I've just heard the news, and it's hit me hard. Martin Parr, the photographer who made a career out of documenting Britain's working-class holidays, village fetes and supermarket queues in gloriously oversaturated colour, died at his home in Bristol on Saturday. He was 73.
I won't lie, we're all in shock. My editor Chris George saw him only a few weeks ago, at a talk at his Foundation in Bristol. I chatted with him as recently as August, at Green Man Festival in Wales, following a screening of his documentary, I Am Martin Parr. I'd always been a fan, but watching that film (which I'd highly recommend), then meeting the man himself, was a revelation.
