People Lover | Georgina Savage | Phelt Pheatures | Q&A

Who are you, how are you, where are you? 

My name is Georgina Savage. I am a documentarian of many mediums. Although photography is my more private love and passion, the most intimate and vulnerable of my documentary work. At the moment I’m reading Celia Paul’s memoir “Self Portrait” which opens with the line, “I’m not a portrait painter. If I’m anything, I have always been an autobiographer and a chronicler of my life and family. I have told my life in images.” I resonate with this deeply.

I’m currently sitting by the bay window of my cosy flat in East London. The washing machine is whirring in the background, the garden door is open (it’s finally warm!) and a freshly brewed coffee (instant – let’s face it, I’m basic when it comes to coffee) is easing me into the day. I am very happy at this moment, and it feels so wonderful to be able to say that. There are many reasons for this, a culmination of right place, right time, right people, right work, and it’s been a journey to get here…  So I’m proud of being able to say, I’m very happy at this moment!

What is the thrill and curiosity of shooting humans for you? And in particular, those you’re close with? 

Photographing humans endlessly fascinates me because I feel that the camera, when used well, captures some kind of honest essence of a person. In certain images, through that split second of hitting the shutter, I can see multitudes – pride, insecurity, pain, desire, joy. It’s almost as if the camera and the sitter share a secret, and I get to discover it later when the film is developed. It’s an intimate exchange that I feel privileged to have with those I photograph. I only really shoot people I know because historically when I haven’t known a person I’ve photographed, I don’t feel anything from the image. Perhaps I need to know someone to recognise what secret they’ve given me.

What is your relationship with photography like now and how has it fluctuated over the years? 

My relationship with photography is complicated at the moment. I’m finding it quite difficult to take myself seriously and to feel that the work has any resonance with anyone outside of myself. There can be a sense that photographing those you know is a bit pedestrian, not real ‘art’, not real ‘journalism’, and I struggle to be brave enough to stand by the work publicly. Of course, I know successful, well-respected photographers who photograph the people in their lives. Nan Goldin and Sally Mann spring to mind. But my work is quieter, less of a gut punch, and sometimes I wonder if my life isn’t interesting or provocative enough to warrant an audience. Since in my film and podcast work, I do “bigger” documentaries, about issues and people so far beyond my life, the comparison to my photography can make it feel insignificant. But I’m working through these feelings. When I look back at the images I’ve made over the 16 years I’ve been photographing I feel so deeply for them, and that’s something I can’t ignore.

I’ve always had a camera, and I’ve always photographed my friends and family. I’ve dabbled in street photography as well, and a bit of landscape too, but I always return to portraiture. I have boxes of negatives from these years, all dated and labelled. Most of my life has been photographed. So whilst I feel a complicated relationship with exhibiting or presenting my images to the public, it’s never hindered my taking of photos.

What’s one of the most memorable days you’ve had taking pictures, be it the company, the location etc..?

Not a particular day, but a string of days over a few months that stick out to me as being the most memorable for image-making, took place about two years ago. My partner and I were falling in love, and I documented this time a lot with my Polaroid camera. These photos haven’t been shown publicly, but are perhaps some of my most cherished. They are intimate and elicit such strong feelings of love and adoration. We were doing long distance for the first year of our relationship, and so when we were together I embraced having Daniel as my muse. The series of images that span Portugal, France, the UK and South Africa (the spots we’d met up during that year) tell the story of our growing love and trust, and I know I will look back fondly on them forever.

Can you tell us a little bit about one of the more interesting people you’ve shot over the journey? 

One of the most interesting people I’ve photographed is a woman named Kaye, my neighbour at the first place I lived in London. She’s a cheerful, funny and eccentric woman in her 70s who hasn’t left her house in 50 years due to agoraphobia. Instead, she’s turned the inside of her home into some kind of museum of her life. She loves photography and her walls are entirely covered with printed photographs, mostly photos of herself with the friends who come and visit. Some are self-portrait nudes. She has another room entirely dedicated to Disney VHS tapes. When I lived next door she would sit with the front door open and spark up conversations with anyone going past. I got to know her well then, our entire house did, going for tea often, and sometimes to watch films (she loves old romantic films). I photographed her sitting at the front door. You could hear Kaye’s cackle from our backyard or down the street. Sometimes when in a rush you’d need to walk around the other corner to avoid walking past her house – she surely knew how to chat.

How do you decide whose picture to take? How does the process work with coming together to shoot a certain someone?

I usually feel compelled to shoot someone when something is happening in their life that feels like a turning point or a new chapter. Those tend to be the most emotional images for me. For example, the day my friend Adam was leaving London and moving to Marseille, I photographed him outside his apartment before leaving, where we shared many memories together. I photographed my friend Madison in her garden, shortly after a painful breakup, and I feel the tenderness and fragility of her during that time in her pose. I took a particular image of my dearest friend Juliet when pregnant. Another of the oldest friends I have, Madeleine, on her wedding day. These moments are so significant in the story of their lives, and I feel grateful to have captured them during this time. Since I live in London, but am from Australia, I also like to photograph my closest friends when I’m back home and we are having a long overdue hang out. In those moments I know I won’t see them for a long time, and I like to document them while I can. I see my huge collection of images as the tapestry of all our lives.

In terms of the process, it’s very casual. I just have my camera on me, we’re hanging anyway, and I say, “Can I please take your portrait now?” and usually they say yes. I think having a camera on you at all times helps… even if that means lugging my heavy Mamiyaflex everywhere, it’s worth it. Sometimes I’ll intentionally set up a shoot, and say “can I come and take your portrait in your room soon” and I’ll head over. But it will honestly be 3 seconds of the whole hangout. It’s very quick.

Can you spill the beans on that series of frames from Sicily using expired chemicals? Take us there.

I was travelling through Sicily with a group of friends to visit the home of Roberto, a dear friend and old housemate. This group, from Belgium and Italy, all have a retro italo-disco aesthetic in what they wear and even how they live. They’re gorgeous, always, and therefore an absolute dream to photograph. I’ve shot most of them many times over the course of my 5 years in London as friends, and this trip was no different. During the trip Roberto and his bandmate Andrea wanted to shoot a little DIY music video for their project Mind Enterprises, and so on one particular day the two guys and their partners dressed up a bit more than usual. They just looked so stunning, I couldn’t stop photographing them. I went home to London, and since I’d got really into home developing my film during lockdown, decided to develop the rolls myself. When I pulled the one roll out from the tank my heart sank. The image was so thin, you could barely see anything on the negative. The chemicals were expired. I was devastated. But when I scanned them (I have my own scanner) they had this really cool, vintage look to them. I wasn’t sure how people would react to the mistake, but they are by far the most liked images of mine. It was a happy accident, but to be honest – I haven’t self developed since. When you shoot so few frames as I do, it can be too risky to take a chance on losing all the images. But I love developing at home, so when I’m in a bigger place I’m going to dip my toe back in on some practice rolls.

What’s the nicest compliment you’ve ever received about your work? 

My friend Adam was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer and it became clear that he was not going to survive. He lived in Melbourne with his wife, one of my best friend’s named Megan. On a trip back to Australia I went over to their place one day when he was feeling up for visitors. They didn’t have visitors often around this time and I felt privileged to be there. Adam was in good spirits, he looked good. We sat in his living room and had an open and honest conversation about what he was going through. He was sitting on his favourite armchair, with his guitars and amps behind him (he was a fantastic musician, from Melbourne band Romero). The light was nice, and I asked to take his portrait. He was happy to sit for me, and looked directly into the lens of the camera. Snap. Done. Later, when I showed him the photograph, he told me that it was possibly the best photograph he’d ever seen of himself. This is the greatest compliment I’ve received about my work. In the photo Adam doesn’t look sick. He looks strong, and sexy. It was the photo they used at his funeral, and it’s a very important photo for me. During a later trip after his death I photographed his wife Megan. She’s sitting on the floor and looking up at the sky. I can see the grief on her face, and whenever I see that image I think she’s looking at Adam in the clouds.

Do you remember the moment you fell deeply in love with taking pictures? 

Yes. I was quite young, maybe 13 years old, and always had to go to my brothers’ sports games on weekends with my family. They played cricket in summer, which meant hours of lounging around, bored, waiting for the game to be over. One day my Dad gave me his old SLR camera, perhaps as a way to distract me from complaining, and bought me a roll of black and white film. He taught me how to use it, and I spent the whole Saturday photographing the game, the scoreboard, flowers, my family, still lives of their gear, the orange peels. I just loved the clicking sound the shutter made, and turning everyday sights into framed compositions. When he saw I was getting really into it, he went on Ebay and bought me a second hand negative enlarger, and the whole kit and kaboodle that went with it. We set up a darkroom in the basement, and I started printing my own images. The gear was shite, and the basement wasn’t lightproof, but I had a wonderful time. It was the start of my love affair with film photography.

Who are some shooters you really admire right now? 

I absolutely love Lisa Sorgini’s images and colour schemes, as well as Saskia Wilson. Noah Thompson has beautiful images. Callum Royle is doing really visceral, wonderful work. I saw an exhibition of his in London where he had the most arresting slideshow of his images with a live band. I’m also really liking Tom Hvala’s work that I see pop up on the gram. He seems cool.