Renowned war photographer Don McCullin has spent his life capturing the darkest corners of humanity, and a new exhibition at Bath's Holburne Museum is a poignant reminder of the horrors he's witnessed. The 'Broken Beauty' show, which spans over 60 years of McCullin's work, features haunting images that linger long after you've left the gallery.
Titled 'Broken Beauty', the exhibition opens with four recent photographs of ruined Roman sculptures, their pockmarked surfaces and broken limbs a powerful metaphor for the fragility of human ideals. The juxtaposition of beauty with horror is a hallmark of McCullin's work, as seen in pictures like 'Crouching Venus', whose shattered head and missing arms seem to mock the very concept of feminine beauty.
The exhibition delves into some of the bleakest moments in living memory, including the Biafran war and the AIDS crisis. The photographs are raw and unflinching, with many focusing on young men – their propensity for violence, but also their resilience and grief. A striking image shows a group of Christian Phalangists mocking the dead body of a teenage Palestinian girl, while another picture captures the vacant stare of a 15-year-old boy at his father's funeral.
In contrast to these harrowing images, McCullin's landscapes are often somber and introspective. His photographs of industrial landscapes and workers, homeless people and poverty-stricken areas, serve as a stark reminder of the human cost of societal neglect. A picture of a homeless man sleeping standing up in Shoreditch is particularly striking, highlighting the liminal state that many individuals find themselves in.
One of the most striking aspects of McCullin's work is his ability to capture the immediacy and urgency of conflict photography. The Belfast triptych from 1971 shows riot police edging around a building, ready for an attack, while another image captures the moment a man hurls a plank at their shields.
In contrast, landscapes offer a fleeting respite from the brutality of war. McCullin's still lifes and photographs of his garden shed serve as a reminder that even in proximity to devastation and death, there is beauty to be found – a 'blunt side of the knife', as he puts it.
The exhibition offers a poignant introduction to McCullin's immense contribution to photojournalism, but also serves as a sobering reminder of the horrors he's witnessed. As we gaze upon his photographs, we can't help but wonder what he saw in those moments – and how it continues to haunt him still.
Titled 'Broken Beauty', the exhibition opens with four recent photographs of ruined Roman sculptures, their pockmarked surfaces and broken limbs a powerful metaphor for the fragility of human ideals. The juxtaposition of beauty with horror is a hallmark of McCullin's work, as seen in pictures like 'Crouching Venus', whose shattered head and missing arms seem to mock the very concept of feminine beauty.
The exhibition delves into some of the bleakest moments in living memory, including the Biafran war and the AIDS crisis. The photographs are raw and unflinching, with many focusing on young men – their propensity for violence, but also their resilience and grief. A striking image shows a group of Christian Phalangists mocking the dead body of a teenage Palestinian girl, while another picture captures the vacant stare of a 15-year-old boy at his father's funeral.
In contrast to these harrowing images, McCullin's landscapes are often somber and introspective. His photographs of industrial landscapes and workers, homeless people and poverty-stricken areas, serve as a stark reminder of the human cost of societal neglect. A picture of a homeless man sleeping standing up in Shoreditch is particularly striking, highlighting the liminal state that many individuals find themselves in.
One of the most striking aspects of McCullin's work is his ability to capture the immediacy and urgency of conflict photography. The Belfast triptych from 1971 shows riot police edging around a building, ready for an attack, while another image captures the moment a man hurls a plank at their shields.
In contrast, landscapes offer a fleeting respite from the brutality of war. McCullin's still lifes and photographs of his garden shed serve as a reminder that even in proximity to devastation and death, there is beauty to be found – a 'blunt side of the knife', as he puts it.
The exhibition offers a poignant introduction to McCullin's immense contribution to photojournalism, but also serves as a sobering reminder of the horrors he's witnessed. As we gaze upon his photographs, we can't help but wonder what he saw in those moments – and how it continues to haunt him still.
I'm both fascinated and disturbed by Don McCullin's work - it's like he's holding up a mirror to humanity, showing us all the darkest corners of our own nature 
. His ability to capture the immediacy and urgency of conflict is truly unsettling, but at the same time, his landscapes and still lifes offer a glimmer of hope that even in the midst of chaos, there's beauty to be found 
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. But what really gets me is how his photographs can evoke such strong emotions and leave you questioning everything 
. It's like he's asking us to confront our own demons, to acknowledge the humanity in even the most broken of things.
. But despite the darkness, there's a sense of resilience and hope that permeates his photographs, a message that even in the bleakest moments, there's always beauty to be found 
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. The way they've put all these haunting images together is really well done, but at times it felt like I needed a break from all the sadness. Don McCullin's work is just so raw and unflinching, you can't help but feel like you're right there with him in those moments of horror. And I love how they've balanced it out with some of his more introspective landscapes - it feels like he's showing us that even amidst all the chaos, there's still beauty to be found... but honestly, most days I'm just over all the human suffering 
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. It's not easy to look at some of these images - I mean, who wants to see a teenage boy staring blankly at his father's funeral? 
- but it's exactly those moments that remind us of the impact that photography can have.
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I love how his photography can be both repulsive and beautiful at the same time. It's like a mirror held up to humanity, reflecting our worst and best selves simultaneously 
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. The way he captures these powerful images that just leave you feeling... drained 
. And can you believe he's been doing this for over 60 years?! That's dedication to the craft 
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. And those still lifes and garden photos? So peaceful and serene 
. But at the same time, you can't help but wonder what he saw in all those moments of horror... it's like, how do you process something so traumatic? 
. It's a poignant reminder that there's beauty and ugliness coexisting in this world - we just have to look closely enough to see it 
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. The way the broken sculptures are juxtaposed with the images of war and poverty is like, wow... it's like he's holding up a mirror to humanity. 
and I'm speechless. The human cost of conflict is just too much 
. The way he captured these haunting images over 60 years is just mind-blowing. I mean, 'Crouching Venus' still gives me the chills 
. But what really gets me is how he juxtaposes beauty with horror - it's like he's showing us that even in the darkest moments, there's always something to be found.
Those industrial photos of workers and poverty-stricken areas... it's just heartbreaking. But at the same time, they're so important. They remind us that behind all the chaos, there are people who are just trying to survive 
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the sheer amount of trauma and devastation McCullin's captured over 60 years is just...wow 
it's like he's holding up a mirror to our collective soul, except instead of a flattering portrait, we get a grotesque, war-torn reflection 