Don McCullin, the legendary British war photographer who spent decades documenting humanity's darkest moments across conflict zones from Cyprus to Cambodia, has reached his 90th birthday with a remarkable transformation. The man who once captured starving children in Biafra, shell-shocked soldiers in Vietnam, and the aftermath of unspeakable violence in Northern Ireland has found unexpected solace in photographing pears, flowers, and pastoral landscapes from a humble garden shed in Somerset, England.
This striking transition from battlefield horror to botanical beauty is the central theme of "The Stillness of Life," a new photography book published by Gost that celebrates McCullin's milestone birthday. The collection reveals a side of the photographer that will surprise anyone familiar only with his harrowing war imagery. More importantly, it offers insight into how photojournalists survive the psychological weight of witnessing humanity's worst atrocities.
Since the early 1980s, McCullin has been creating stunning still-life photographs in a derelict shed on his Somerset property. These images feature carefully arranged compositions of gladioli and foxgloves alongside bronze dragons and Hindu goddesses, all captured in the dim light filtering through a grimy window. To achieve the dramatic lighting reminiscent of Dutch master paintings, McCullin deliberately blackened the shed walls with soot, creating a patina that mimics the great artistic traditions of the past.
The results are nothing short of extraordinary – photographs that evoke Caravaggio for the digital age, with chiaroscuro drama applied to cut flowers and hedgerow mushrooms. McCullin's technical mastery, honed through decades of darkroom work, shines through in every image. His legendary ability to control shadows and highlights with surgical precision creates depth and drama whether his subject is a dying soldier or a dying flower.
"Over the years going to various wars, this corner of Somerset has saved and restored my sanity," McCullin recently told The Guardian. This simple statement carries enormous weight when considered against the catalog of atrocities this photographer has witnessed throughout his career. From the bombed-out streets of Belfast to the killing fields of Southeast Asia, McCullin's camera has been present at some of the 20th century's most traumatic moments.
Yet his landscape photographs, gathered from throughout his career and featured in the new book, don't offer easy pastoral comfort. Instead, they frequently present bleak visions: denuded trees against threatening skies, industrial wastelands, and biblical cloudscapes over empty fields. There's an almost ominous quality to many of these images, as if the photographer cannot help but see potential battlegrounds even in peaceful countryside.
This perspective may stem from a pivotal childhood memory. In 1940, five-year-old McCullin arrived at Frome station in Somerset, clutching a gas mask and his sister's hand after being evacuated from London during the Blitz. That first encounter with the English countryside – safety after terror – created an emotional imprint that has lasted 85 years and continues to influence his work.
The timing of "The Stillness of Life" coincides with McCullin's first solo exhibition in New York City, "A Desecrated Serenity" at Hauser & Wirth, running through November 8. It's remarkable that a photographer of his international stature is only now receiving this New York spotlight, but perhaps the moment is perfectly right for such recognition.
What the new book ultimately proves is that McCullin's still-life work should not be dismissed as a lesser pursuit or mere retirement hobby. These are masterclasses in lighting, composition, and printing that demonstrate the same technical brilliance that made his conflict photography so devastatingly powerful. His darkroom mastery, developed over decades, produces prints legendary for their tonal range and emotional impact.
The book reveals that great photographers don't lose their vision when they change subjects – they simply refocus it with the same intensity and skill. McCullin's war images showed us the worst of humanity, while his Somerset work demonstrates that even after witnessing hell, it's possible to find peace in something as simple as a pear sitting in a kitchen sink, photographed with the same passionate attention he once brought to battlefields. This transformation represents not a retreat from important work, but rather an act of survival and, in its own way, a form of courage that speaks to the resilience of the human spirit.
