Common Ground
Why Wrexham?
Oliver Stephen
Photo by Phil Green
We talk with Oliver Stephen.
His lens has charted a decade at the Racecourse, but the story it tells is really about Wrexham itself: the town that gave him sobriety, community, and a sense of home after a lifetime of searching for one.
Why Wrexham?
The simplest answer is Wrexham is home.
This is the town where I turned my life around; where I got sober, found hope, found friends, and found a football family. It’s where a new version of me was born, so this is in a sense my hometown now. I’m Wrexham ‘til I die.
I came here for art school, to be an oil painter, and ended up finding myself instead. I began to discover who I was through making art and became part of the art world here. Slowly over time the club became a passing subject, then something I actively observed, then something I found myself participating in. There was no specific point where being a fan was a choice.
When I came here, I wasn’t one, then one day I’m standing outside on match days taking pictures and wishing I was inside. It crept in, got a hold, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.
Early Creative Path
I remember seeing my Uncle Cled with his camera at family weddings when I was about 4-5 years old, and I thought it looked cool. My family had a 110 Kodak camera which I took my first photo with. I remember running down the back alley in Didsbury, bursting into my Auntie Alice’s garden, and taking a badly framed surprise portrait of her.
I’ve always loved photos, remembering the things happening in the image or imagining myself in places and times I hadn’t been present.
At A-Level, age 16, I chose Photography, Psychology and Art to study so I got a Pentax K1000 and started shooting on 35mm film. I’d drawn and painted my whole life, and because I was told I was ‘good’ at it I continued doing it out of expectation… but even back then photography had this special feeling that I didn’t get elsewhere. I didn’t embrace it fully because I wasn’t self-aware enough, didn’t engage in reflection, and was afraid of being me rather than what I was told to be.
I felt the call of the documentary tradition as I was always interested in recording what was happening around me, and documenting things for posterity. I also like working in abstract and more experimental ways too, and that does bleed into my documentary work.
It’s the telling of a story, the capturing of a moment, an observation, or a feeling that’s been important to me. I’ve always liked Rutger Hauer’s line in Blade Runner: “I've seen things you people wouldn't believe… All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.” Our stories, the things that happen, the moments of beauty and curiosity we have… I’m trying to save them, so they don’t get lost in time.
As a student I’d started using photography as a way to explore my sense of identity, then when I graduated and got a job in the art school, I began photographing the life in the studios. There’s more to an artwork than what you see in a degree show.
There are years spent in the studios, there's life, growth, setbacks, personal challenges, friendships, love, loss, change… all of that is
there behind the work and I wanted people to see it. Taking those photos helped teach me the importance of documentary photography.
The First Images of The Racecourse
My first photo of the stadium, taken with intent, was in 2015. I was walking to work at the uni, and there was a sign on the side of The Turf that said, “Bungee Jump here”. I’d seen it multiple times over a month or so, and I happened to have my camera on me, so I trusted my instinct and took a shot of it.
As I did, I looked over at the old kop, spotted the turnstiles, thought they looked interesting, and took a photo.
I didn’t think much of it at the time, but that was the first time I really started to not just notice things, but actually look.
Up to that point the stadium was just a stadium, a place I would pass by, the same as many other locations in Wrexham. Whilst doing my degree I’d been shown the work of Bernd and Hilla Becher and their Typologies series. I loved what they did with documenting all the different types of water towers, pit heads, silos and so on. I wanted to do something similar, but I don’t drive, I had no money, and I didn’t know where to even find those sorts of things. So, I decided to photograph one of the stadium floodlights, as they reminded me of their work.
I figured I could take a single shot as it might help me understand the Becher’s work, so I took one. Then I took another, and another, and another. For a period of a few years, I’d take shots of the floodlights as I went past. It started to be intentional rather than casual, and it grew from me trying to scratch that itch and make work like the Becher’s to being its own thing. I wanted to see how many ways I could represent a single subject. So, I kept going and slowly the camera pulled out to capture bits of the stadium, and I’d notice little things, flashes of red here and there, the way a railing looked… and I’d become curious about what was happening inside.
Then came a point in 2023 where I realised I was standing on the corner of Crispin Lane, with my camera, photographing the crowds post-match… and I couldn’t tell you why I was there or when I had even left the house to do it. It had become a thing that needed to be photographed.
At that point I hadn’t even watched the documentary, and I think I only watched it after the second series had finished.
Anxiety, Exposure and Growth
Moving from being on the outside to the inside was a big thing, it was a period of transition for me, where I feel like I was
going from one version of me to another.
My degree trained me to throw myself in to situations with uncertain outcomes, knowing only there would be a creative result if you embrace the moment. So, I just went at it knowing from previous personal experiences that something good lay on the other side of that discomfort. The thing that got me through it personally and creatively was knowing that I felt some kind of connection to it all. Pushing through discomfort for the sake of it is just a chore, or just ticking off an achievement someone else thinks you should have.
I felt drawn into it all, and my instincts as an artist told me it’s the direction I should be going in.
I was born in Manchester, and I when I was about 4 or 5 years old my neighbour asked me who I supported. I had no idea about
football, and the options were simply City or United… United wore red, so I picked them. At age 7 we moved south to London, and I was bullied for being a Man U fan, so I stopped supporting them. I played a little football in the playground throughout school, but never really got into it because I only had negative associations with it. Though I did spend the next 35 years wanting to support a team but having nobody to support and no encouragement.
I don’t come from a football family, there’s no lineage of support throughout it, and I never felt a true connection to anywhere. Growing up where I did, I was supposed to choose QPR, Chelsea, Fulham, or Brentford… but I didn’t feel anything for those places. I’d play FIFA on my own and need to pick a team, but again I had nowhere I felt something for. I’d pick Swansea or Cardiff as they were Welsh, but they weren’t the Wales that I knew as my family is from the North.
I heard it said once that you should support a team because they mean something to you, not just because they win. I never
felt a connection anywhere in my life before Wrexham, it saved my life, so the team here was what I’d been looking for. A place I was proud to live in, a community I contributed to, and somewhere I had history (my Mum and Dad lived here 50 years ago, my Auntie and Uncle were here for my entire life, and it’s North Wales). Honestly, it might even be that the photography was just an excuse
to finally embrace a sport I’d wanted to be involved in for most of my life. It gave me a reason to push forwards towards things I wanted.
My camera helps me through things because it gives me permission to be somewhere mentally, I have a reason and a thing that needs doing. It’s both a barrier between me and the world, keeping it at a distance, and something that enables me to engage with it and brings me closer. Without it I wouldn’t have started this journey, or
it’s unlikely to have happened this quickly for me.
The camera gave me something to focus on that took my mind off any anxiety, it let me figure out what I truly was interested in and helped me push myself to overcome challenges.
Matchday Now
The only real routine I have is picking up my camera on the way out of the door.
I accept that from the moment I leave the house and until I get back, I will only have a vague idea of what will happen.
The most I know is a football will be kicked. I don’t know if it will be a happy ending to the match, a sad one, whether I go straight home or end up out with others until late, my job is simply to pay attention and react to what happens around me.
There are definitely shots I want, but I operate with a no interference policy. I won’t ever stage anything, people can pose if
they want, or ask me to take a shot, but I won’t ever construct a scene to tell a story, it has to happen organically in the moment in front of the camera. There are visual tropes that serve as a shorthand, so I keep an eye out for any that help communicate the moment in front of me. It’s a sort of visual dictionary in my head that I can turn to, but it’s the unexpected moments, the candid honest ones that I really look for.
There is no set idea of a “successful” image to me, the only criteria I usually have is does it have a narrative or contribute to the overall story, and do I find it aesthetically pleasing? Some of my favourite shots have been ones that are out of focus, or blurry, or not ‘properly’ framed. I’m always more interested in how the image feels than how ‘perfect’ it is.
Matchday is also about me having some fun and enjoying myself, so sometimes I have to put the camera away and remind myself
that it’s not only about taking pictures. That’s a big thing for me, this has become more than me observing subjects, I’ve become a participant. I’m no longer on the outside, I’ve slowly worked my way in and it’s my actual life, it’s no longer a project.
The Club's History and Identity
Initially I wasn’t aware of much of the history, which is the same will all new things. When I first picked up a camera, I didn’t know anything about it’s history, then over time I learned about things like the pictorialists, Japanese post-war photography, the FSA photographers, and my place in the lineage and tradition of documentary photography.
As time went on with shooting around the club, I slowly learned bits and pieces and became more fascinated with it.
Photography, in the documentary tradition for me anyway, is about learning things about your subject matter. I heard a talk by KRS One where he mentioned that some cultures require participation in order to enable interpretation, and I’ve very much found that will all work I’ve done. I’m stepping into people’s lives, I’m witnessing their day-to-day reality, I’m telling their story, and in order to document that faithfully I need to understand it.
I’ve often said that I’m not taking photos for now, I’m taking them for 100 years down the line. There are photos we see of 100 years in the past, and we have them because someone thought that telling that story and recording that thing nobody thought mattered was worth doing. They were probably thought to be odd, and likely as it is now, people wouldn’t understand why something unimportant was so important.
This is a period of massive change for the club and the town, and I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to document a small portion of it. When people look back, there is a chance I may have some significant photos... but I don’t know that for sure. I only know that the photos are important to me, and these are the things I want to be remembered. History will decide if they have value, not me.
I also encourage other people to take photos of this time period, and to record the changes and their lives. All our stories
are important, and I’ve been ‘fortunate’ enough to be in the spotlight, but my story isn’t interesting to me. The global spotlight is on the town, and it’s changed it, so it’s important for people to document that as one day it will go away.
For me, I was here photographing the town before the spotlight shone on us, I will photograph the town and the spotlight while it’s on us, and when it goes, I’ll still be here doing what I do. My passion for this isn’t contingent on media attention, I do it because I believe in the work, and I love this town.
There is a Buddhist idea of the finger that points the way to the moon. They say not to look at the finger, or you will miss all of the heavenly glory. I’m just a finger. I point at things that I think are interesting and valuable, because I want them to be remembered and appreciated. I’m just pointing at the moon in this part of our history, trying to continue and document the traditions for those who come after us.
Black, White and Red
My work leans towards a cinematic style because I’ve something of an obsession with cinema. Movies have been a massive influence on me, so I’m drawn towards presenting the truth of what's in front of me with some degree of flair and style. I don’t really think I have a visual style, and I’m always surprised when people say they can pick one of my photos out of a lineup.
Style was something I was interested in when I was younger, as I thought, as a lot of people seem to, that when you have a style then you’ve made it, you’re complete. Letting go of chasing a style freed me up to do what I want. Style can be a limitation that isn’t helpful.
I flip between colour and black and white all the time as they have their strengths. Black and white can feel timeless, and more serious, and colour can feel incredibly alive. Red is a recurring colour in the work as it’s our colour as a team, so I can never switch entirely to black and white, you need the colour to know who is who in some pictures. It’s like watching snooker in black and white.
I try and keep my compositions simple and let the complexity come from the subject matter. It’s tempting to over do it, and try to be dramatic and over stylised, but I try to resist as much as possible. Oftentimes as I’m responding to split second events, I don’t have time to come up with a fancy composition as what's happening will only ever be there for a second. Really, I’m just trusting that what is happening in front of the camera will do the work for me. Photography is really about observation, and if you point the camera at something that is interesting, you should get an interesting image back.
The Emotional Frame
I can’t tell you which image I’ve taken that is the most emotionally significant, because that’s between me and the people in it. What I can say is that over the last year or so, I’ve had people approach me in the street, talk to me on match days, email me, message me, and so on, to tell me what an impact my story and my images have had on them. There are moments I’ve captured that make good images, have a strong narrative, but contain something I didn’t know was happening. Sometimes it’s a shot on a significant match day, a hug between two friends, a key location that means something... things I don’t know when I press the shutter release. These moments mean a lot to people, and it’s incredibly
moving to know that what I do has this impact.
Honestly, it’s why I do it. Those moments are so important, and whilst I can’t capture them all, I can do my fair share and try to preserve them. I take photos for the community because it’s mine too. That emotional reaction, you can’t put a price tag on it, and no amount of celebrity of wealth can ever beat knowing I took a photo that means something to someone on a personal level.
Football is something that brings out a lot of
passion in people, so it’s just letting it happen in front of me and capturing the feeling of that moment or day. Emotions run high whatever the result, and being present, feeling these things alongside other fans means a lot to me. As a participant it’s amazing to share moments of strong feeling with other people, jumping up and down in terraces after a goal, that camaraderie before a match, or the connection you feel on a non-match day when you see people in passing.
As an observer with a camera it’s such a gift, there’s such a wealth of feeling there all the time, it’s a joy and honour to be able to capture it for posterity.
Nine Prints, One Collective
In simple terms I selected images that I like.
There were key periods I wanted shots from, and specific images I’ve always had a fondness for, but it’s difficult to sum up 10 years of a project in just nine images. I’ve tried to select ones that I find myself drawn to again and again.
I spent a lot of my 20s working as a graphic designer, mainly for in-house marketing departments, and it was soul destroying. Making work that only existed to persuade people to part with money for things they didn’t need never satisfied me, and always made me feel like a liar of sorts. I approach my own personal work with a desire to never work in that fashion again, I want what I do to be authentic and honest and not in the service of an advertising executives desire to part people needlessly from their money.
The Wrexham story can be seen as an exercise in advertising, and in some part, it is, but the people who are part of it are genuine real people. The community existed before the cameras came, and they will be here after them, and I want to tell that story as honestly as I can, so people know it’s real. Offering this work independently of the club allows me to exist outside of any sort of curated marketing narrative and show the truth as I see it… which is pretty close to the way it’s presented anyway!
Community and Creativity in Wrexham.
Wrexham has had a creative community here for as long as I and my family can remember. There’s always been a strong music scene here, and the art school has been around in one form or another for at least 50 years. It’s struggled a little in recent years with the loss of UnDegUn and Ty Cornel, which were independent grassroots art spaces, but the creative community will never go away.
Over the last year or two we’ve had murals start to go up around the town, which has helped improve the general look and feel of the town and provided opportunities for local artists. The football has also given artists a chance to create work about the club and the town, and some people I know have sold work all over the globe thanks to this interest in the town and the team.
The increased fortunes of the club have also given local photographers something to point their cameras at, and we have an informal network now based mostly off the back of all meeting each other outside matches with our cameras.
As with any surge of popularity in something there are creatives who will jump on board to make a quick buck, and there are others who will make the work because they feel it’s something they’re drawn to do. Thankfully a decent amount understand the need to document this period of time, and the value that different forms of art can add to the documentation we have. It’s not just about how something looked during a period, but also how it felt, and artists are the perfect people to capture that feeling. I’m glad to be a small cog in that creative machine that’s keeping the record of this period of transition for the town and the club.
One Club, One Town
Football is a unifying force for many people around the world, it brings us together as communities, under the same banner. We only have the one major club here, so on match day we are one people, one town, one club, we can set aside petty differences and all cheer for the same team.
Supporting the club isn’t just about the football, but it’s also about pride and membership within the community of the town and the county.
When we travel away from the town wearing something with the club badge on it, its letting people know where we’re from and that we’re proud of it. We come together for something bigger than us, something we love, for a name that unites us as one, and Wrexham is the name.
Oliver Stephen’s work documents more than football. It captures transition - from hesitation to belonging, from exterior to interior, from observer to participant.
His limited-edition Wrexham AFC prints are available exclusively through Cae Ras Collective.
All photography courtesy of:
@wowzersphotography_official
@philgreenphotographyuk
Introducing
Oliver Stephen Photography
We are delighted to have Olly as part of the Cae Ras Collective to showcase his talent. Olly is based in Wrexham and a regular at matches documenting a love of Wrexham AFC and the town.