The cosmos of bodybuilding takes on shapes, meanings, and even reasons for being that extend far beyond the visible architecture of the body. These are personal, social spaces—where clouds of tanning spray and monumental poses signify much more than an aesthetic obsession or indulgence.

The Masters is a visual exegesis of this athletic and human process—one that unfolds day after day, stage after stage, even in the most unexpected corners of the world. Like in a modest multi-purpose hall in Newcastle, where Jack Flynn filmed a short that speaks, yes, of bodies carved like canvases—but more importantly, of the deeply communal nature of bodybuilding later in life.

His flow of consciousness—or rather, his documentarian reminiscence—frames the essence of this film.

“For me, bodybuilding had always been one of those aesthetics I was fascinated with. There’s something visually mesmerising about it. When I studied photography years ago, I was drawn to documentary work, especially projects that explored subcultures. Bodybuilding, to me, had that same magnetism to it. The bodies are surreal, and sculptural, the world around them is full of performance and theater.

When I heard about a local bodybuilding competition in the northeast of England, I felt compelled to go. I emailed the organizers, but didn’t hear back for a while, so I made other plans. Then, at the last minute, I got an email: “Yeah, sure, come along.” I quickly changed my plans and packed my bags.

When I arrived I was led down into the basement of the venue, there was a thick fog of spray tan in the air and a hive of activity playing out in front of me. Bodybuilders doing press ups, flexing and posing in the mirror, preparing for the spectacle of the stage. What I didn’t realise until I got there was that the competition began with the Masters category: the older athletes aged between 45 and 75, the veterans of the sport. All tanned up, flexing their muscles, preparing for the competition.

The first person I met was 73 year old Ken, a lovely man from Liverpool. His wife topping up his spray tan, I asked if I could film. He said “Of course”. That very first shot I filmed, where the camera pulls out from his back, is exactly how the film begins.

And then something clicked. These older guys—some in their 60s and 70s—were so open and gentle. There was none of the cold competitiveness you might expect. The younger crowd upstairs were perhaps more guarded, understandably. But the Masters? They were there to connect, to share, to be seen.

And the bodies… They looked like statues. Truly fascinating. But what stood out was how how soft they were in spirit. Warm. Generous. Not trying to prove anything. Just… Living their passion.

For many of them, bodybuilding isn’t just about building muscle. It’s a social thing. A human circuit. They travel the country, show up at the same competitions, laugh and chat in the hallways. It’s their community. 

The whole scene was surreal. They’d get ready in the basement (tanning, oiling, pumping up their muscles) and then walk barefoot through the kitchen of this venue to reach the stage. I followed them, not knowing where we were going. Past the kitchen smells of food, up the stairs and around the back of the stage. One woman joked, “How cruel is it to make us walk through a kitchen having not eating all day!”

But that’s what made it so compelling. That clash of the epic and the everyday. The glamour of the stage alongside the lowkey behind the scenes of the calm before the performance.

One Scottish competitor, Alan, talked about how he and his wife travel around the UK to these shows as a way to connect with others. That stuck with me. Because in the end, that’s what ‘The Masters’ is really about: community. Belonging. Expression. Yes, the aesthetics are striking. But underneath it all is something universal: the need to find your place in the world, to be seen, to be part of something.”