. How have these approaches evolved over time? That’s hard to say. Maybe I’ve gotten better at achieving them, or maybe worse—I honestly don’t know! Back when technology was simpler and Photoshop wasn’t a thing, there wasn’t the same heavy scrutiny on the human body. Perhaps that rawness has diminished in my images because of today’s culture of perfectionism. That said, as I’ve grown older, I’ve become better at recognizing what might detract from the reality of an image. I’m more aware of the restrictions within the industry, and I try to preserve authenticity whenever I can. For example, I’ve learned to spot potential issues at the casting stage. Some models are too stuck on this sultry, rigid, or overly “sexy” look that doesn’t align with my vision. I’m much more interested in working with people who are willing to loosen up and be free. I’ve become better at identifying those qualities early on, which makes the process smoother and the results more authentic.
Could you share your first project that gained wider recognition and how it influenced your career trajectory?
I think it was Mosh. That was a shoot I did for The Face magazine, back in 1996, I believe. They gave me a lot of creative freedom, and basically, I wanted to recreate the kind of energy you’d see at a live music gig or in a club. I managed to convince The Face to let me organize a democratic casting call, essentially saying, “Anyone who wants to be part of this, you’re welcome.”I worked with two brilliant stylists who were like a double act—they were a bit like Artful Dodgers when it came to clothes. They would beg, steal, and borrow anything to get the picture, not really worrying about the consequences. Their approach made them fantastic, but it also got them banned from every fashion PR house in London at the time! We set up two trestle tables overflowing with clothes. Then we fly-posted clubs, announcing, “Come be a model for us at The Face—we’re recreating a gig!” Loads of kids showed up. It was amazing. The event was essentially real: a real band, real kids—not models. Sure, they came to be photographed, but they also came to hear free music and enjoy free beer. The only condition was that they had to pick something to wear from the tables. The kids chose whatever they fancied, and there were enough clothes for everyone. In a way, it was almost documentary in style. I never told anyone, “Stand here, pose like this, or give me that angle.” We simply got the band to start playing, and that was it—they went wild, throwing themselves around. For me, Mosh was a real milestone. It allowed me to create something that felt authentic and full of life. It wasn’t staged; it was this incredible mix of spontaneity and raw energy. Looking back, it was a pivotal moment in my career because it embodied the kind of work I wanted to do—something real, vibrant, and uninhibited.
Mosh, 1997.
Credit – The face. Digital lambda print.
What draws you to blending energy, spontaneity, and elegance in your portraits? Critics often mention a cinematic quality in your fashion photography. How do you craft your visuals to convey this narrative depth?
I’m not sure I’d ever describe my pictures as elegant, but if you see them that way, I’ll take it! If there is elegance in my work, I’d say it’s more of a natural elegance—something unforced rather than pretentious. It’s not something I consciously aim for; it just comes out of capturing people in their real, unguarded moments. I think the reason my images might feel cinematic, like film stills or scenes from a story, is that I build them slowly. I’ll spend time creating the atmosphere, setting the scene, and allowing the subject to settle into the environment. I’ll work on it long enough that the person in front of the camera stops holding anything back—stops posing. To achieve that sense of narrative, I often give the talent some kind of motivation or backstory. It’s like directing an actor—they’re no longer just models or subjects; they’re characters with a purpose or a role to inhabit. That way, their movements and expressions become more genuine, and the image takes on a story-like quality.
Your ability to photograph celebrities and everyday people with equal energy is remarkable. How do you bring the same joy and spontaneity to high-profile celebrity sessions?
I approach everyone the same way, regardless of whether they’re a celebrity or an everyday person. It’s all about connecting with the individual and understanding who they are. If I have the time, I like to show them several pictures from a specific theme to spark a conversation. Through that conversation, I get a better sense of who they are and how they respond. If they’re engaged and excited by the conversation, I can take it from there. It’s not about the person’s status, it’s about whether they understand where I’m coming from and if they’re willing to collaborate. Once we’re on the same page, we can create something great together, with a clear direction to work towards.
Your photographs often feel like playful snapshots of life. Would you say your work reflects your inner child or an exploration of carefree joy? And is photography truly the mirror of the soul?
I think all good photography can be a mirror of the times we’re living in. As for the inner child or carefree joy, yes, I think there’s definitely an element of that in my work. I love the idea of freedom and abandonment — it’s the opposite of the posed, perfect image that many fashion houses aim for, which often reduces people to commodities. In some ways, there’s an anti-fashion fashion photographer inside me. To be creative and find a new way of representing people, you have to reject the norms. Everyone I’ve worked with who’s created something fresh and exciting has done so by challenging the established standards. I’m not particularly interested in selling clothes, but I do care about style. I enjoy youth culture and the way certain pieces of clothing can express someone’s individuality.
Michelle with Dog / Vick on Bike, 1997.
Credit – The face. Digital lambda print.
Your films often echo themes from your photography, such as vitality and humor. How do you adapt these qualities to the demands of moving image? And what inspired your transition from a purely photographic career to directing films and writing?
I’m not entirely sure how to explain it, but my Northern Soul film was fun and energetic, yet it had a darker underbelly. That darker side of life was something I hadn’t explored in my fashion work, so I felt the need to dive into it in order to freshen up my approach and try something new. The story of Northern Soul was something I’d always wanted to tell, in some form or another. It was just the right opportunity to bring that vision to life at the time.
Your work often explores themes of British culture. How do you celebrate and challenge cultural norms for your visual storytelling as a writer and director? It incorporates a certain British humor reminiscent of Martin Parr. Do you see humor as a unifying thread in your work, and how do you harness it?
When I’m writing scripts, I approach it in a similar way to how I handle the casting process as a photographer. I’ve only had one feature made so far, though I’ve written several. But in both photography and writing, I apply the same discipline—I just try to keep things real, grounded in authenticity. I really enjoy the clash of cultures that happens in the UK. There’s this rich diversity of youth cultures that come from this country, and the passion people have for those cultures, even as they grow older. I also appreciate the mix of high and low culture. These contrasts often provide humor for me, and I find them amusing. Plus, having been involved in a few youth cultures when I was younger, I think I can relate to that energy and passion.
Juliet on Swing, 1998.
Credit – The face. Digital lambda print.
What is your relationship with the Martin Parr Foundation? Can you share your experience and initial impression of Martin when you first met him?
I met Martin more than 25 years ago. I can’t say for sure what year it was, but I know it was in the ’90s. I’ve always been a fan of his work, especially his color photography – I’ve always loved color. So, Martin was an obvious photographer I admired. Plus, his cheekiness added to the appeal. I was introduced to him by a friend, who was a curator, and we just hit it off. When Martin started the Martin Parr Foundation, I was naturally intrigued and wanted to see what he was up to. I attended many of his exhibitions in Bristol and supported him. A few years ago, I gave a talk at the Foundation, and that was when Martin saw some of my Northern Soul photos that had been locked away in an archive for years. He asked if we could do an exhibition with them, which was a great honor. When I first met Martin, he had this very youthful energy, even though he was probably in his late 40s. I saw him working with his camera, out and about, capturing images. Some people criticize Martin, saying he’s making fun of people in his photos, but from my experience, that’s not the case at all. He’s incredibly kind to the people he photographs, and he genuinely loves color and culture clashes, just like I do. Watching him work, he’s like a kid in a sweet shop. He’s excited by everything, seeing the world with fresh eyes. He runs around, smiling and having fun with everyone, interacting with the people he’s photographing in a playful and energetic way. I just thought, that’s why he’s in the right place at the right time – because he’s so passionate about what he does. He enjoys the process immensely and never stops. He’s always got his camera with him, constantly capturing moments.
Can you describe how your roots in Manchester and London have influenced your photography? How much of your sense of home and your British identity is represented in your work and your heart?”
I was born near Manchester, and then when I was 26, I moved to London. As a kid, I became deeply fascinated by 1960s black-and-white British “kitchen sink” films, many of which were set in the North. I believe there’s a strong influence of those films in my work. I loved them because they felt like a direct reflection of my own childhood experiences. One particular film, Spring and Port Wine, stands out to me. It tells the story of a large family living in a small house, with a teenage daughter who becomes pregnant and refuses to eat fish on Fridays. While watching it as a child, I didn’t realize the significance of her pregnancy or the societal pressures she was facing. I just thought it was an extreme act to refuse fish, something everyone in my family would have gladly eaten, especially since we were poor. That film, in its portrayal of everyday life in the North, left a lasting impact on me. This love for kitchen sink films continued to shape my understanding of life, particularly as they often depicted the Northern working-class experience. After assisting Nick Knight, I had the opportunity to work for The Face, a magazine that was very much focused on British youth culture. In the ’90s, there was a resurgence of interest in Northern Soul, Britpop, skinheads, suedeheads, mods—cultures that originated in the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s but were coming back with fresh energy. As a photographer, my subject matter naturally reflected this celebration of British subcultures. It’s not that I set out to avoid American or other cultural influences, but being in the right place at the right time, surrounded by certain cultural currents, led to what I now see as a distinctly British aesthetic. However, when I look at my own work, I don’t consciously think, this is British. To me, it just feels ordinary. But I can certainly identify the national identity in the work of other photographers. For example, when I look at Cartier-Bresson’s images, I instantly recognize him as a French photographer—his style is unmistakably French.
