Blog 15 – Into the Arts Show: A Week Before

It’s not every week someone from a completely different scene tells you they’ve been looking at your photos and actually likes them. Not just the usual Instagram like or a casual “nice shot” from a mate, but a proper invitation off the back of it. That’s what happened with this arts event in Leicester. Out of the blue, through a mutual contact, I was asked if I’d like to photograph the launch of something called The C3 at The Nest, a rooftop bar above the Phoenix Cinema.

I said yes.

They told me they liked my photos, and as flattering as that is, it also changes the stakes. When I shoot for myself, or for this blog, or even for family, the pressure sits in a comfortable place. If it works, great. If it doesn’t, no one really cares. But when a group of creatives say they’ve noticed your work and want you there to capture their event, the expectation grows heavier. Suddenly, I’m not just a bloke wandering about with a camera, I’m the person tasked with showing what this whole thing looked and felt like.

That’s both exciting and a bit terrifying.

If I were photographing basketball, I’d be in a room full of basketball players. My job would be simple: point the lens at the action, freeze the movement, get the sweat, the jump, the moment the ball hits the net. There’d be no doubt about what matters. But this isn’t sport, it’s an arts event. I’ll be surrounded by painters, poets, DJs, crafters, stallholders, and musicians. A room full of people who already think visually, who notice the little things, who care about how their work is seen. That brings a different kind of pressure. They’ll be aware of my angles, my framing, whether I’ve managed to capture what makes their stall or performance unique. And that awareness makes me more aware too.

There’s a part of me that thrives on that pressure. It’s exactly why I said yes.

The chance here is to do something I haven’t done before. I’ve pointed my lenses at landscapes, tried to master the quirks of vintage film cameras, followed birds with the telephoto, and spent hours getting lost in macro shots of flowers. But I’ve never stood in the middle of a multi-layered arts event and tried to bottle its atmosphere in photographs. The opportunity isn’t just to take pictures, it’s to learn. To figure out how to work a space that’s constantly moving, full of distractions, full of moments that matter to someone even if they don’t matter to everyone.

It’s also a way to dip into a side of Leicester I don’t often see. The arts community here is alive, but I’ve rarely been in the thick of it. This event is promising a blend of sip, shop, connect, and create, a mixture of market, music, and meeting place. Normally I’d probably turn up with Emma and Bow, wander around, buy a print, grab a drink, and soak up the atmosphere. This time I’ll be part of the furniture, working the room with a camera, trying to find a rhythm of my own.

That shift from observer to participant is something I keep thinking about. I’m not an exhibitor, but in a way, I am. My photos will be part of the record of the day, part of what gets shared afterwards, part of how people remember it. That’s no small thing.

And then comes the practical side: gear.

The ND filters? Easy decision, they’re staying at home. Unless I suddenly decide to do a long exposure of a pint glass, there’s no point lugging them around. They’ve got their uses when I’m playing with water or traffic trails, but they’re irrelevant here.

The 200–600mm telephoto lens had me ready to leave it behind too, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised it could surprise me. It’s the lens I usually drag out for wildlife, where the whole point is to get close to something far away. But in a busy rooftop bar, maybe it offers a way of compressing the scene, isolating someone from across the room, or grabbing a detail without barging in. Even if I only use it once, that one shot could justify carrying it.

The 35mm is always my safe place, wide enough for context, natural enough for storytelling. The 85mm is my go-to for tighter frames, the kind where a person fills the image without too much fuss. The 20mm could be handy if I want to show the scale of the room, the stalls, or the whole rooftop view. If I’m honest, I’ll probably end up carrying them all, which means the real skill will be choosing in the moment and not wasting time swapping glass while something interesting passes me by.

Another thought that keeps creeping in: should I finally crack the nut that is off-camera flash? I’ve owned one for long enough without ever really using it properly. Six days isn’t much time to learn, but maybe this is the moment. Lighting is the one variable I can’t control in a venue like this, and if it turns out to be dim or awkward, having the option of adding a touch of light could be a lifesaver. Or it could just be me fumbling with triggers and batteries while everyone else gets on with their day. But if I don’t try, I won’t learn. And isn’t that the whole point?

My approach, whatever I end up carrying, is to be present without being in the way. To move enough to catch what matters, but not so much that I become part of the show. I want the stallholders to feel comfortable, the performers to forget I’m there, the organisers to know I’ve got them covered without me having to shout about it. My best-case scenario is that at the end of it all, every exhibitor walks away with a handful of photos they can use, and the organisers have material to promote the next event. Yes, I’ll share them for myself too, but the real win will be if the photos have a life beyond my own feed.

Of course, there are doubts. What if the light is terrible? What if my compositions are flat? What if the images don’t do justice to the effort people have put into being there? All of those are possibilities, and all of them will probably cross my mind in the moment. But then again, every shoot comes with its own challenges. I’ve learned enough to know that mistakes aren’t the end of the world. They’re just part of the process.

And maybe that’s why I’m excited as well as nervous.

This blog started as a way of documenting the learning curve, the mistakes, the gradual shift from fumbling about with buttons to having some sense of what I’m doing. Taking on an event like this feels like the next natural step, still learning, still guessing, but doing it in a space where the results matter not just to me but to others as well.

So here I am, a week before, trying to picture what the day will be like. Will I spend more time at the stalls, or glued to the performers? Will I get drawn into conversations, or keep my head down behind the lens? Will I find a rhythm, or spend the whole afternoon chasing moments I’ve already missed? I don’t know.

By the time this post goes live, it’ll all be over. I’ll have been there, camera in hand, doing my best to capture the feel of a launch event that’s trying to bring something new to the city. The photos will still be waiting on my memory cards, unculled, unedited, and unprocessed. I won’t have the full picture yet, literally or figuratively.

But I’ll get there.

For now, it’s enough to know that an opportunity came up, I said yes, and I’m going to give it everything I can. Once I’ve had the time to go through the images, to reflect properly, I’ll follow up. Until then, all I can say is that I’m stepping into something new, nervous and excited in equal measure, hoping to come away with photographs that do justice to the people who make the event what it is.

We’ll see...

Spoiler alert...... I couldn't wait to see the footage so I had a late night......

...TBC