Grayson Perry, on Martin Parr

When I first came upon the photography of Martin Parr in a colour supplement at some point in the 1980s, a very loud bell rang. Here was someone who was pointing out with laser precision the aspects of society I didn't even know I was driven by. He framed anthropological observations that I didn't yet know I was fascinated by. Class, identity, individualism and belonging, what it is to be British: in these subjects, Martin's photos are my guiding text. Often the most affecting encounters with culture are those that make concrete the wisps of feeling we have been sensing for years. For me, the photographs of Martin Parr did just that, and I'm sure they have done the same thing for millions of other people all over the planet.

Since that first encounter, his work has been a guiding beacon for me, pointing out patterns and dissonances in society, but more importantly showing me how to look. Over the course of his long and vastly prolific career - to date he has produced more than 100 books and many more exhibitions - Martin has developed an anthropological 'sat nav' that will reliably take him to where his hyper-developed image-making skills can play and disrupt. His genius is not just in spotting the shot, but in booking the flight and getting the access [...]

One of the first things I asked him is something I'm sure other people must wonder: 'How do you get away with taking some of these photographs?' If I saw Martin striding purposefully towards me with a camera, I would be tempted to run. The few times he has taken my photo, I have ended up looking like someone in a Martin Parr photograph. I stare blankly out, my pretentions pinned like a butterfly to a card. I have occasionally seen him at work in the field, alert but camouflaged by banality. He has developed a carefully crafted image: the genial dowdy everyman that no one will notice, in faded clothes and sandals, who pokes the camera in someone's face with utter confidence and then turns away and disappears into the background the split second after pressing the shutter.

- Grayson Perry, in Martin Parr: Only Human, London, 2019, p.10-11.