This is proving more demanding than I originally excepted.How do i capture that essence which the depressed gaze offers up to an individual who is in the grip of depression.Maybe the only method I can think of is to insure "something " is written down at the exact moment the depression is reaching that point where all life appears lost and worthless. But in order for me to reach that critical tension I have to dig deep into my soul and conjure up some energy in order to meet the depression head on. Of course to do this means digging deeper into an already fragile soul. This is the challenge.
Monday, 29 August 2011
Monday, 15 August 2011
riots and non riots
The day Tottenham took to the streets and the media went moved into hysterical blasts of moral indignation I walked along the South Bank of the river Thames. It was obvious that the end of London hadn't effected this part of the capital. The glorious tackiness which insures the South Banks popularity will not fade way for sometime to come still attracted thousands of people who strolled along in blind oblivion to the coming catastrophe which would spill down from the confines of Tottenham.
Maybe the throng of families, lovers strollers where unawares of the history being played out on the streets of North London.
This got me thinking about the vastness of cities. Tottenham imploded but the South Bank still supplied its sense of chaotic escape.People simply enjoyed the sun. No looting burning or other types urban disasters.
What developed in the North of the capital was alien to this Sunday stroll. As this none involvement always been the fate of Cities? What seemed to be taking place was a sense of disengagement. People simply weren't bothered.The news may have been predicting an explosion of rage,but the sense of fun was at odds with a media interpretation. Some alternative existence was being played out in the Capital. Lives where not connecting, communities live in separate zones whilst the media concentrates on the problems of one area they cant focus on the whole. London was not threatened. Never the less geographical dislocation concerns have always been a fact in the growth of the Urban landscape.
Maybe the throng of families, lovers strollers where unawares of the history being played out on the streets of North London.
This got me thinking about the vastness of cities. Tottenham imploded but the South Bank still supplied its sense of chaotic escape.People simply enjoyed the sun. No looting burning or other types urban disasters.
What developed in the North of the capital was alien to this Sunday stroll. As this none involvement always been the fate of Cities? What seemed to be taking place was a sense of disengagement. People simply weren't bothered.The news may have been predicting an explosion of rage,but the sense of fun was at odds with a media interpretation. Some alternative existence was being played out in the Capital. Lives where not connecting, communities live in separate zones whilst the media concentrates on the problems of one area they cant focus on the whole. London was not threatened. Never the less geographical dislocation concerns have always been a fact in the growth of the Urban landscape.
Sunday, 7 August 2011
walking before returning
When I was a kid and lived in Kings Cross the train stations were part of growing up. They took on the role of adventure playgrounds. Underground tunnel linked two stations. Back then Kings Cross Station was the elegant sister to the Gothic Monster which is St Pancres. Steam Trains ruled the landscape in every possible manner Smoke, soot, and noise filled the day and night This is a vanished world of darkness and adventure. The tunnels were mysterious and scary. Dark underground vains which spread out under the the dirty,bustling, travel traps above the ground. Trains appeared like vast metal demons which spat out steam,fire, and thick smoke.
The stations where dark and dirty. Places of departure and returns. Soot was everywhere. Smoke was everywhere. People who worked on the stations didn't appear to bother with the kids running all over the place. We could look after ourselves. And we could and did.
St Pancres was the darkest. The vast glass roof was coated in 100 years of grim,smoke,and darkness. The place became an adventure in survival. We kids imagined becoming lost in the grim and ending up in some far away land.
I remember the oak panelled waiting rooms, dirty and sad, but also mysterious. Throw backs from an old time. The vastness of the station added to its strangeness. It possessed a sense of out of timeliness.
We lids didn't know anything about this strange place being pulled down. It belonged to our dreams. Its filth and emptiness fitted into a landscape of ruins and adventure. Smoke and fire. All those waiting rooms,always empty, deserted but hiding ghost. I was fortunate to have the greatest adventure playground in the whole of London right on my doorstep. A Gothic monster which towerd over the whole landscape. We had no idea of its history but we had a sense of place. It belonged to us. Its dirt was our dirt. We loved it.
Now its a shopping mall devoid of place and meaning. a cleansed spectacle which means nothing. Its cleansed of meaning and adventure.
The stations where dark and dirty. Places of departure and returns. Soot was everywhere. Smoke was everywhere. People who worked on the stations didn't appear to bother with the kids running all over the place. We could look after ourselves. And we could and did.
St Pancres was the darkest. The vast glass roof was coated in 100 years of grim,smoke,and darkness. The place became an adventure in survival. We kids imagined becoming lost in the grim and ending up in some far away land.
I remember the oak panelled waiting rooms, dirty and sad, but also mysterious. Throw backs from an old time. The vastness of the station added to its strangeness. It possessed a sense of out of timeliness.
We lids didn't know anything about this strange place being pulled down. It belonged to our dreams. Its filth and emptiness fitted into a landscape of ruins and adventure. Smoke and fire. All those waiting rooms,always empty, deserted but hiding ghost. I was fortunate to have the greatest adventure playground in the whole of London right on my doorstep. A Gothic monster which towerd over the whole landscape. We had no idea of its history but we had a sense of place. It belonged to us. Its dirt was our dirt. We loved it.
Now its a shopping mall devoid of place and meaning. a cleansed spectacle which means nothing. Its cleansed of meaning and adventure.
Saturday, 30 July 2011
Myth and the city
Taking a a walkover to St Pancreas Station, that vast, Gothic monstrosity which dominates the landscape of Kings Cross. Back in the distant past this folly was going to be demolished in favour of a modernistic disaster much like Euston Station which must be the most ugly travel trap in the whole world. These buildings represents clash of travel styles which speak volumes about how culture experience the idea of travel. St Pancreas was conceive at a time when to travel meant some different. A statement of England at the time when the confidence in the Empire was on the wane. But the class system still prevailed. The building was/is a monument to the self perception of bombast and imagined power.
When we use our penetrating gaze and focus our attention upon the style of this form of Gothic structure we must question what we are observing. This is a symbol of invented histories which have no meaning what so ever in reality. Its a imagined reality in a landscape of imagined passion. When the building went up it was already out if time with the changing historical reality.
Nothing about the building tells us anything about the times. Monuments which hold onto fairy stories offer up a comfort against the harsh troubles of the times.
The railway station was a microcosm of 19c expectations. It is a space of waiting, the original interior was a net work of waiting rooms. It was a monument to the tedium of waiting and the expectation of new things.
The roof is a master work of engineering.
Everything else is candy land reality. They/the station is,was full of illusions and deceptions which high light the high point of capitalism in the late 19c Its a dreamscape, today it represents the Disney version of pleasure.The big difference being shopping .
Importantly for me the station became my adventure playground way back in my tender years. This is why I am returning back with a different gaze.
When we use our penetrating gaze and focus our attention upon the style of this form of Gothic structure we must question what we are observing. This is a symbol of invented histories which have no meaning what so ever in reality. Its a imagined reality in a landscape of imagined passion. When the building went up it was already out if time with the changing historical reality.
Nothing about the building tells us anything about the times. Monuments which hold onto fairy stories offer up a comfort against the harsh troubles of the times.
The railway station was a microcosm of 19c expectations. It is a space of waiting, the original interior was a net work of waiting rooms. It was a monument to the tedium of waiting and the expectation of new things.
The roof is a master work of engineering.
Everything else is candy land reality. They/the station is,was full of illusions and deceptions which high light the high point of capitalism in the late 19c Its a dreamscape, today it represents the Disney version of pleasure.The big difference being shopping .
Importantly for me the station became my adventure playground way back in my tender years. This is why I am returning back with a different gaze.
Friday, 29 July 2011
MYTH AND LANDSCAPE
This is the title of series of blogs exploring the ideas of re looking at the Urban landscape through the eyes of depression. I want to explore an idea. Does the depressed person develop a different encounter with the city? Does the depressed cultivate some sense of "altered" state of viewing the way engage with the aura of what the city scape presents us? Is the gaze of depression transformed by a state of mind? When I look at the city does my mood inform my response to how the perception of an object/place/person inform my opinion?
The gaze of a depressed person is different from the gaze of a person who does not suffer from depression. Like wise the female gaze is different form the male gaze. Experience informs observation. The gaze of a child is not the same as the gaze of a parent.
My gaze is experience by my "experience". My sense of the past is developed via my lived history. A history unique to me. Likewise your history is unique to you. Your experience is your uniqueness.
What I see is the same as what you see. But how we experience the viewed object is not the same. We see and feel. The same with sound. We live by experience.
When I walk I observe. What I observe is a place in time. A sound caught within a special moment. When I walk along the South Bank of the River Thames in the early hours of a Sunday morning I know the space inside out. Never the less each time I walk that few miles the familiarity is the same, but how my mind embraces the familiarity, will always be altered. Te next blog will be a journey into St Pancras Station. A personal history mixed with some observations about place and time withsome diversions into history which is myth.
Whilst Im on the subject of myth why dont we start creating our own myths? Story teeling needs to make a return.
The gaze of a depressed person is different from the gaze of a person who does not suffer from depression. Like wise the female gaze is different form the male gaze. Experience informs observation. The gaze of a child is not the same as the gaze of a parent.
My gaze is experience by my "experience". My sense of the past is developed via my lived history. A history unique to me. Likewise your history is unique to you. Your experience is your uniqueness.
What I see is the same as what you see. But how we experience the viewed object is not the same. We see and feel. The same with sound. We live by experience.
When I walk I observe. What I observe is a place in time. A sound caught within a special moment. When I walk along the South Bank of the River Thames in the early hours of a Sunday morning I know the space inside out. Never the less each time I walk that few miles the familiarity is the same, but how my mind embraces the familiarity, will always be altered. Te next blog will be a journey into St Pancras Station. A personal history mixed with some observations about place and time withsome diversions into history which is myth.
Whilst Im on the subject of myth why dont we start creating our own myths? Story teeling needs to make a return.
Monday, 18 July 2011
walking
Once again the idea of walking comes to mind, I keep on attempting to find head space to kick start this project. Iwill write on my face book when this long delayed project will start. Sorry to keep playing about.
Saturday, 9 July 2011
catscradle and politics
It seems the political establishment as reach its zenith. Art and culture is devoid ,cleansed of any political motivation.The liberal mentality stands accused of cowardness. Culture sold out to the corporate society. We have a cleansed culture. Nothing upsets the rule of the state. Resistance is at its lowest point for 50 years. We are content with our lot.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)