Growing up in an isolated village in the U.K's Kent countryside, running wild in the woods and creating his own worlds meant that Artist Spencer Murphy cultivated a vivid imagination from a young age. This desire to escape, uncover new experiences and pay close attention to his surroundings is now the beating heart of his creative practice. Here, Spencer tells Capture about developing his style, what it takes to maintain a career and how he feels about photography's future.
Working at the intersection of art and documentary requires an ability to uncover unexpected and untold stories. Spencer Murphy began honing these instincts from a young age. Growing up in an isolated part of the Kent countryside, he relied heavily on his imagination to cultivate his own worlds in which to play and explore. It is no surprise that years later, his art practice concerns the notion of the outsider or the aspects of life and culture that often go unseen. Through his images, he holds space to honour those who live alternative or rebel lifestyles while encouraging the viewer to examine their preconceptions of what is deemed to be “normal”. Coupled with his distinct visual language, Murphy creates unforgettable images that linger in the imagination long after you first experience them.
I think the exciting thing is the democratisation of the medium, the access it gives people, and the literal power that comes with it.
Capture: How did you discover photography?
Spencer Murphy: My Mum was a keen amateur, and I got a hand-me-down SLR from her when I was at secondary school. When my friends and I started skateboarding and going out, we would always document one another. The board sports magazines introduced me to this counter-culture punk creative aesthetic that we were always attempting to emulate - whether through photography, video, collage or just how we acted. A friend and I created our own imaginary skateboard company, created a subversive campaign for it, and fly-postered our school.
What influences inform your work?
Just about anything and everything. Cinema and documentary film have always been something that has fed my ideas and aesthetics - but it could be a news story, a stranger from social media or just a sub-culture that piques my interest. With all my work, I start in a documentary place and then look for the poetry and symbols in every day - things that might throw up existential questions if looked at by a receptive viewer.
In 2017, you published your first photobook Urban Dirt Bikers, with Hoxton Mini Press. How did you discover the sub-culture and build a relationship with the community?
I'd just moved to a new area on the outskirts of London. It's green and beautiful in one direction and industrial in the other. As I got to know the neighbourhood, I began to see young men on dirt bikes and quad bikes ride past me, pulling wheelies. It took me the best part of a year to catch up to them and find out where they all rode.
What were the challenges of making the work?
Initially, being accepted by the community was a challenge. Many of them were wary of attention, but once I was let in, they were friendly and glad someone was there to document the culture. Building the confidence to approach large groups of young men was a challenge for me. I gradually found more locations where they hung out and got brave enough to turn up on my own and see who was there.
The locations could be quite ugly, as the riders didn't like to venture from the group's safety in case they got picked off by the police. Another regular occurrence would be that I would drive to a location for an hour and a half, wait, and nobody showed, or the police would have already closed the spot down. I dedicated many weekends to sitting in the car and coming home empty-handed. Capturing the motion on a medium format film camera presented challenges as well. After seeing a fatal accident, I became very aware that I was putting myself in harm's way and became much more aware of my surroundings.
