"What Do You Think Of It, So Far?" 1 *

All Images: Southwest Leicester, May 2016

Leicester may be many things: centre of the footballing universe (briefly) [1.]; resting place of misplaced monarchs; the most ethnically diverse city in Britain; an unspectacular Midlands town, with a new lease of confidence; but one thing it definitely is not, is particularly tidy.

On my regular cycle rides along banks of The Soar, or the Great Central Route, I'm always struck by how each of the regular benches that punctuate them, resembles a cross between an impromptu picnic site and a mini landfill.  Archaeologists can learn much from what earlier societies have discarded, of course, and I suspect that those of the future will have a particularly deep seam of cans, bottles, disposable barbecue trays and partially degraded supermarket carrier bags, through which to sift for clues about our own mode of existence.

Anyway, as these images show, at least some folks make a rudimentary attempt to clear up after their al fresco banqueting, - if only in a half-hearted manner.  I suppose, were one of a mind to do so, there's also a point to be made here about the inability of our public services to keep up with the competing imperatives of instant gratification, consumerism, and an ever-expanding population.  I'd be lying though, if I pretended to not be visually engaged by this tawdry little scene, with its combination of jollity and profound squalor.  And I can't deny that all that synthetic colour is an energising intrusion into the surrounding natural verdancy.  Litter porn, - anyone? [2.]. 

This particular bin is one that always catches my eye on my regular forays into Leicester's southern fringes, not least for the thoroughness with which has been unofficially decorated.  In terms of last year's 'Mental Mapping' and 'Cement Cycle' activities, it is a distinctly Lynchian landmark [3.].

In fact, on my return leg, it marks a junction at which I can choose between two equally enjoyable routes home.  It also comes at a point where, depending on how far I've ventured, my perennially creaky knees may be reminding me of their fragility, and is a welcome reminder that there's not too far to go now.

For all of these reasons, its resonance within my own metal map of the city cannot be ignored.




* As British readers of a certain vintage will remember, the punchline to Morecambe & Wise's famous catchphrase is, of course, "Rubbish!".


[1.]:  Coincidentally, this site lies close to where, heading into the city, one first gains a view of Leicester City's King Power Stadium, on the opposite bank.  On certain Saturday afternoon rides this season, the celebratory KP atmosphere was clearly audible.

[2.]:  For reasons of which I'm not especially proud, these days I feel like being an artist is to take a kind of amoral observer's stance, rather than a desire to actually change the world for the better.  Just trying to find insight, by looking in a slanted way at what is actually there. feels like a sufficiently positive act in itself.  Does that offer any salvation for the world? - of course not.  Is that even an artist's job? - you tell me.

[3.]:  Kevin Lynch, ‘The Image Of The City’, Cambridge Massachusetts, The M.I.T. Press, 1960.

'Why Not Sample The Delights Of Atmospheric Faircharm?'

All Images: Faircharm Trading Estate, Southwest Leicester, May 2016

For me, a major pleasure of living in a city is that moment when you suddenly discover a pleasing tract of unfamiliar new territory that’s been under your nose all along. It’s something that often occurs when one deviates slightly from a familiar beaten track, and is, I suppose, made possible by the fractal complexity of the densely built, historically layered environment.  Thus it was for me, just the other day.

I was late climbing onto my bike saddle this year, mostly due to the generally disappointing nature of much of the weather, so far.  I can cycle in the cold, - anyone can with enough layered clothing, but there’s no denying that much of the pleasure of cycling is stripped away by buffeting wind and driving rain.  I’m not one of those adrenalised characters who gets-off on challenges to my physical endurance, and I don’t really need to find new routes to discomfort.  Frustratingly, once the climate did perk up sufficiently to tempt me out on two wheels, - my perennial knee problems quickly reappeared to remind me of my physical limitations all over again.

Despite that, (and as I say every year now), it still feels too soon to just give up trying altogether - even if that means reducing the speed/distances I can achieve; pacing the reintroduction of my rides in a more measured fashion; or just seeking the next level of medical intervention.  For that reason, when I ventured back out the other day, I was very consciously in pottering-with-the-camera mode, and of a mind to explore my immediate environs - rather than to even pretend I was in for the long haul.  The photos you see here all result from a minor deviation from a very familiar route, and a little time spent nosing around a small trading estate in Leicester that I’ve always known was there, - but had never bothered to explore properly.

I don’t need to explain my slightly eccentric relish for such mundane, workaday environments, do I? - Not to regular visitors, at least.  In fact, I did have the excuse of researching the location of a potential picture framer, but the whole exercise soon became one of purely hanging around and absorbing the intrinsic qualities of a new place.  That whole ‘Sense of Place’ idea was one that used to get talked about a lot when I was a student and remains central to the way I experience the world, and at the core of much of my art work.

As such places go, Faircharm Trading Estate, (what a name!), differs from the standard grid of anonymous, purely functional brick or corrugated steel boxes, normally implied by the term.  Instead, it’s a far more irregular cluster of pleasingly dilapidated, generally older buildings, on either bank of a minor tributary canal.  The site once lay adjacent to a railway line, but that is now transformed into a cycle/foot/bridle path on the fringes of a riverside park.  It’s accessed via minor back roads – and has a distinctly semi-rural, Edgelands flavour.

Having quickly located the framing business I was looking for, I ventured across the site’s canal bridge, and further into the complex of (mostly) several-story buildings.  Many spoke of Leicester’s once-energetic manufacturing heritage, and most implied a story of repeated change of use.  The current situation is one of numerous opportunistic, small-to-medium enterprises, making do with shabby, but I assume, affordable accommodation.  The layout creates a succession of sub-spaces, - each with its own distinct atmosphere, from sun-lit piazza to dank, vaguely Dickensian corners.  More practically minded visitors, - perhaps on a day less favourably blessed with golden sunlight, might struggle to fathom the appeal of all this.  However, I find I can lurk around such locations for ages, - just soaking up the resonances.  All that picturesque entropy is too delicious to ignore, as is the plentiful evidence of changing usage, or of commercial activity - both old and new.  Once again, regular readers probably won’t be too surprised by such enthusiasms, and I guess you either get it or you don’t.

Inevitably, having recorded a few general vistas, my camera soon zoomed in on some of the finer, nominally inconsequential details.  Amongst these were a few pleasing bits of signage and fragments, (or revenants) of text, and an always irresistible smidgeon of hazard tape.  But the real treasure was a marvelous selection of blind or whited-out windows.  Again, such motifs are hardly unknown on my hard drive (or on here), but I can never get enough of this kind of stuff, - and some of these really were gorgeous.  They speak directly to my current fascination with notions of lost voices, forgotten meanings, abandoned activities, failed communications, and good old entropy.  And, of course, they also chime perfectly with my love of grids and formal geometries; and with that whole variation-within-a-standard-model routine.

You know, - all the usual good stuff…

Grrr - Pesky Kids! 2

All Images: Rushey Mead Academy, North Leicester, May 2016

Well, I've shown one of these before, but the reality of working in a school building with sections of glass curtain wall facing a playground, is that they'll recur with relative regularity.

This one is low down, so may be the result of a kicked stone, rather than a ball, - although there are plenty of both flying around most days.  Let's face it, kicking stuff around is even bigger news here in Leicester, than the last time I posted such images.

Either way, I really like the inventiveness of our Premises Officers with their hazard tape, in such situations, - whether they're aware of it or not.  This one has real formal beauty.

I also really like the dramatic contrast, in both mood and visual quality, between the interior and exterior shots, and the way they tell two sides of the same story.

Four Plaques (In The Main)

All Images: Central Leicester, May 2016

I've been meaning to document these for ages, not least because they seem to tick a number of my favourite boxes:

• They definitely fit my current preoccupation with the idea of 'The Same, But Different'. That's the case in terms of variations within an overall theme, but also, in each case, within a formal grid too. 

• They are all about formal geometry, but far more about the irregularities that occur within it -  than about a search for mechanistic perfection. 

• Each is a little symphony of greys, white and severely muted colour - and takes its palette from the local colour of industrial materials and surface coatings.

• They are yet another example of the versatility of cast concrete, - in this case, of puddingstone-like variety.  This gives them a profoundly rugged aspect - not unlike an ancient wayside cross, or the like.  (Note how much hidden colour results from the addition of plentiful coarse aggregate). 

• This only serves to emphasise how, whilst purely functional in intent, they are in fact gloriously totemic.  The four together seem to take on a significance not unlike standing stones or Easter Island heads.

• As ever, the forces of entropy are clearly at work.  It's there in the weathering of the concrete, the grime on the wall behind, the corrosion of the fixing bolts, and most gloriously - in the interplay of patinated, oxidising metal, and ruined paintwork.

• It's also hinted at in the slightly quirky lean of the member of the group at the far left.  In itself, this draws attention to the irregular spacing throughout the group.  Variation within regularity is thus revealed again - this times in the intervals.

• The plaques are yet more examples of urban text.   I love the matter-of-fact typefaces employed, and the interchangeable system of tiles used to effectively type-set each selection of dimensions.  I also like the way each one combines both embossed and incised characters.  (Now I'm wondering about making a set of rubbings).

• Each legend is allusive, clearly giving a set of directions in the form of dimensional coordinates.  They are a clue to a whole other, invisible layer of infrastructure beneath the city's surface.

• Prior knowledge that EMGB = East Midlands Gas Board makes it easy enough to deduce they are gas main indicators.  But, in the era of privatisation and deregulation, EMGB is itself an anachronism.  Those pipelines are buried beneath the fabric of the city for obvious, functional reasons, but occupy a stratum of historical time also.

Trolley Splash 2

North Leicester, May 2016

I accompanied another photographic expedition with our GCSE students, the other day at work. The weather has finally picked up here in recent days, so this time, we ventured out to the local waterside park in search of verdant subject matter.  Inevitably though, my own lens was drawn to the detritus of urban life, in preference to the burgeoning greenery and tweety birds surrounding us, (lovely though they were).

The last time I took photographs at this particular spot, I found a wonderful submerged bike, but this time there was an equally attractive casualty.  It's almost like someone's leaving them especially for me.  Cliches such motifs may be, but that doesn't mean they don't actually happen, - and often to massively poetic effect.

"Now You'd Better Believe Us...": The Impossible Dream Of Leicester City FC

North Leicester, May 2016

As I’ve mentioned before, my interest in football could be described as fluctuating, at best.  Like most British males (and increasingly, females), I played it a lot as a youth, mostly in the playground or down the local Rec. - but only occasionally on the far fringes of the school team.  I have vaguely nostalgic memories from the early1970s, of visiting Sincil Bank with my Dad, to watch Lincoln City tangle in freezing mud with such elevated opposition as Gillingham or Hartlepool.  A warmer glow derives from recalling watching the results over Saturday tea, or being permitted to stay up late for ‘Match Of The Day’.  Like most of my childhood contemporaries, I was a glory-hunting follower of Leeds Utd’s League domination, before (with characteristic perversity) changing my allegiances to West Ham, ‘because I liked their strip’.  Typically, I had no geographical or personal connection with either club.

Central Leicester, May 2016

Richard Wilson, Spray Paint on Rendered Wall, West Leicester, 2016.  This one was already all over the 
global news media by the time I  realised it's just round the corner from my home.

Such fickleness and self-conscious eccentricity was probably a clue to my real priorities.  By my mid-teens, any vestigial interest I had with the game was waning fast, (along with my engagement with pretty much any other form of organised sport), and I was self-identifying as the kind of faux-intellectual/hippy/art ponce to whom such pass-times were derisible.  When pushed, I might admit to the appeal of certain club traditions, or the heraldic aesthetics of their colours and badges, or the romance inherent in such picturesque names as Leyton Orient or Heart of Midlothian [1.].

Central Leicester, May 2016

North Leicester, May, 2016

Central Leicester, May 2016

As an adult, I suppose I have slowly reached some form of grudging accommodation with football.  I often happily leave the radio tuned to BBC Radio 5 Live or Radio Leicester on a Saturday, listening to at a couple of match commentaries in the process - whilst still feeling baffled by just how much it all seems to matter to so many people.  By the time the early-evening Phone-ins role around, the whole thing feels increasingly like some bizarre soap opera.  Contemplating the profligate economics of the industry, and the way football saturates our media – it’s tempting to view it all as a corrupt and morally bankrupt spectacle, or even as a vast mechanism of social control.  But a good match is still entertaining enough for all that, and can, on occasion, provide genuine edge-of -the-seat thrills. When played well, football can even become a ballet of flowing movement, (though not at Sincil Bank, obviously).

Central Leicester, May 2016

North Leicester, May 2016

Central Leicester, May 2016

And matter - it clearly does, however baffling that may be.  Sometimes I wonder if it all actually serves the function that religion once did for the thousands who throng together on a weekly basis in large buildings where, for a couple of hours, ritual, superstition, tribalism and mindless loyalty hold sway.  It certainly seems to be a quest for emotional release, or even transcendental experience, and fans regularly exhort each other to ‘Believe’ and to ‘Keep The Faith’.

The Scene Outside The King Power Stadium As Leicester City were drawing in Manchester on
Sunday 1 May 2016...

...And on Tuesday 3 May, having been confirmed as Champions, without kicking 
another ball.

Anyway, all analysis and false intellectualising aside, you can’t really ignore the impact of footy here in Leicester, this week.  Exactly how Leicester City attained their improbable status as Premier League Champions, can be unpicked elsewhere ad nauseam [2.].  So, instead, what you see here is a selection of images that, in one way or another, illustrates the inescapable effects of it all on my immediate environment.  Only a fool would suggest that ‘winning the football’ hasn’t created a palpable vibe in the city. The clues - both official and unofficial, are there to be found in numerous mundane locations.  Of course, there’s bound to be an element of bandwagon-jumping or business generation about some of it, but the overall mood is celebratory, and why would anyone argue with that?

The King Power Stadium, West Leicester, May 2016

Oh, and in case anyone believes I’m just far too detached and cynical about all this, - Many congratulations to Leicester City FC!  A lot of genuine hard work and shared endeavour clearly went into upsetting the game’s established order, - and who doesn’t love an underdog, after all?  Some folk round this way claim grandly to have witnessed a once-in-a-lifetime miracle.  That’s a collective experience that will be forever ingrained in folk memory, and perhaps - in the very fabric of this place.

North Leicester, May 2016

Central Leicester, May 2016:  Hopefully not just yet...

[1.]:  In my imagination, West Ham seemed to embody a kind of shadowy East-End glamour - tied up with the Music Hall hangover of their traditional ‘Bubbles’ song and the distinctly Victorian vibe of their claret & blue livery.  Conveniently, they weren’t complete duffers either, and won the FA cup not long after I began my flirtation with them.  At least some of the school bullies could see the point.

[2.]:  ‘Unbelievable’ is the term in most common parlance, - suggesting the city might even be in the grip of some collective hallucination.