[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 28 December 2021].
untitled #174
[I originally posted this image as early access for my Patreon patrons on 26 May 2021].
abandoned ship
Day fifty of The 100 Day Project.
I’m halfway through the project!
I would love to know which is your favourite so far.
Illustrations:
Spider by Leonard Leslie Brooke from A nursery rhyme picture book (number one)
burst
I remember that day so vividly.
We'd been told time and time again not to play there. Not to go beyond the chain-link fence at the edge of the village. We had the run of the quiet dirt roads, the open gardens of our home and our neighbours' homes. But we weren't to venture beyond the fence at any time, for any reason. It wasn't safe.
Of course, that meant we had to. It was a challenge, not an order, wasn't it?
We imagined all sorts of horrible goings-on beyond the fence. Even though nothing was really hidden by it. We could see what was there. It wasn't really dangerous, was it?
Dangerous was something you couldn't see.
Dangerous was falling down the rainwater drain in the kerbside. Falling into the sewers below and being swept along in our neighbours' wastewater. The foul water filling our mouths, our noses, our eyes and our ears before anyone could hear us calling out.
Dangerous was strange men in strange cars offering us sweets. Men who shouldn't be approaching girls our age. We'd been told what dangers lay in accepting candy from strangers. Those men were old and odd, and we weren't interested in them. But we knew they were dangerous even then, so we never entertained the thought of breaking the rules for a few morsels of candy.
Dangerous was playing too near the nuclear power plant that overlooked our village. We'd heard the local butcher telling our parents stories of animals that had wandered too close to the plant that had developed strange defects and growths. He'd slaughtered them with his own hand but buried them rather than selling their flesh to the village, even as feed for other animals.
But beyond the fence, all we could see was the sea. The beautiful ocean shimmered in the sunlight. Blue as the blue sky above it. The waves generated a cacophony of sound that reached our bedrooms. That lulled us to sleep each night in summer when the salty air wafted in through open windows to cool us.
We watched the waves draw up over the shingle while the boys played football in the street. Our fingers curved around the metal diamonds in the fence. We pressed our foreheads against the intersections of metal and watched the foam as it inched its way up over the dry pebbles. Drawing away to reveal wet pebbles. We were mesmerised.
It was our birthday.
Maybe that's why we were such good friends and had been for so long. We were born on the same day, in the same hospital. Our mothers hadn't known each other. They met in the maternity ward and her family ended up moving to our village just after. We'd heard the story over and over. We didn't really care about the details, we just wanted to go out and play together, and rolled our eyes each time our mothers retold how they'd met.
We each had a balloon in the shape of a star. The star in each was transparent. We pulled faces at each other through them. We pushed our noses and mouths against the plastic to distort our features. We laughed until we thought we might burst.
We ran along the street to the fence with our balloons flying in the air behind us. The boys were playing football, as usual, but we were more intent on seeing, if we ran fast enough, would the balloons lift us off the road? Would the run-up we had and the lightness of the balloons allow us to take off and carry us up and over the fence?
It was worth a try.
But, of course, it was a fool's errand. It was fun, but not going to get us where we wanted.
Instead, we knew there was a section of the fence that had been cut away. Opened up by older kids to access the shingle beach so they could gather after dusk to drink and skim stones on the ocean and make out.
We checked the boys were still distracted by football. That no one was watching.
We shimmied through the fence. Protective of our summer dresses and balloons as we did so. Not wanting to tear one or burst the other.
We made our way down to the water, kicking our jelly shoes off as we got closer. We slowed, the shingle awkward and uncomfortable under our bare feet. Despite that, we continued forward. Intent on feeling the coolness of the water on our small toes. Knowing we were doing wrong but doing it anyway.
Because it was our birthday. We could do anything on our birthday.
She waded into the water ahead of me. The waves lapped at our hands, we giggled and laughed together, the ribbon of our balloons still clasped tightly in our fists.
Behind us, suddenly, we heard a collection of screams. The screeching of brakes. We turned back toward the fence and the road beyond. We instinctively reached out for each other's hand and held our breath.
She let go of her balloon. It wafted gently on the wind back toward the fence.
We watched in horror, everything feeling like it was in slow motion, as our parents and our friend's parents ran out into the street.
We watched as her father scooped up her brother's lifeless body from the road. We watched, horrified, and wondered if this was why our parents had warned us about going beyond the fence. If this was why it was dangerous.
Even now, we wonder if it was our fault.
garden of unearthly delights
Day nine of The 100 Day Project.
Illustrations:
Casts of renal pelvis and calyces by Max Brödel from Diseases of the kidneys, ureters and bladder
Common octopus by an unknown artist from Nouveau dictionnaire encyclopédique universel illustré
a room of one's own
She circled the brown wooden structure, running her fingers along the wooden slats on the side and the back of the building at waist level. Feeling the texture of the wood and the few remaining thin daubs of white paint worn away by wind, rain and the salty sea air over the last few decades.
To the left of the door, she ran her fingers down the canvas nailed to the wood. Revelling in the contrast of its texture to the wooden slats.
The door's peeling surface revealed layers of varicoloured paint applied over the years. A variety of browns with an underlying coat of dull yellow peeking through.
Despite the erosion of the paintwork, she marvelled at the fact this structure was so intact when so many similar buildings dotted over the shingle beach were in such decrepit states. Fishing nets haemorrhaging from broken walls. Doors sagging on hinges. Burnt struts exposed to the elements like skeletons.
She approached the door, running her fingers over the exposed door handle. Wondering at its seemingly bonelike colour and appearance. She curled her fingers around the doorknob and turned it, expecting resistance. Surely this small building was still in use and therefore locked, with its four walls, corrugated iron roof and door still intact, despite all the wear and tear from the elements buffeting it, placed so close to the sea.
To her surprise, the door creaked open with no resistance.
She almost stepped back in surprise.
The door opened outward. She pulled it toward her, hesitantly peering around the door jamb at what might be inside. She realised she had held her breath, unconsciously, and on becoming conscious of the fact, exhaled heavily then inhaled deeply; the smell of the ocean mingling with the musty smell of the interior of the building.
A strange mixture of nostalgia washed over her: one of childhood summer holidays by the beach mixed with memories of the storage space under the stairs of her grandparents' house. For a moment she felt lost in time, and the darkness of the interior she looked in on made her feel a little off-balance.
The day was overcast and a little hazy, so much of the interior remained darkened until she opened the door fully; and even then, her eyes took a while to pick out the details in the shadows not illuminated by the daylight.
She wandered in, letting the door close gently behind her. She had established that the door had no lock, so she didn't worry about being trapped inside, though she felt slightly apprehensive about what she may find in the darkness.
She turned on the torch on her mobile phone and shone it about her. The building contained a lot of the same contents as so many similar structures along the beachfront: nets, motors, rusted machinery, and implements she knew not the purpose of. Strange artefacts she wondered at and thought may make interesting decorations for her apartment.
Her phone, previously indicating plenty of battery, suddenly turned off. The interior of the building was quickly thrown into darkness, and for a moment she felt like she was blind. She stood stock-still, feeling a little off-balance again, but waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
In a few moments, a small amount of light seeped through between the wooden slats. A tight polka dot pattern of light came through the canvas, albeit pale. She let her breath out, realising she'd been holding it again.
Despite her initial discomfort with the darkness, as her eyes adjusted to the low light she found the space quite calming. The sound of the sea reached her through the walls but was less overwhelming when filtered through the canvas and wood.
She moved toward where she thought one of the walls was, navigating the space slowly and carefully. She hesitantly reached out her hands at a forty-five-degree angle, expecting her fingertips to connect with the rough wooden surface quickly, but it took far longer than expected.
When they did connect with the wood, she ran her hand gently down and moved from standing to squatting, using her other hand to check for anything at a lower point. She skimmed the wooden floor of the building with the palm of her hands before seating herself between what felt like a reel of net and some paint tins.
She sat there in the dark, letting the distant sound of the sea wash over her. She slowed her breathing to match the speed of the waves as the water swept onto and away from the shore outside. She felt a strange calm. A peace she didn't often experience. In the darkness she closed her eyes and just focussed on the sound, letting it wash her away.
emerging from darkness
Another year has passed. And what have we learned?
2016 was a better year for me personally than 2015 (that wouldn't have been hard), but it didn't always feel like a good year for the world in general.
I wrote in my last post (I know, a year between posts is ridiculous... sorry!) that 2015 was my year of living uncertainly. So many things were hanging in the balance during 2015, and the general feel of the year was quite negative. This year had a more positive feel, though it still felt a little like treading water at times.
Moving forward felt slow last year, as so many moving parts were dependent upon each other. This year brought various chapters to a close.
In May, I moved for the third time in three years. For ten months after our break-up, Kyle and I had remained roommates. When we moved, I finally had my own space again, albeit with Kyle now filling the role of housemate. Many friends expressed concerns about this decision. For now it is working, as we (mostly) know about and can deal with each others’ quirks, and for the most part we live completely separate lives. Sometimes it almost feels like living alone, which is a good thing for me.
In August I was effectively made redundant from my day job, though that specific word was never used. The decision was quite out of the blue but I was happy enough to move on as I felt ready for the next opportunity. During my last week, The Sundays’ lyrics, ‘it’s the little souvenir of a terrible year’, were my recurring earworm. It felt like the last remnants of 2015 falling away. Like shedding the last layers of the chrysalis so I could finally see my way clear. It felt like closure.
In the meantime, my dSLR didn’t get a heavy workout in 2016, but there were ample opportunities for me to point it at myself and at other subjects.
In April I finally had the chance to catch up with Aer after close to ten years, visiting her in Manchester. It didn’t turn out to be the best timing for her due to unexpected work and family complications, but we had a good catch-up.
Aer encouraged me to shoot in her three-storey house while she went off to work. This included the cold, creepy basement where I took the self-portrait above. I think it was the only ‘proper’ self-portrait shoot I did during 2016.
I think it was my first visit to Manchester since 2000. My stay also gave me a chance to revisit the city, wandering its streets and the John Rylands Library with my camera.
In June I finally made good on a long-postponed trip to Kent and East Sussex with Phil Ivens, with Kyle tagging along. At least once a year Phil stays at a B&B in East Sussex, using that as a base to visit Dungeness and other places in the area. For at least five summers I had been hoping to visit, but timing and money always seemed to be an issue.
This year I committed to the break. I enjoyed tramping over the shingle to explore the derelict boats and fishermen’s shacks, despite the horrendous sunburn I got in the process. It was also nice to finally visit Derek Jarman’s Prospect Cottage. The only real dampener to the holiday was finding out the results of the Brexit referendum on our second last day.
Other travels during the year included:
- a day trip to Camberley to visit my friend, Floriana, though I didn’t take any photos;
- a day trip to Oxford with Stuart;
- an overnight visit to Birmingham for a night out with the girls, though I only took photos with my iPhone; and
- a day trip to Margate, Botany Bay and Broadstairs in Kent with Chris and Paulina.
I posted various iPhone photos from the day trips to Oxford and Kent, and my weeks in Manchester and East Sussex and Kent, to my Instagram account. I hope to post more photos from those travels here later this year. Thank you to all those who made my travels possible and wandered with me this year.
When not traipsing around the country, I made a point of capturing familiar haunts and new locales in this city I love, even if only with my iPhone. You can find many of these images on my Instagram account as well.
This year I continued my collaboration, weaving words into light, with the ever-patient Sarah Mercer. We only managed two pairings in 2016, but hopefully 2017 will bring more.
I also licensed a selection of my images to a television series that ran a couple of months ago on ITV. I'm not sure how many images, if any, actually made it onto the screen as set dressing. I'll let you know if they did once I've had a chance to watch the series!
In October my Mum had a health scare and it was hard to be so far away from family during that time. Thankfully open-heart surgery seems to have resolved the issue. I’m looking forward to catching up with her and Dad in June/July 2017 when they visit the UK and Ireland.
Unfortunately it was curtains for my favourite neighbourhood gasometer, Hornsey Gas Holder No. 1, which was finally dismantled in August. Above-ground work started in earnest as I was finishing up at my job, so I was able to capture workers dismantling it section by section. Hornsey Gas Holder No. 3 appears to have survived 2016, but I don’t believe it will still be in place by this time next year. I’ve since redirected my obsession toward other gasometers around town. Most recently those at Gas Holder Park along the Regent Canal in King’s Cross; and the listed gas holders by The Oval cricket ground in Kennington.
Other lowlights of the year included:
- regaining the rest of the weight I’d lost in 2010-2012 plus some;
- having far less alcohol-free days than I’d intended; and
- watching BBC coverage of the US presidential election into the wee hours of the morning.
At least I can reverse the first, and improve on the second in 2017. Unfortunately there isn’t much I can do to change the third. I’m more than a little trepidatious about how 2017 will unfold due to the outcome of that election and the Brexit referendum.
But there were quite a few highlights.
For instance, I love my new home. My blue-walled bedroom is my sanctuary. It has a quaint white mantelpiece, space for a king size bed and my workstation, and more than enough room to swing a cat (if you’re into that sort of thing). There's a proper lounge room with comfy couches and Netflix, and my prints hanging on the walls. I’m also more than a little pleased with the blue-tiled bathroom. No doubt others would call it kitsch, but I love it. Here’s hoping this stays my home for a few years.
I wrote more this year. I got into the habit of writing 750 words most days in the latter part of the year, albeit usually journal-type prose as a form of mental clearing. It's a habit I need to get back into from tomorrow. I also managed to write over 12,000 words for NaNoWriMo. Though I didn’t complete the 50,000 word challenge in November, I will come back to my novel soon.
I visited a number of museums and galleries, and went to see quite a few films at the cinema.
Friends have been good to me again this year, even though I’m notorious for hiding away in my ‘bubble’, valuing my alone time.
So, all in all, 2016 didn’t completely suck for me, though it wasn’t my best year on record.
There were plenty of sad things happening in the world around me. This includes the deaths of musicians, writers and actors I’d grown up with and enjoyed the work of. This year felt particularly bad on that score, as many have pointed out. But I guess I have to brace myself for the possibility every coming year will strike a blow as hard as this one. It's just a fact that many of my favourites are getting to that age.
Speaking of age, 2017 marks another milestone birthday for me, which feels more than a little surreal. I had a brief glimmer of hope that I might visit Australia for a few weeks in April to mark the occasion. Unfortunately it’s looking unlikely given my current finances. I’m hoping to apply for British citizenship sometime in the coming year. I will also need to buy a new computer soon as, to quote Apple support, my laptop is ‘vintage’ now. It's definitely showing its age. So it’s looking like Melbourne and Tasmania will have to wait until 2018.
2017 is also a sort of anniversary year for me. It will mark ten years in April since I started my 365 days project. And ten years in August since my debut solo exhibition, alternate worlds.
In some ways I feel I’ve gone backward with my photography since then, but sometimes other things have to come first. My intention for 2017 is to regain the focus and energy I had in 2007 and 2008. To get back to the things I love about photography.
I’m feeling positive about 2017. It feels like a reawakening, and well past time to get back in the saddle. My long-time new year’s resolution comes back around: make this year count.
If you’re reading this, I hope your 2017 is all you hope for, and thanks for stopping by.
now playing: sia - bird set free