Ex_ist 2 [re_configure/trans_late]

All Photo-Manipulations: February 2025

Reconfigured Appropriated Texts [Translated]:

This sense of adventure certainly doesn't come from events. A new plan will have to be presented to move the project forward. I've proven that it's more about how moments flow into each other. A fire destroyed the surrounding area (I think that's what has happened). Suddenly, it feels as if time is passing, that each moment leads to another, this one to another, and so on; that each moment is destroying itself and there's no point in stopping it, etc. It will deteriorate, be vandalised, and then we attribute this property to the events happening to us at the moment. Leaving things as they are clearly doesn't work. What's formal extends to substance. It's unusable, consisting of thin brick pillars topped with a dilapidated wooden-clad building. For three months of the year, there are no clear signs of progress or imminent construction. In fact, this famous era is much talked about, but barely seen. I think if nothing is done immediately, the situation will get worse.

All Original Images: Old Basford, Nottingham, February 2025

If I remember correctly, this is called the irremediability of time. At this point, it seems impossible to save anything - the feeling of adventure would just be the irremediability of time. I have to face it; every day - a complete waste of time. But why don't we always have it? Is it because time isn't always irremediable? (I would prefer if nothing happened.) There are times when you feel like you can do whatever you want, move forward or backward, it doesn't matter. And then, at other times, it feels like the network has become strained, and you can't accept that when people come here by tram. That’s the first thing to do in those cases. It’s not a failure because you can't start over (no tangible progress has been made). The applicant appealed the decision, but the Inspector upheld it. They hadn't noticed much activity on the site, except for the presence of a man who appeared to be moving rubble and debris.

I'm afraid of cities. But we mustn't abandon them. Someone has to live somewhere. Previous comments have spoken of 'nationalities' in an unfinished housing development on a citywide and national scale. If you go too far, you reach the Vegetation Belt (the greenery stretches for miles toward the cities). It's waiting, but the first thing you see is the dirty desert. When the city dies, vegetation will invade it. It will climb the stones, grab them, dig them out, tear them apart with its long black claws and accelerate its growth. It will fill the holes and plant its green paws everywhere. We must live in cities while they are alive. One should never enter alone into such a mass of hair waiting at their door. It's dangerous for the residents (neither safe nor proper).

Permission has not been implemented. You should be allowed to lift and puncture the old cross-filters, as the approved project isn't considered financially viable in the city. If you know how to do it, choose times when the animals are digesting or sleeping in their burrows (while conveniently ignoring the old, long-abandoned local eyesores hidden behind piles of organic detritus). It's a shame, you rarely find anything there but minerals - the least frightening existents of all.

'Constructed City' 1

All Images, Leicester And Nottingham, June - July 2019

As I intimated in my last post, I've spent a lot of recent hours photographing major building work.  There's plenty of that going on in my own Leicester back yard - and in Nottingham, where I'm a regular visitor, also. 

It definitely feels like it will probably trigger a new body of work, in coming months.  However, for now - it just feels like I'm in a gathering phase.  It's usually only after a period of immersion in the field that certain themes and associations really start to coalesce around a category of subject matter, and I'd never want to be without this process of just 'getting in among it' with the camera.  There's already the odd glimmer of something emerging, thematically - but mostly, I'm just happy to indulge myself with the sensory overload of all this stuff, at present.

Of course, there's a difference between the various meanings to be found in a subject, and the purely visual/formal correlations (closely connected though they may become).  One thing that's pretty obvious is that large construction sites are an absolute gift to my love of complex visual structures and formal geometry - as is amply demonstrated in this first little batch of images.  

I remember, as a student, being advised to let imagery evolve organically, by grouping visual material, be it primary sources or secondary influences, into connected categories - however simplistic.  Often, the easily made, immediate connections start to give way to other, less obvious, associations, in time.

In this case, everything here fits neatly into a pigeonhole labelled 'meshes and grids', and it's all pretty frontal and parallel to the picture plane.  So far - so much something I've always always loved.  But already, I'm also starting to think about relative degrees of complexity, and the introduction of disruptors into modular systems, as well as the whole idea of layering, and the compartmentalising of space, in three as well as two dimensions.  There also seems to be something worth exploring about just how many different ways there might be to fill-in space, both pictorially, and in terms of the urban landscape, in all of these.    

That'll do for now, then.  There'll almost definitely be a load more to follow, as the year progresses...

CMYK Screen Printing Weekend At Leicester Print Workshop

Untitled 4-Colour CMYK Screen Print (Test Piece) On Paper,
200 mm X 146 mm (Actual Image), 2019 

With a lot of time spent laboriously fettling cardboard boxes, fridge doors and abandoned trundle toys, over the last eighteen months - my printmaking excursions have been fairly few and far between.  I made an attempt to rectify that recently, and to reboot my enthusiasm for screen printing in particular - by attending Leicester Print Workshop's two day CMYK-specific training course.  It proved to be a thoroughly enjoyable experience, and has certainly inspired me me to get back into the workshop, now that the blessed school holidays have finally kicked in.

Untitled 2-Colour CMYK Screen Print On Paper (Test Piece),
200 mm X 146 mm (Actual Image), 2019

Untitled 3-Colour CMYK Screen Print On Paper (Test Piece),
200 mm X 146 mm (Actual Image), 2019

Although I'd done a fair bit of screen printing in recent times (prior to 2018's sculpture-orientated, spare time-devouring, energy-sapping endurance test), it had all been either single-colour photographic stuff, or featured the fairly unsophisticated layering of single, flat colours.  There's still plenty that can be achieved that way, of course (and certainly, I'd only scratched the surface of what's possible), but getting to grips with proper, CMYK separations, in order to play with the real potential of full colour, photo-derived imagery, felt like a missing piece of the jigsaw.

Untitled 3-Colour CMYK Screen Print On Paper (Test Piece),
200 mm X 146 mm (Actual Image), 209

Screen printing has always felt like a logical extension of the fact that nearly everything I produce, nowadays has  photographic origins.  Strangely - for someone who can often be pretty dim, or a bit 'analogue', where technology is concerned, the translation of imagery between different media, and the whole embrace of once wholly-commercial processes of image reproduction, feel pretty intrinsic to my process, nowadays.  It probably  has a lot to do with the resolutely urban nature of everything I do, and the way that such imagery contributes to the urban landscape.  Certainly, the insertion of oversized (usually highly idealised) commercial photo-imagery, into an otherwise physical (and possibly less than 'ideal') context, can provide some pretty thrilling shocks to the perceptual system, I find.

Untitled 4-Colour CMYK Screen Print On Paper (Test Piece),
200 mm X 146 (Actual Image), 2019

Untitled 3-Colour CMYK Screen Print On Paper Test Piece),
200 mm X 146 mm (Actual Image), 2019

I'm far from the first to notice all that, of course.  It's been a staple of the Post-Pop sensibility for 60-odd years.  Nevertheless, the interaction between the 'real' and the imagistic remains a key feature of the actual environments in which I spend most of my waking hours.  The appropriated, printed imagery of Warhol or Rauschenberg, the 'stolen' photography of Richard Prince, or Christopher Wool's boundary-hopping slide between paint, photography and print (and back again) all seem like pretty appropriate accompaniments to my daily experience.  Of course, younger artists might scoff at this - pointing out that these are all quite elderly exemplars, and that the physical or printed artefact is itself now 'well-obsolete'.  The integration of secondary imagery (or text) into our routine experience has, after all, become an all-pervasive, virtual process, at this stage of the cultural game.  The effortless negotiation of simultaneous parallel 'realities' is something many folks now take for granted, and hardly worthy of comment.  In which case, sue me! - I'm old enough for some kind of techno-historical perspective to actually make sense.  Also, staring at electronic screens, all day gives me eye strain.  Besides, aren't a bit of 'craft' and a degree of retro-appeal what all the really cool kids crave, these days?

Untitled 4-Colour Screen Print On Paper (Test Piece),
225 mm X 150 mm (Actual Image), 2019

Untitled 4-Colour Screen Print On Paper (Test Piece),
220 mm X 145 mm (Actual Image), 2019

Anyhow, I digress.  LPW's two-day course gave me all the new learning and techno-tricks I needed to make colour separations in Photoshop, and a useful refresher in the fundamentals of screen printing technique, to boot.  I was pleased to find that my muscle memory for things like photo-emulsion application, squeegy angles, and pulling pressure, hadn't deserted me in my recent absence.  I could just concentrate on the things that are crucial to full-colour halftone printing, like precise registration and relative colour density - without having to go all the way back to Square One.  As a result, the prints I produced (whilst they can only be regarded as experimental practice pieces) turned out to be encouragingly successful.  In fact, I've even sold one, without actually trying  (who'd've thunk it?). 

Oh, and if any eagle eyed visitors here should notice that not all my registration was exactly spot-on - I blame an initially loose pair of hinge clamps.  The only sensible course of action was embrace the error, and designate the wonkiest of my early prints as  'experimental', as the cyan and black went on.  That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

All Remaining Images:  Sneinton, Nottingham & West Leicester, January - July 2019

It is worth noting that the image I chose to reproduce was selected from an ever-expanding tranche of recent photographs, concentrating on major construction and redevelopment activity.  There's a lot of that going on in my neck of the Leicester woods, just now - with several major new buildings already nearing completion, and a lot more scheduled to follow over the next few years.  This is all part of the grand plan to redevelop a significant tract of West Leicester, between the inner ring road and my own neighbourhood.  It will transform the riverside area formally known as Blackfriars/St Augustines, and extend into the equally neglected post-industrial Frog Island area beyond - to exactly what effect, only time will tell.  Those particular environs have featured on here, several times, and I'll confess, I'm already slightly mourning the loss of one or two of my old favourite derelict hot-spots. 

But to live in a city is to embrace change and celebrate often-dramatic physical transformation.  If the region is to be transformed from a marginal playground of creeping stasis and desolate reverie, into a sleekly designed and heavily marketed zone of new-found density and intention - so be it.  The changes now unfolding are undeniably exciting - as new structures emerge, and empty sections of the map, and equally vacant intervals in the city's skyline, are suddenly filled in.  My lens already loves the intricate networks of scaffolding, complex geometries of newly-erected steel, jointing patterns in incomplete cladding, and glistening curtains of fresh glass.  The insertion of functional constructors' signage, developers' marketing babble, and aspirant, hyper-real architects' impressions all feel like valuable grist to the mill too.

Certainly, it all feels far too significant to ignore - particularly for an artist who constantly bangs on about being so in tune with their urban surroundings.  If, as seems likely, it all provides fuel for another eventual body of work - perhaps there's no reason why that couldn't be a largely print-orientated enterprise.  As ever - we'll see.  In the meantime, I'll conclude this post with few more taster images - possibly to prime the pump, as it were.

Thanks to Katie, Harley, and all at LPW concerned with organising the CMYK Screen Printing Weekend,  29-30 June, 2019.  I plan to be back soon, to implement some more of my new learning.

Oh, You Know - Something About Framing My Shots, Or My Latest Posts, Or Fulfilling My Goals...

All Images: West Nottingham, April 2019

Much of the imagery on this Blog originates in the heart of one city or another.  At other times, the focus may be more on the suburbs.  But here, we're definitely at the very fringes of Nottingham - outside its western ring road, and right at the margin where development filters out into farmland.  

But, as others have pointed out, 'The Edgelands' are a distinct, liminal kind of territory, and just as rich in potential artistic stimuli, as the inner core of many cities.  Edgelands may be much less concentrated, frenetic, or super-heated than city centres, but they can be fascinatingly nuanced and ambiguous - often with a distinct poetry of their own.

Viewed in the right way, they can even conjure an environment in which the everyday and mundane start to feel intriguingly alien or mysteriously enchanted in some unexpected way.  This strange sector of interlocking geometry definitely felt that way, on the eerily still, and  humid day in April, when I came upon it.

Of course, if one takes a step back from all the Psychogeographic daydreaming, and thinks in purely visual terms once more, these images also provide an ideal opportunity to just indulge my love of linear geometry, with all its glorious, abstract potentiality.

It started me thinking about how, in formal or pictorial sense, a line is often just a notional boundary between two distinct portions of space, or between a space and a not-space, perhaps.  For two dimensional artists, lines are essentially a device for chopping up illusionistic space, rather than something actually perceived or definable, in the real world.  For a sculptor, however, they can become something tangible - literally delineating a portion of actual space, into which one might insert one's body, as well as one's imagination.  In a wholly found manner, that's also exactly what these goal frames are achieving - and with a pleasing complexity.

Of course, by photographing them - and presenting them via this most illusionistic of media, I am returning them to the realm of the purely pictorial.  It also occurs to me that, particularly in those three shots wholly without a background of sky or distant trees, you've pretty much got the history of Western picture-making, from Renaissance perspective, to Cubism, to geometric abstraction, playing out in a few dozen steel tubes and a patch of grass.

Back of the net...

Tunnelling In Again

West Nottingham, April 2019

I never cease to be thrilled by the immersive complexity of cities.  For a long time now, I've had a kind of fantasy about urban environments resembling vast living organisms through which one might move - like in one of those imagined scenarios where submarine explorers are shrunk to cellular scale and injected into someone's bloodstream.  Such tales always seemed merely a preposterous trope of the cheesier end of Science Fiction from my childhood [1.].  However, anyone who has experienced an endoscopic procedure involving the medical insertion of a fibre-optic device, will know that fact has rather caught up with fiction, these days.

West Nottingham, April 2019

Anyway this sense of the city as a complex amalgam of interlocking systems, networks, ducts and sinuses is always magnified whenever my camera lens is drawn into a city's subways and other subterranean spaces - as it often is.  

West Leicester, May 2019

Subways and tunnels have long held a fascination, and have certainly featured on here before, a few times.  These images include several of the latest crop - harvested recently, while considering the possible resurrection of a proposed video project on the subject, a while back.  I'm still not sure if that project will actually emerge into the light, anytime soon - although I have started shooting a bit more related footage, of late - so we'll see about that one.

What is notable is that the regularly photographed foot tunnels, and road underpasses have now been joined by subterranean and basement carparks, as a recurrent motif.  Psychologically, the implications of these might be subtly different, although I'm yet to fully analyse exactly how.  For now, they just seem to offer another opportunity to burrow into the hidden substrata of the city - either in reality, or by just imagining what might be around one of those descending corners

West Nottingham, April 2019

[1.]:  I want to imagine having watched at least one film based on this premise, as a child - the kind of thing Doug McClure would have inevitably starred in.  Anyone know whether or not I'm just making this up? 

Colour / Not Colour 9

Both Images: Central Nottingham, May 2019

It seems I've been resurrecting a few slightly neglected series on here, lately.  The images in this is post could easily fit into one of several familiar categories, including 'Yellow Things', 'Grey Things', 'Scaffolding', or 'Urban Geometry'.  All of those themes have recurred, in one form or another, at different times, over the last few years.  Ultimately though, it feels like the two images, captured only meters apart, in Nottingham, a few weeks back - best illustrate the idea of 'Colour' and 'Not Colour', played out in similarly abstracted subjects (albeit on two very different scales).  

I often tell myself not to be so predictable in my habitual selection of geometrically formal, picture-plane orientated, minimalist, quasi-abstract imagery - but then I walk past something like this, and off comes the lens cap, as if by involuntary reflex.  I guess the eye loves what the eye loves...

Anyway, he function of neutral 'Not Colours' in contextualising actual colours, is something all painters, in particular,  must come to terms with, sooner or later.  And it seems just as important a feature of the urban landscape - where drab masonry or utilitarian surface coatings often rub cheeks with saturated, synthetic (and often self-coloured) materials.  Certainly, both of these examples seem to typify the kind of artificial, industrial colours that interest me far more than traditional artist's pigments, these days.  And, of course - I'm always a sucker for Cadmium Yellow and Battleship Grey.

I often reflect how, in recent times, I've spent hundreds of hours staring at the bits of cities most people just pass by - and how I've sourced far more of my materials in the aisles of B&Q, than in any art materials supplier. 

Luminarium At Lakeside Arts, Nottingham

All Images:Architects Of Air, 'Luminarium'

After visiting Mandy Payne’s exhibition, at Lakeside Arts, Nottingham, as discussed in my last post, my friend, Lorel and I also had time to look inside another attraction, situated nearby.

Credited to Alan Parkinson and Nottingham-based Architects of Air, the pop-up ‘Luminarium’ is a complex, bouncy castle-like environment [1.], comprising a number of organic chambers and tunnels, arranged around a larger central dome.  It’s supposedly inspired by the internal spaces of gothic cathedrals and Islamic architecture, but there’s more than a hint of 'Doctor Who', or the psychedelic 60s about it all too – not least because the overwhelming impression of being subsumed within an amorphous, organic environment of intense coloured light.  By employing translucent coloured PVC to construct the outer walls, the designers have cleverly harnessed nothing more than ambient daylight to saturate the structure’s internal cells with intense colours – something which could be experienced in full effect on the sunny afternoon we were there.

The main intention is clearly to create a kind of immersive, sensory zone, designed to stimulate relaxation or contemplation (another clue being the slightly cheesy ambient music also permeating the environment within).  I won’t pretend there’s any particularly profound  artistic relevance to this in the traditional sense - although dance music’s chill-out rooms, and the current fascination with meditation and colour therapies, are obvious cultural referents.  Nevertheless, I guess there’s nothing wrong with suspending one’s analytical faculties in favour of something more directly experiential, from time to time. 

And there certainly is much simple pleasure to be had from wandering around inside what mostly feels like an almost womb-like structure - whilst seemingly suspended in healing chromatic radiance, and freed from the hard edges of the modern world.  Or there would be - if it weren’t also full of over-excited small children [2.], whose instinct in such an environment, is less to ‘chill out’, than to charge around, shout with glee, and bounce off the walls at every opportunity.  The resulting atmosphere might be described as slightly fraught.  I wouldn’t want to appear too much of a killjoy though.  Plenty of fun was being had - even if not of the intended variety.  Perhaps the real mistake was to expect anything else on a weekend - which is, of course, prime family time.  Maybe a few adults-only sessions might be in order, although, even as I read that back - I wonder if it might not open up a whole new can of worms.  Either way, it did all make for a bit of amusing R&R, and some pleasing photos – and that’s surely enough.

Unfortunately, ‘Lumniarium’s stint at Lakeside is over now.  However, it looked pretty popular, if ticket demand and the queues to get in are any indication – so I expect it’ll inflate itself somewhere else, before too long.

[1.]:  I can't help wanting to use the term, 'overblown' here.

[2.]:  See - womb-like.