The vast majority of my mixed-media work begins with a photograph from my personal archive. For Out Of The Sea, the source image was taken of Hazuan Hashim shortly after he emerged from a swim in the Aegean Sea—his body still bearing the residue of water, salt, and heat under intense Mediterranean sunlight. The photograph functions as both document and point of departure, allowing the work to move between observation and transformation. Through layering, surface disruption, and material intervention, the image is pushed beyond its original moment, becoming a meditation on exposure, memory, and the physical aftermath of immersion.
The work centres on a body just risen from water, skin still remembering the sea. Salt clings. Light presses hard. The image captures a brief, charged interval in which immersion has not yet released its hold—when the body remains cooler than the air, slick, receptive, exposed. This moment is stretched and reworked: the flesh rendered blue and mineral, as though the sea has stained him from the inside out.
The figure stands bare and frontal, neither posed nor protected. His chest is luminous and vulnerable, marked by an almost talismanic aperture—part wound, part portal. Yellow lenses flare where eyes should be, turning vision into heat, glare, desire. Behind him, a dense green ground presses forward, viscous and tidal, recalling algae or vegetation and refusing any sense of depth or escape.
Eroticism here is not performative but elemental: the damp body cooling in air, the quiet arrogance of exposure, the tension between softness and endurance. He is not so much emerging from the sea as carrying it with him—beneath the skin, behind the eyes, lingering at the threshold where looking becomes touching.
At this threshold, the work shifts. A schematic diagram of a cathode ray tube is drawn around his right nipple, introducing a technological incision into the flesh. The swimmer hovers between organism and apparatus, human and machine. In this fusion, the body becomes a metaphor for the future of the human race, prompting questions of extinction, obsolescence, and transformation: are we approaching our end, or merely being rewritten by artificial intelligence?
‘Out Of The Sea’ – mixed media on paper, 2026.
‘Out Of The Sea’ (detail) – mixed media on paper, 2026.
‘Out Of The Sea’ (detail) – mixed media on paper, 2026.
You can buy a signed copy of my latest photo book here.
I remember watching a television documentary in the 1960s about the glories of Venice that persuaded the child I was then that the city was slowly but surely sinking into the sea. So it was with some relief that I finally visited in 2006 and discovered that it had not yet slipped beneath the lagoon. At the time, Hazuan Hashim and I were filming the Venice Dance Biennale. When we weren’t filming, we wasted no time drifting through the mysterious and beautiful city, uncovering its many treasures—among them, its bars.
Venice is unique environmentally, architecturally, historically, and visually, and it rarely disappoints. For centuries it has drawn visitors from across the world, but today over-tourism is widely regarded as one of the most urgent challenges facing its population of around 250,000 people. The port city welcomed more than 13 million visitors in 2019, and many locals are now leaving as a result. In 2023, UNESCO warned that Venice could be placed on the list of World Heritage Sites in Danger, as the combined pressures of climate change and mass tourism threaten to bring about irreversible change.
A ferry boat crosses the Lagoon. Venice 2006.
Entrance to an uninhabited building. Venice 2006.
Gondolas passing each other. Venice 2006.
Gondolas passing each other. Venice 2006.
A view through some arches. Venice 2006.
Passing some street art. Venice 2006.
Motor boats. Venice 2006.
Shop window. Venice 2006.
Passageway. Venice 2006.
Reflections. Venice 2006.
You can buy a signed copy of my latest photo book here.
Jimmy entertaining the Merseyside Pemsioners Association (MPA) at their Christmas Party in December 2018.
I first met Jimmy Hackett in the late 1970s at a meeting of the Tuebrook Branch of the Labour Party. I remember him sitting at the back of the room, wearing a blue denim jacket and jeans. He stood out in my mind as a character who effortlessly coloured his political contributions with biting humour and the occasional anecdote drawn from his vast life experience—as the son of a docker growing up in “Little Italy” in the Scotland Road area, and the youngest of nine children.
Taking after his father, Jimmy was a staunch socialist and internationalist. He once told me:
“Religion is the enemy of the people because it divides them. I believe in socialism and, like Tony Mulhearn, I never give up. You don’t need a card to be a socialist—just your eyes and ears.”
Jimmy with Tony Mulhearn and Tony Rimmer at the Durham Miners Gala in 2018.
Tony Rimmer and Audrey White on either side of Jimmy at the unveiling of the plaque to the ‘Liverpool 47’ at the CASA in Hope Street, Liverpool in September 2018.
Audrey White recalls:
“I have such fond and special memories of Jimmy over many, many years. He was a one-off: a character, a Scouser, a talented entertainer, and a socialist to his core. He was funny, sincere, and a fighter. And yet, when I had my son 40 years ago, I could still attend my T&GWU 612 union branch because there was Jimmy—happy to be “the crèche” and look after my new baby so I could go to meetings. I was so grateful to him. Jimmy was also on my picket line in 1982 when I was at Lady at Lord John fashion store in Church Street, fighting to get my job back after being sacked. I’ll always remember Jimmy, with his amazing voice, singing all night in Peppers and the pubs on St Anne’s Street when we finally celebrated the victory. One of the best nights of our lives.”
I met up with Jimmy again years later at the Merseyside Pensioners Association, and he was still the same old Jimmy. He was proud to see the names of the 47 (later 49) Liverpool Labour councillors on the plaque that honours the achievements of a battle he was such a big part of. He had a proud history of fighting for his class. He will be remembered, and he will be missed.”
Jimmy cracks a joke.
Former Liverpool Labour councillor Tony Rimmer, and a member of the legendary group of 47 councillors who stood up to Margaret Thatcher, said:
“What can I say about James Hackett that friends and comrades don’t already know? As soon as you met Jimmy and he realised you were a socialist, he was your friend. I’m proud to say he was my friend and comrade in the Liverpool 47/49 surcharged councillors.
Back in 1983, on a very busy local election day, many comrades were travelling around the city spreading as much support as possible. As the results started coming in, some comrades were in a car listening to the radio. The news came through that James Anthony Hackett had won the seat in Warbreck Ward. The realisation then dawned that if Jimmy had won Warbreck, it was the catalyst—we would likely take overall control of Liverpool. And we did.
I became more involved with Jimmy in 1984, when I was elected to Liverpool City Council in the Gillmoss Ward. As the ‘new boy’, I was always grateful for the help and support he gave me as I tried to settle in and understand the strange processes and procedures. He knew from his own experience the year before what that was like.
It was always great to be on the same committee or sub-committee as Jimmy. Everything was dealt with seriously, properly, and correctly—but always with as much humour as we could get away with. Things became more earnest when the Liberals or the Tories were spouting off. Jimmy never let them get away with anything. He always reminded them of the cuts to jobs and services they were responsible for.
Jimmy, like the rest of us, had no intention of letting them get away with the ‘managed decline’ of the City of Liverpool on Thatcher’s behalf. Jimmy was always there with a new joke—more often than not, you didn’t realise you were his straight man.
We’re all going to miss Jimmy: his political commitment, his sense of humour, his friendship. We’ve lost a good man.”
Jimmy at the unveiling of the plaque to the ‘Liverpool 47’ at the CASA in Hope Street, Liverpool in September 2018.
Marie Harrison shared this tale about Jimmy from his time working as a bingo caller:
“It sounds authentic—knowing Jimmy—but I’m not sure who first told the story. It might just be a tale. Jimmy had many jobs in his lifetime and loved entertaining. During his time as a bingo caller, he used all the usual little clues: ‘Maggie’s Den, Number 10’, ‘Two little ducks’, and so on.
Bingo players take their game very seriously. The room would be tense as people concentrated on their cards, whispering things like, ‘I’m sweating on number five.’
Jimmy reached the final call: ‘Unlucky for some.’ ‘House! House!’ shouted a woman from the floor. ‘Number 12,’ said Jimmy. ‘Number twelve isn’t unlucky for some—it’s thirteen!’ she replied. ‘It was unlucky for you, missus,’ said Jimmy, to uproarious laughter.”
Steve Milward remembers:
“At a Warbreck Labour Party meeting in the 1980s, someone asked Jimmy what his politics were. He replied that he was a Marxist with Bolshevik leanings. I remember thinking—WTF!”
I returned to Liverpool in 2015 and joined the Merseyside Pensioners Association, where, after decades had passed, I met Jimmy again. He was just the same—passionate about politics, hilarious to be with, and a gentle soul.
Fortunately, I had the opportunity to film an interview with Jimmy five years ago, in which he spoke about his life and political journey. The complete film will be shown at the CASA in Hope Street on February 25th. Tickets can be ordered here.
Before then, you can watch Jimmy tell a fascinating story about the time he was wrongly arrested, locked overnight in a Bridewell police station cell, and taken to the magistrates’ court the following day.
Jimmy and Tony Mulhearn in a pub at the 2018 Durham miners Gala expressing their opinion about the Scum newspaper.
‘Street Recorder Player’ – Mixed media on paper, 2025.
‘Street Recorder Player’ – Mixed media on paper (detail), 2025.
I made this image from a photograph I took on a Sunday morning in Cheshire Street, East London. As I was walking towards the market on Cheshire Street I noticed this woman who was walking towards me playing the recorder. She was completely oblivious to her surrounding environment and focused on the notes she was playing. Did she take the recorder out with her to play or possible she’d just bought it, second hand, at the market. If it was newly purchased was she reliving her school days when she had recorder lessons? She appeared to me to be in a different time zone.
You can buy a signed copy of my latest photo book here.
