Ex_ist 1 [Sartreian Spring]

 

All Images: South Leicester, March 2024

“…I started laughing because I suddenly thought of the wonderful springtimes described in books, full of cracking, bursting gigantic blossomings. There were fools who talked  to you about willpower and the struggle for life Hadn’t they ever looked at an animal or a tree? That plane with its scaling bark, that half-rotten oak - they would’ve wanted me to take them for vigorous youthful forces thrusting towards the sky. And that root? I would probably have had to see it as a greedy claw, tearing the earth, snatching its food from it.

‘Impossible to see things that way. Weaknesses, frailties, yes. The trees were floating. Thrusting towards the sky? Collapsing rather: at any moment I expected to see the trunks shrivel like weary pricks, curl up and fall to the ground in a soft, black, crumpled heap. They did not want to exist, only they could not help it; that was the point. So they performed all their little functions, quietly, unenthusiastically, the sap rose slowly and reluctantly in the canals, and the roots penetrated slowly into the earth. But at every moment they seemed on the verge of dropping everything and obliterating themselves. Tired and old, they went on existing, unwillingly and ungraciously, simply because they were too weak to die, because death could come to them only from the outside: melodies alone can proudly carry their own death within them like an internal necessity,; only they don’t exist. Every existent is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness, and dies by chance. I leaned back ands I closed my eyes. But pictures, promptly informed, sprang forward and filled my closed eyes with existences: existence is a repletion which man can never abandon.” [1.]

“Did I dream it up, that huge presence? It was there, installed on the park, tumbled into the trees, all soft, gumming everything up, all thick, a jelly. And I was inside with the whole of the park? I was frightened, but above all I was furious, I thought it was so stupid, so out of place, I hated that ignoble jelly. A there was so much of it, so much! It went up as high as the sky, it flowed away everywhere, it filled everything with gelatinous subsidence and I could see it going deeper and deeper, far beyond the limits of the park and the houses and Bouville, I was no longer at Bouville or anywhere, I was floating. I was not surprised. I knew perfectly well that it was the World, the World in all its nakedness which was suddenly revealing itself, and I choked with fury at that huge absurd being. You couldn’t even wonder where it all came from, or how it was that a world should exist rather than nothing. It didn’t make sense, the world was present everywhere, in front, behind. There had been nothing before it. Nothing. There had been no moment at which it might not have existed. It was that which irritated me: naturally there was no reason for it to exist, that flowing larva. But it was not possible for it not to exist. That was unthinkable: In order to imagine nothingness, you had to be there already, right in the world, with your eyes wide open and alive; nothingness was just an idea in my head, an existing idea floating in that immensity: this nothingness hadn’t come before existence, it was an existence like any other and one which had appeared after a great many others. I shouted: ‘What filth! What filth!’ And I shook myself to get rid of that sticky dirt, but it held fast and there was so much of it, tons and tons of existence, indefinitely: I was suffocating at the bottom of that huge boredom. Then, all of a sudden, the park emptied as if through a big hole, the world disappeared in the same way it had come, or else I woke up - in any case I could not see it any more; there remained some yellow earth around me, out of which dead branches stuck up into the air.” [2.]

“Dusk is falling, the first lights are going on in the town. Good Lord, how natural the town looks in spite of all its geometric patterns, how crushed by the evening it seems. It’s so …obvious from here; is it possible that I should be the only one to see it? Is there nowhere another Cassandra on top of a hill, looking down at a town engulfed in the depths of Nature? But what does it matter to me? What could I possibly tell her?

“My body turns very gently towards the east, wobbles slightly and starts walking.” [3.]

[1, 2, 3]:  Excerpts From: Jean-Paul Sartre, ‘Nausea’ (Trans. Robert Baldick), London/NYC, Penguin, 1963 (1938).

Stratified Spaces in Spring Sunshine

 

All Images: South Leicester, March 2025

“The kind of difference that defines every place is not on the order of a juxta-position but other takes the form of imbricated strata. The elements spread out on the same surface can be enumerated; they are available for analysis; they form a manageable surface. Every urban ‘renovation’ nonetheless prefers a tabula rasa on which to write in cement the composition created in the laboratory on the basis of discrete ‘needs’ to which functional responses are to be made. The system also produces need, the primary ‘substance’ of this composition, by isolating it. This unit is as neat and clean (propre) as digits are. Moreover, the lack of satisfaction that defines each need calls for and justifies in advance the construction that combines it with other needs. This is the logic of production: ever since the eighteenth century, it has engendered its own discursive and practical space, on the basis of points of concentration - the office, the factory, the city. It rejects the relevance of places it does not create.

“However, beneath the fabricating and universal writing of technology, opaque and stubborn places remain. The revolutions of history, economic mutations, demographic mixtures lie in layers within it, and remain there, hidden in customs, rites, and spatial practices. The legible discourses that formerly articulated them have disappeared, or left only fragments in language. This place, on its surface, seems to be a collage. In reality, in its depth it is ubiquitous. A piling-up of heterogeneous places. Each one, like a deteriorating page of a book, refers to a different mode of territorial unity, of socioeconomic distribution, of political conflicts and identifying symbolism" [1.].

[1.]:  Michel de Certeau, ‘The Practice of Everyday Life’, (Trans. Steven F. Randall), Berkeley CA, University of California Press, 1984 

'The Annihilation of Time and Space': HNY 2024/25

All Images: Lincoln East Bypass, December 2024

In what is becoming something of a seasonal tradition, I found myself up on the Lincoln East Bypass, with bike and camera, on Boxing Day. Certainly, this indicates that, like so many of my creative endeavours, my 'The Annihilation of Time and Space' project has been 'ongoing' for much longer than originally envisaged. However, it also means that the scope of the project has expanded to encompass this slice of edgeland in a range of different conditions and moods.

Last year, the landscape was bathed in crystalline winter sunlight, but this time the conditions couldn't have been more different. The entire region was sunk in dank fog and, even in the early afternoon, light was fading fast. The defining characteristics shifted from deliciously blank to poetically bleak.

Given the state of world events, and the trepidation any of us might feel regarding the coming year, perhaps these conditions were glumly appropriate. As the somewhat reduced procession of vehicles beat on into the gloom, it was impossible to avoid the inevitable impressions of a lost civilisation careering headlong into an obscure and forbidding future.

Whatever the truth of that, we can only hope there are still some brighter days to come, whatever the general trend, and to seek the reasons to be creatively cheerful wherever they may be found. The conditions may have made my cycling a little arduous, but they also prompted me to see a familiar environment in fascinating new ways - and to capture some images with a darker romance not previously attached to this particular project. There's usually some uplift to be found if we remain open to the possibility, and - as Albert Camus pointed out, we should still find the time and energy to dance, even on the edge of the abyss.

Happy New Year.

'The Basin': Innundation [Draft 1.0]

 

All Images: Cumberland Basin, Bristol, February 2024

The sea has absorbed the city, and the history of the whole world drains into the Basin. An ocean of time is collecting here. It is likely that the highest temperatures occurred in a relatively shallow layer at the surface, and there is uncertainty over what the future will look like. The reclamation of time is jeopardised as grey curtains snap across dull alloy. [Delivery is constrained and regeneration is anticipated to be phased over the long term]. Inherent uncertainty, often known as random or natural variability, can be further categorised into temporal and spatial variability and a number of ‘climate metrics’ aimed at enabling such a comparison have been proposed. Water and stone flow together as the stabilising anchors melt away. N.B: For maps of the environmental designations within and adjacent to the study site refer to the various environmental assessment reports.

Our loaded springs flex against the accelerating gale and the cabin crackles. This vessel is lost at sea, so If you do have a clever climate control system, utilise it. Our cartography was rendered futile as first we pressed our stiffening backs into a corner [displacement waves surging through the elevated cubicle’s aperture] - then ran for more secure refuge. Now we recognise that evidence is not fixed [available information may not be in a format that is directly applicable to a traditional probabilistic analysis]. The equipment became saturated and we are electronically compromised, as our horizons contract to the extent of this small condensing capsule.

The visible city dissolves onto a rainscreen of fluid drape and chased droplets [the water is multidirectional]. The impact on these views, and any others considered relevant, will require assessment as part of any future proposals. A red/amber/green system has been used to mark the placemaking interventions, but colours leach into each other - a dull film of marine oil on a lead-grey membrane. The lead is beaten and deformed. Ghosts of transport shiver around the rim - hurling gutter bilge in the faces of: [a.] flailing athletes; [b.] failing aesthetes; [c.] those with no option [see also the momentary flicker across the reviewing screen]. It is clear that the risk is predominantly governed by the receptor and inclusive public spaces encourage people to go outdoors. The wicking function overloads  and hi-viz washes-out. The embankment liquifies beneath our feet. On the level plane, submerged geometry withdraws into micro-marshland beneath new contours [the map re-drawn in real time]. There seems to be some difference between those areas which had remote control rain gauges fixed in the catchment areas and those which did not. Reflected alerts shiver and fragment, mirrors pit, and the concentrics atomise beneath a million impacts. We witness the disintegration of the inverse world. The decomposition is based on criteria of process rather than necessarily by representing the physical connectivity between sub-systems.

The situation necessitates serious hazard analysis. Integrated consideration of adaptation and mitigation will allow us to identify interdependencies, be more efficient and minimise risk. The options are as follows: [i.] Wait-out the emergency in hope [with gates assumed to be in open position]; [ii.] Cut and run [do-something options avoid the carbon impact of the emergency]. To travel feels perilous, given the prevailing conditions; to risk it after dark - worse still. Comparative qualitative methods [such as the risk matrix] are useful in that they allow different types of hazard to be compared on the same scale, require a relatively  small amount of specialist skill, and allow easy prioritisation of the risks. The sky is locked tight and the city closes in on itself - sullenly resigned. Flooding can lead to poverty in low income households. It can make life more precarious for the vulnerable and elderly and have psychological impacts. New modelling suggests overtopping is likely [Defences do not on the whole overtop as soon as x = 1]. 

Agreement is reached and the decision made: Evacuate the zone whilst the possibility remains; postpone any further conclusions until more data can be safely collected. As this evidence base evolves and we gain new learning, we will use this knowledge to overcome challenges and respond to new opportunities that arise. The retreat is strategic [some may not make it]. Any actions identified are explicitly for managing a repeat event of this nature. Unmoored, we aquaplane north - peering to discern taillights and assess breaking distances through spray plumes and blue flicker. Control systems fail and emergency protocols are implemented along the way [two hours to the boundary].

Derelict Mirror (Happy-ish New Year)

 

All Images: Central Leicester, New Year's Day, 2024

The festivities are behind us, and it's time to peer trepidatiously into the future. I can't claim this was the most uplifting of Christmas/New Year periods, being largely characterised by yet more school-borne illness and a seemingly endless procession of Atlantic storms. Thankfully, the virus has departed, but each subsequent extreme weather event served to both lower the mood and raise the water levels - to the point where my own neighbourhood here in Leicester was subject to a full-on flood alert for a couple of days. I can only hope the immediate emergency is abated, and that we dodged a bullet here (others have not been so lucky) - not least as moving valuables upstairs and taking midnight walks to gauge nearby river levels is hardly a relaxing or creative way to spend one's precious leisure time.

Nevertheless, the creative life is about adapting to events as they present themselves, not as we would idealise them. Even between seemingly interminable downpours, there have been brief windows of photographic opportunity, and the chance to grab a bit of much-needed two-wheeled exercise. If life gives you economic/political gloom, environmental collapse, climatic catastrophe, illness and despondency - then find an attractively waterlogged bit of waste ground to symbolise the mood - that's my motto. I've passed by this portion of nondescript, derelict vacancy many times, but this time the standing water and briefly atmospheric illumination transformed it into something actually worth documenting.

To be sure, it's the kind of bleak subject-matter to which I'm often drawn, and perhaps captures the exhausted and demoralised mood of this particular nation, in several ways. Nevertheless, there's no denying its obscure beauty and wealth of visual texture. To simply observe and document is at least to engage, and creative endeavour is ultimately its own reward. To extract stimulation from the least promising circumstances is a generator of hope - and thus a political act in its own right.

Who knows? 2024 might even see a (marginally) less dysfunctional government replace the current criminal regime. That's if we can avoid a slide into full-on populist fascism, of course, but for now - let's look on the bright side...

The City Peers Through The Rain [re_mix]

 

All Original Images: North East Leicester, November 2022

[Reconfigured /Itemised/Translated Audio Transcript]:

• It starts with nihilism - and it’s a philosophy I follow (life has no meaning).

• Life is not cruel (the world has no reason to love low taxes). 

• Make-up has an absolute purpose (you’re kind of meat, even if you don't have chains).

• Where real people are billionaires, you don't see happy politicians anymore (It’s not something you do but something you don’t).

• I don't have a cold or anything like that (tuberculosis thoughts).

• Accept some diagnoses (don’t accept drugs).

• Don't calm down - we’ll be happy all the time anyway (we’re happy now).

• It doesn't matter now that the four continents on this world may only be three at the end (please move into place).

• I live despite absurdity (the best PR in a free/unfree world is an act of rebellion).

• Ironically, this is the paradox that I do not understand (I don't understand this downsizing ability).

• You become ill with the cruelty and strangeness of existence itself (often this creates hope in the soul).

• Perhaps nothing lasts (and I don't understand that the surgery never ends).

All Photo-Manipulations: December 2022

• If you think you're a fugitive from freedom - this is bullshit (it is friction with strange experiences and magic). 

• We are still washing dishes (realising we may never know why).

• This is from the past (this is how it happened).

• The universe came (and we survived).

• The question goes: ‘Oh my god, what if we don't have explanations?’ (we don't have a definitive explanation).

• If we don't have a definitive explanation, we don't see the whole situation (we go through everything in life and we never know what goes into our actions).

• It's kind of like finding the true power in letting go of things you cannot control (by learning to control your reactions and how you let things affect you today).

• Is it fully explained (or not)?