This grubby old fart seems to have achieved some sort of late life fame (he's 82) with exhibitions currently in London, Paris (at the Pompidou) and here in Sydney (at the Biennale)

His prints are possibly the worst I've seen anywhere; rat chewed (literally -- he lives in squalor) every possible fault in the negatives, chemistry spotted, some subjects photographed from TV screens -- but the curators and galleries love him.

There may be a point, as made in "The Guardian" by Geoff Dyer, that (some) photographers are obsessed with new gear and perfection of technique, and my belief that popular music needed someone like The Sex Pistols -- whose primitive impact on art rock has perhaps some affinity to the critics' perception of Tichy, but that group of musos at least had the grace to fade away disgracefully, this junk merchant is le dernier cri.

What am I missing? Damnit I made a second 80 km trip for another look after reading Dyer's write up, and they just got worse!

There is a film running with the exhibition; one scene depicts Tichy urinating in the street, I know exactly how that footpath felt!

Regards - Ross