Martin Parr is the last photographer you want lurking around with your pants down. Ask the sandal and sock-clad man who rested his feet on railings at a seaside, the reveller who passed out at a Cambridge party, the angry waitress who looks daggers at his lens, or the permatanned, orange-skinned woman wearing reflective green goggles: some of the snapper’s iconic subjects have all ended up on mugs, books, coasters, napkins, even a magazine named Toilet Paper and other assorted merchandise.
Parr’s latest venture, Only Human, a book and gallery show is complemented with a cafe and a shop with a sign proclaiming: “Pile it high, sell it cheap”, at his most recent National Portrait Gallery show. But despite his reputation for unflattering subjects, the Magnum Photographer has never been sued for his often tacky portfolio.
They are all here in Ohis latest tome, recurring Parr subjects; bad taste, questionable judgement, real food, ice cream, tattoos, dirty dancing, tea, bulldogs, sandals, the Union Jack, intoxication, even the Queen’s hat gets a very close scrutiny.
Only Human (£39.95) is published by Phaidon