James Sebright: The Body and The Blood

Side: Can you start by introducing The Body & The Blood? What drew you to Smithfield Meat Market, and what was happening there at the point you began making the work?

James Sebright: The Body & The Blood was created as a response to the announcement in November 2024 that Smithfield Meat Market in the City of London will close. The announcement was made by the City of London Corporation who operate the market, and whilst the timeline isn’t clear, it is likely to be in a couple of years’ time.

Prior to this, there had been a plan to move the market to a new facility in Dagenham - a “New Smithfield”, akin to New Covent Garden Market in Battersea - but this fell through. November 2024’s announcement therefore meant the market would close for good, marking an end to around 1000 years of trading animals on this site - something I find truly remarkable. The plan is to turn the building - a beautiful Victorian brick structure designed by City Architect Sir Horace Jones - into some form of cultural / retail space, part of a wider plan to turn this area into a ‘cultural quarter’. Smithfield’s General and Poultry markets, next door, are already in the process of being converted into the new home of the Museum of London, and so the closure of the meat market feels very much like the last piece of the puzzle for this urban generation masterplan.

Historically, Smithfield was home to a rich working class community; people were born, educated, worked, lived and died in the area. The streets were filled with small businesses and workshops, many of which were related to the market, but also other industries such as clock makers and jewellers. However, over the last 50 or so years these activities have been slowly pushed out in a process of managed gentrification. Highly paid office workers have replaced the artisans, glass and steel blocks have replaced the workshops over which workers once lived, whilst smart coffee shops and bistros have replaced the shops and cafes that supplied the needs of the incumbent population. I find it symbolically significant that TikTok’s UK headquarters is now in the new building that faces on to the Meat Market’s East side. For me, the closure of the market represents the final ‘sweeping-aside’ of the work class community in this part of the city. A museum and gift shop will replace centuries-old, living, breathing working class heritage. The irony is not lost on me.

The project was carried out as the final major project of my MA in Photojournalism and Documentary Photography at LCC, here in London. I’ve always been interested in history and find London fascinating in that respect. I’m a Northerner and have only been in London for about 7 years or so, and so I still feel very excited walking its streets. The city is alive with history. So much of how things are and how things are done today is influenced by events from many hundreds of years ago. The past is ever-present, and I find this relationship between the past and present fascinating. I think this fascination is what lies at the heart of my creative practice; how can I photograph the present and yet tell stories of this incredibly rich history? So when the announcement to close the market was made, I knew this was what my project had to be about, although at the start I wasn’t sure what form that would take.

Side: Smithfield runs on daily routines, but those routines were under threat while you were working there. How did that affect the way you worked on the project?

James Sebright: The Market is set to close in a couple of years’ time - there is no specific date yet - and so in once sense, day to day, nothing has changed. The rhythm of the Market is as it always has been. But of course, everyone knows that its days are now numbered, which casts a dark shadow over things. I spoke with people in market, and there was a sense of resignation. The threat of closure on this site has been around for a while, so it’s something they’ve lived with for a while. Some workers haven’t been there long, and so whilst there is a sadness, they don’t necessarily have that deep level of connection. Others have been there for decades, since they were 16 years old, and for them there is a deeper sadness, although they also said that the market isn’t what it used to be. The good old days have long since gone, and they said that they would have retired by the time it finally closes.

It’s worth noting that I didn’t go to the market every day in the manner of a more traditional social documentary project. Market access is controlled by the City of London Corporation who at their discretion issue a daily media pass on application. This can take a while to procure, and so I made a number of planned visits, from midnight until around 7am. As such, I didn’t develop deep relationships with workers; but the project is less about them specifically, and more about wider context and sweep of history. I did spend a lot of time in the Smithfield area, walking the streets, trying to soak up that rich history. It’s an extraordinary thing to stand in a place knowing that years before, people were burned and hung, drawn and quartered in the same place.

Side: Your photographs stay close to bodies, hands, tools, and surfaces rather than offering wide views of the market. How did working at that physical scale shape what the project became?

James Sebright: The closeness of the images is absolutely central to the project, not only in terms of what is shown, but also what isn’t shown. There is an intentional claustrophobia to the work, things hinted at, implied rather than fully revealed. It was never my intention to simply show the viewer what the market is like, but rather to use the market as a source text to reflect on the history of religion and violence that Smithfield embodies.

When I started shooting, I didn’t really know what visual language I wanted to use, how I wanted the project to look. Alongside my research, I had a long period of experimentation where I tried different ways of photographing to see what felt appropriate. For example, I tried shooting on film with available light, I tried putting a film through the camera twice to create layered images, I tried working with historical imagery and Google Maps and I tried using the ring flash to overpower any available light. The latter felt right, it has a visceral, hyper-real quality. I’ve always been interested in image making that is purely photographic - images that that the human eye can’t see. There is also a close link between this form of image-making and forensic and crime scene photography, which is obviously appropriate to the subject matter. Of course, as the market is open at night and no tripods are allowed into the market, this was also a purely practical response to the problem. Because my ring flash has a fairly limited power, the distance between the subject and camera was quite restricted. By necessity, this led me to the closeness, which I then developed further in a more honed, intentional, consistent visual language. 

This closeness raises the question of how much can we say about a place by offering the viewer fragments. Once I’d established this visual language, shooting became easier, more purposeful, and the project came into being in a much more coherent way. It’s absolutely central to the project so far.

That said, I’m now looking at producing a small number of wider, more contextualised views of the market to compliment the work I’ve already made. This will use a different visual language to act as a counterpoint. It’s in progress now, so I don’t want to say too much about it!

Side: You were photographing a place with centuries of history, but also one still very much in use. How did you navigate the tension between documenting the present and responding to what the site represents historically?

James Sebright: This tension lies at the heart of the project. Every image in the project has to successfully both represent the market in 2025 and also make some clear reference to Smithfield’s history of religion and violence. This was navigated by doing a lot of research about the market and the Smithfield area in general, as well as things like the representation of meat in European art. This all helped me during the editing process

Side: How then did you decide on the title The Body & the Blood? Do you feel it allows you to say more through the series, rather then calling the project something like "Smithfield"?

James Sebright: The title of a work is so important, I think, it's the very beginning of the conversation with the viewer and also a statement of intent. The fact that the title isn't just "Smithfield: signals that the project is about more than just the market, and I think that's important for the viewer to understand at the outset.

This is a work about a history of religion and violence, and I think that The Body & The Blood cuts right to the essence of that. As well as referencing the both the suffering of Christ and the animals that have been traded at Smithfield for over 900 years, the idea of the body and the blood lies at the heart of the eucharist and the division between Catholics and Protestants that led to so many people being burned in Smithfield in the 16th Century. But the body and blood could also refer to those such as William Wallace who were hung drawn and quartered at Smithfield, or even the market itself which is arguably the lifeblood of the City. It may even refer to our own bodies - and mortalities. Just as the market is ending, so shall we all.

For a long time, I didn't have a title, and when it came to create my first book dummy, I did indeed call it "Smithfield"! The Body & The Blood was in fact suggested by a course mate during a tutorial. I don't come from a religious background, and so the religious significance of some of the images was initially lost on me. Fortunately I had colleagues well versed in religion and its representation in Western art to guide me! I think this is the real benefit of a support group - no one has a monopoly on good ideas.

Side: It's interesting you mentioned the religious significance - Smithfield has long been a place where sustenance, sacrifice, and belief sit together. When editing the series, how did you decide how present those elements should be, and what role they would play within the wider body of images?

James Sebright: When I first started the project, I had no idea where it would go, I just knew that I wanted to make work about Smithfield. But by the time I came to editing and sequencing, I’d done a lot of research, a lot of reading about the region’s history. I’d decided very clearly that this work is about a 1000 year history coming to an end - central to which are the themes of religion and violence - and so I knew that these themes were central to the finished work.

The book is a series of sequences, each of which builds the level of violence to a crescendo, after which it fades out. That arc guided me in terms of which images to include. Within that, I think it was a question of balance, decisions often made intuitively. Some images are invariably stronger that others and some pair naturally with others, and so the editing process often takes on a life of its own. I think the work is best when the violence is suggested rather than explicit, and so I had to be careful not to make the work too gory. Restraint was essential and yet also difficult during the editing process. I use digital whiteboard software, and so it’s easy to see all the images at once, which allows one to easily assess the balance of themes. It was a slow, iterative process.

Side: Spending time creating work on an single environment often changes how you see it. How did your relationship to the market and the people who work there shift as the project developed?

James Sebright: Access to the market is closely guarded and so I made only 5 trips to interior of the Market to carry out intense, planned shoots. As such, I didn’t develop close relationships with specific individuals.

When I first went into the Market, it’s fair to say I was pretty intimidated by the people there. It’s a workplace and people have a job to do. They are used to film crews, journalists, etc., particularly at the start of the project, when the announcement of closure was made. As such, they aren’t impressed by someone with a camera, and there is a degree of suspicion and even hostility. Most people assumed I was working for one of the big newspapers and that their photograph might be in the papers. They were a little brusque, and I had to be careful not to get in the way. I had to put on my ‘game face’.

It’s obviously a very working class environment and many of the people are old-school Londoners. It’s a very close community, almost like a fraternity. Many people have been there for a long time, following their forefathers in the meat business. There’s real tradition and history in this trade, and so, as a middle-class Northerner, I sometimes felt out of place. Over time, through talking to people, I gained a degree of acceptance. There were some people who recognised me and were friendly.

By the end of my time there, I’d come to really love the people there and the Market in general. People there work very hard, in a very unsociable job. I have an enormous affection for them. It’s been one of the best things I’ve ever done, it will stay with me forever.

Side: Photographing labour that involves animal bodies and violence raises specific ethical questions. How did you think about responsibility, respect, and care while making the work?

James Sebright: I think it’s important to say from the outset that I eat meat and that I have no moral issue with that, given the animals are treated with kindness and respect throughout their lives. I therefore think it’s important to understand where our meat comes from and the journey it has made to our plates. I appreciate that others do not share this view.

Food hygiene is a very important part of this journey, and so I always made sure to never touch the meat if possible. As well as a respect for the animal that has died to provide us with sustenance, this was also out of respect for the butchers and the final consumers. Put simply, it’s not mine to touch.

From my experience, all of the butchers I encountered at Smithfield had a great respect for the meat, for the animal carcasses. Of course, it’s the source of their income, but I believe it goes beyond that. They are part of a long tradition. The essence of the market hasn’t changed in it’s lifetime. There’s a deep connection with the past through the meat. It has its own beauty, a universality, that we find fascinating. The meat passing through Smithfield now is exactly the same as it was 1000 years ago when animals started to be traded.

So, whilst I always approached the meat with respect, I never felt that there were aspects of it that I couldn’t photograph, in the way that I might if photographing people. The work is unflinching, but everything is honest, as it was.

In some of the images, the meat resembles human bodies; a piece of pork invokes the grizzled neck of a hanged victim, or a lamb appears like the stabbed, scarred back of a man. This ambiguity is intentional, the bodies of the animals acting as a symbol of the pain and suffering Christ and his various followers experienced for their beliefs. Christianity has a bloody history as has been represented in the works of artists such as Caravaggio, Rembrandt or Bacon. These images are disturbing, intentionally so. However, I believe that the work has its power from what is implied and from what we imagine.

Side: When it came to editing the project, how did you decide what stayed in and what was left out? Were there images that felt important when taking them but didn’t end up in the final series?

James Sebright: I think like in all projects, there were certain key images that I knew were important to the project, that I knew were going to make the cut from early on. Other images were selected in terms of how they interacted with others, in terms of sequencing. I often shoot a lot, and a lot of the same kind of images, just to get the “right” one.

This then means a lot of editing, just to select my favourite from a multitude of similar images. This was the case with many of the close up shots of meat. Fairly early on I decided upon the emotional arc that I wanted the edit to have, and so that guided the selection. And of course, I had lots of feedback, which eventually led to me to remove some of the images I’d selected, to make it tighter and more restrained. It’s better for it. And I might cull a couple more yet.

There weren’t any images that I felt were important at the time but then which didn’t make it. I think sometimes it’s difficult to appreciate the value of images at the time when you’re in the thick of it. It’s only when you’ve removed yourself from the situation and you’ve had time to reflect that you really see the value of what you’ve got.

Side: For photographers thinking about submitting images to MySide from their own communities, what would you say about recognising a shift while it’s still unfolding, rather than after it’s already passed?

James Sebright: I always used to have a beef with those photographers who suddenly appear out of the woodwork when something was going to close. How many times have we seen project titles that start with “The demise of…” Too many! That said, I’m sure I’m guilty of this. It’s inevitable to a degree. 

I therefore think it’s really important to document the present in its own terms. Change happens all the time, even if it’s very slow. It happens in spite of us. Things are different in so many ways now to even 10 years ago. Look back 20 years and it’s like a different world. 

So yes, I think it is very difficult to recognise and to photograph change when it’s happening. In terms of my project, the rhythm of the market is largely the same as it always has been; visually there is no difference. What has changed is people’s feelings about the situation, what’s happening on the inside, and that is difficult to chronicle through photography alone. Maybe talking to people and reading the news is a good way to assess change.

Keep engaging, keep shooting. Change is one of the few things in life that are guaranteed to happen. To us all.

Side: Thank you so much for speaking with us James!

If this piece has you thinking about the changes shaping your landscapes and communities, MySide is open now, and we want to see photographs and projects that explore your side of life.