REVIEW | HAYLEY THEYERS AND MURRAY CAMMICK
ordinary time and beyond the banal.
It’s an interesting path from Theyers’
eeriness to the rambunctiousness of
Murray Cammick’s show, Queens Street.
In many ways, the two displays are
perfect companion pieces: to the back
room for a letting-out of haunting
things; to the front room to be revived.
Once you’ve emptied out your
subconscious, immerse yourself in
earthly entertainment.
It’s always a pleasure seeing Cammick’s
photographs. Being a history lover and
archive fiend is one reason; however,
even though the images are more than
40 years old, they don’t seem dated
— at least not in their energy. They’re
insistently present, as is conveyed by
both the subjects within the frame
and the obvious presence of the man
behind the lens. It’s all too easy to let
a thesaurus of pleasure do the talking:
joyous, libido rich (as in an uncontained
life force), satisfying, and complete.
The images are a snapshot of
Queen Street life in Auckland from 1975
to 1977. The subjects are mostly women
— in all their manifestations, including
drag — out on the Auckland streets.
(Cammick originally thought about
calling the show Girls, Girls, Girls.) The
exhibition reads as the other side of
the same coin as the photographer’s
notable Flash Cars series, which features
V8 boy racers, also on Queen Street. In
both instances, the participants are partof subcultures: the gas-guzzler lovers,
the drag queens, the wide-eyed youth
out on the town for the evening.
George Hubbard describes Cammick
as having an empathic view of those
he photographs; I agree — there is no
clear aversion to the photographer
shown by the subjects or a turning
away from his look. Instead, the
individuals pout and pose for him,
as in Keri and Two Friends, Platform
Shoes, Fort Lane, 1975 (2019) and
Keri and Telephone Box, Queen St at
Wyndham St, 1976 (2016). Cammick
notes, “I am pleased that I captured
their dream of being fabulous models.
Their beauty was a street reality.”
In others, there’s a call and response
between the subject and the
photographer, such as in Hot Chips,
Imperial Arcade, 1975 (2019). The
expression is open and welcoming — a
second of shared conviviality between
two people on an Auckland night. This
feeling is also apparent in Big Smile,
Queen St, 1976 (2019). At a time when
emotional range is limited to Instagram
selfies, to see someone unrestrainedly
beaming is like an exhalation of relief:
humanity in action.
There is a fleeting wistfulness in a few of
the images. We all may know the feeling
well: when you’re in the midst of a riotous,
unfurling evening with friends and there’s
a sliver of self-reflexivity, when you realize
the passing nature of time. Young WomanMURRAY CAMMICK, HOT CHIPS, IMPERIAL ARCADE, 1975