Elliott was 62 when he died. We are publishing this tribute on 30th August 2026, the date of his 63rd birthday.

Elliott was my friend. I met him at a party conference in 2011, just as I was starting out in photojournalism. He immediately offered his knowledge and support. He told me what was happening, and where and when. He was totally open. In a room of cliquey, defensive agency photographers, Elliott was a freelancer who offered up everything he knew.

That generosity of spirit was expressed throughout his work. He wanted his photographs to be enjoyed by his subjects, permanently sharing publicly and privately, never prouder than when his vision was recognised by the people he photographed.

His ethics reflected a unique respect he had for the dedication and talent of those he documented. He once told me how upset he was after a photograph he’d made of a dancer was published, despite it not quite capturing the perfect position the dancer had attained. His “Arse Flare Man” photograph sold around the world, but his pride in that success would’ve been tarnished if he’d mistimed the image.

Elliott was the second of four children, born in Kingsbury, in North West London, after his older brother Russell and before his younger sisters, Adrienne and Vanessa.

His mother Myra was an insurance broker and his father, Phillip, a musician and retailer.

He was born with an extraordinary memory. He could approach a politician or performer and relate an obscure event where they’d featured and then go on to name each of a dozen other related people, who they’d have known and forgotten.

And his own skill as a musician, inherited from his father (a professional clarinettist and saxophonist) undoubtedly made him a better photographer of his fellow artists, despite it being something he rarely shared. He once published a flawless performance of Happy Birthday he’d played for a friend on the trumpet and then immediately, perhaps embarrassed, took it down.

He would wake up before dawn to search the papers for uses of his work, photograph random events he passed on the streets between jobs and be editing each day’s work, long after everyone else had gone home. And then he’d criticise himself for the moments and images he’d missed, the next day.

In the last couple of years, Elliott had been photographing “Stop the Hate” campaigners. As with all his work, he found a subject and documented it without pause, turning up with his camera time and again. Until he couldn’t.

The people he worked so hard to understand and relate in his work are calling him a mensch.

His youngest sister Vanessa said “He was a private person, who opened up to those who meant the most to him and then, when he did, he would share his world. He was thoughtful and kind, always there for me and my family, he gave the best hugs and had the best stories. He is so missed by us all.”

Elliott’s death was sudden, unexpected and long before he was done.

May his memory be a blessing.

See Elliott’s BPPA profile at: https://thebppa.com/author/elliott-franks-2/
His website and archive are at: https://elliottfranks.photoshelter.com/index