It’s not often you get to experience the works of a creative who has significantly influenced your taste and inspiration in photography – and discuss them in real-time with the creator themselves. It’s a calm Friday afternoon, and Artist and Photographer Miles Aldridge is absorbed in his latest project. Surrounding me, vibrant characters in acidic hues from his extensive catalogue of work gaze out through the quietude. In one frame, a multi-hued domestic setting barely contains a woman reminiscent of Elizabeth Taylor. Clad in a wipe-clean dress, she silently screams over a half-grapefruit crowned with a glacé cherry. Known as Actress #6, she’s just one of many faces whose familiar presence feels oddly recognisable. Like a character from a forgotten noir film, perhaps it’s the backdrop of domesticity that creates this impression – or simply the result of years spent admiring these images in awe. Now, finally standing among them, they feel like old friends.

In this moment, the question of my assignment feels more pressing than the mystery behind Actress #6’s scream. How can the iconic, enduring career of Miles be captured in one brief conversation? Perhaps that’s part of the beauty – and the irony – that his wordless works speak volumes through perspective alone. Around the studio, reminders of time abound; the characters appear suspended within it, caught in fragments of film – paused, silent, still, and suspenseful.

Whether on a magazine page, a wall, or here in his studio, Miles Aldridge’s work commands our attention – a rare feat in a world where visual saturation depletes our focus and overloads our memories. Yet, these works make a lasting impression, not only through their captivating visual style that draws on noir, art history, pop culture, and eroticism, but also through a deeper, lingering intrigue. Like their creator, they invite us to look closer, hinting at mysteries that beg further exploration.

Born in 1964, Miles’ sometimes unsettling, always arresting imagery has shaped the face of fashion photography for over twenty-five years, with work featured in celebrated titles such as Harper’s Bazaar, Numéro, W, The New York Times, The New Yorker and various international editions of Vogue. His career reflects an artistic legacy from both parents. His father, renowned art director and illustrator Alan Aldridge, was known for his bold use of colour, creating iconic psychedelic artworks for book covers and album art for the Beatles and The Who. With popping palettes, this vibrant style left an indelible mark on Miles’ work, along with the Nikon F camera his father gifted him.

Studying at the prestigious Central Saint Martins, Miles quickly realised his vision extended beyond the conventional lens. “I was interested in photography. When I looked at the landscape of celebrated photographers, they predominantly [worked in] black and white, which was considered artistic, while colour was more commercial. But my father’s psychedelic colours in his work for The Beatles [were] incredibly unabashed. And so, with few photographers using colour, I saw an opportunity to carve out my own space.”

Central Saint Martins’ proximity to The Photographers’ Gallery offered further inspiration, where Miles discovered photographer Richard Avedon in the gallery’s bookshop. “I used to go every lunch break and thumb through Avedon’s book, ‘In the American West.’ There was something about the strength of portraits in that collection. What I loved about them was that they were photographs from the real world, but they felt like paintings. I remember creating an image of a boxer that was inspired by Avedon. From Kaur, it had this painterly surface, and from Avedon, it had this brutal composition.”

Initially working as an illustrator and music video director, Miles eventually returned to his first passion: photography. In 1996, he embarked on a twenty-year collaboration with the legendary Franca Sozzani, who was the Editor-in-Chief of Vogue Italia at the time. Together, they pushed the boundaries of fashion photography. “[With Sozzani] you always had carte blanche as long as you didn’t abuse it. It’s like that great quote [by] Brodovitch to photographers: ‘Astonish me.’ She didn’t say that, but you did want to [astonish her].”

Today, Miles describes himself as both an artist and a photographer, remaining one of the few who predominantly work with film. His diverse repertoire — comprising Polaroids, screenprints, photogravures, drawings, and large-scale prints — showcases a vibrant use of colour that has garnered accolades. He continually challenges idealised notions of gender roles and domestic harmony. This multi-medium approach does not diminish his respect for photographers whose work is rooted in traditional reportage: “I have incredible respect for photographers [like] Henri Cartier-Bresson, but I [believe] an artist is someone who tells their own story; looks inward not outward.” For Miles, that story is about captivation.

The immediacy of his works’ pop-art aesthetic is deceptively layered and evokes a Lynch-esque quality in their messaging. Unsurprisingly, as a confessed cinephile, Miles’ works allude to mysterious undercurrents, with hints of Hitchcock that position the viewer as a voyeur, masterfully creating tension in each piece. Often depicting simultaneously humorous and mysterious domestic scenes, his protagonists are framed with counterparts that seem just out of shot. This fragmentation, set against saturated hues where glamour clashes with domesticity, renders Miles’ imagery utterly compelling.

“It’s best when something inexplicable happens in the picture that leaves a space for the viewer to come in. The images draw you in like a zoom lens [revealing] a [larger], unseen context; the colours, too, have this trick of [appearing] almost like beautiful flowers that [invite] you into the gravity of the picture. [Once] you’re [immersed], there’s a feeling of being [held captive] by the picture, creating a connection between the viewer and the work.”

As we delve deeper, it becomes apparent that this unresolved narrative ensnares Miles himself. Images like Actress #6 echo his childhood memories. He recalls watching his glamorous mother, frustrated and out of place in her suburban surroundings, burdened by divorce, her mysterious subtexts sparking his curiosity. Having lost her to cancer at a young age, he expresses that there remains an unresolved element to her that he strives to understand and reconnect with through his art. Looking around the room at various visuals, this theme plays out repeatedly.

However, many works also feature lighter details that temper the darker elements. “Details like the glacé cherry and the grapefruit are essential to inject humour and strike balance into each piece. There’s a push and a pull between the comedic and the [so-called] tragic of the pictures. I don’t think people think of them as dark; life is both of these things.”

There appear to be striking parallels between his works and the lives of those who purchase them. “Many of the collectors who own my work tend to be women. I often hear [them say], ‘I love your work because the woman in the picture reminds me of myself,’ and [that’s] a wonderful affirmation of where I’ve gone with the work. In essence, it is rooted in a woman’s secret universe.”

Casting our gaze to one of Miles’ most iconic images, Home Works #3, we see a glamorous woman leaning, hands-free, into the naked flame on a hob to light the cigarette in her mouth. One can imagine many of his collectors doing the same, though perhaps with their hands. In this piece, as with many of his works, it’s the unseen context, the hard-to-pinpoint narrative, that keeps viewers transfixed. “It’s so intriguing; you think, why is she doing this? You could say she’s just lighting a cigarette, but it feels like so much more than that. The image is hard to put into words. Francis Bacon [once] said, ‘If I could talk about it, then why would I bother painting it?’ Like pop art, [my images] have [deeper meanings beyond] the generic and illustrative.”

Indeed, Miles’ vibrant palette and traditional photographic techniques play a significant role in the power of his imagery.

“It’s quite interesting because the idea that my mother had vanished has turned her into a mystery for me. This [image] reminds me [of that] – not that my mum looked like that, but there was a lot of screaming and shouting in my house when I was a kid. I think the unknown quality of that scream draws you in. [And yet], she looks beautiful as she’s doing it. You’re drawn to the beauty of the image, but also, [in that] beauty, you’re caught up in its strangeness. My work isn’t all about my mother, that’s for sure. But [she’s] kind of [my go-to].”

“I have a love for the history of colour photography. What’s interesting about those colour pictures is [that there’s something] almost wrong about the colour – whether it’s  Madame Yvonne from the 1920s or Paul Outerbridge from the 1940s. When I look at those old photographs, something about the photochemical [qualities] are so beautiful. I work with a Kodak film that’s very saturated, and in the darkroom, we push [the processing] to [enhance those colours]. I’ve avoided digital [photography] mainly because I don’t believe those colours can be [replicated] digitally.”

Today, Miles acknowledges that for all artists – whether through colour, technique, or medium – it’s challenging to stand out and push visual boundaries: “It’s hard to [create] something that people haven’t seen in some way, shape, or form. The world is [already] so shocking; we’re bombarded with a sea of images, and many of [them] are not that interesting.”

Just as he meticulously curates each composition, Miles is mindful of producing new works of substance. “I don’t know if it was F. Scott Fitzgerald or somebody [else] who said, ‘What’s important [are] the books you don’t write.’ As a photographer and artist, that’s also true. The images you don’t make are important because they represent the work you reserve for what truly matters, rather than endlessly producing images.”

This deliberate approach translates into his latest projects, which include enlarged contact sheets set to launch in 2025, as well as a short film. Through that film, I hope to have an answer to the burning question: What is happening beyond the frame of a Miles Aldridge image? “It’s a real labour of love. But in essence, I’m just describing images [in the script]. It’s about a mother and son – not my mum and not me as a child – but there are many parallels. That’s the idea: [to explore] what happens when these [characters] move. And being such a cinephile myself, having taken influence and inspiration from great filmmakers like Fellini and Lynch in my photography… so what happens then if I make a film?”

As I say my goodbyes and walk toward the exit, I ruminate over this question, reminded of that feeling of suspended time that entered my thoughts upon arrival. While Miles continuously pushes boundaries and expectations as an artist, I can’t help but think of his mother – her own story halted yet somehow replayed as a new face in every artwork. Stopping to look back one last time at these icons of imagery, I feel the gaze of Actress #6 and the other characters staring down from the studio walls. I ponder expectantly, captivated by the prospect of the upcoming short film, recognising in Miles Aldridge’s’ personal narrative the anticipation of finally seeing the camera zoom out to reveal what lies beyond the frame and what happens next.