The Story of Roundabout

In my work, I try to express emotion through my landscape photography, and I bear in mind questions about whether work should have an objective theme, or whether it can be purely personal.

Roundabout is intended to be a visual explanation of my emotional state whilst considering my ongoing frustrations regarding freedom to access green spaces, trespassing and the urban environment, particularly the impact of traffic.

It is a response to a minor car accident, back pain, a difficult relationship, weeks of flu and the anxiety that traps me close to home. The fire that propelled me to travel (or was it escape?) has diminished, quelled by the responsibility I have for my children and my home.  It has rooted me to the spot, made me weak and sometimes confines me to my bed. Things scare me. Really scare me.

I have learnt to reliably move my body in beneficial ways. As Lee Hazlewood sang "I've learned to do some simple things. Like lock the door and shut the lights". I wake the kids, clean the kitchen, make some food, shop online. Activities are safe: out with friends, visiting cities, using public transport.  The result is that the wildernesses I love are largely out of bounds.I pick up a camera or two and explore close to home, almost a genre of landscape photography itself[1].

I seek out the pockets of green overlooked by industry, where traffic rages metres away or buzzes continuously on the periphery. I try to suspend reality, to enjoy this faint taste of freedom. But the land is spoilt, it's inadequate, damaged and poisoned. It reflects me.I want to stretch my legs, to walk for miles without hitting towns, to hear the silence and feel my heart settle. Is it healthy to live like this?  I don't think so.

Installation at De Montfort University

It's been documented that nature is beneficial to those suffering from depression.  “Controlling for individual and regional covariates, we found that, on average, individuals have both lower mental distress and higher well-being when living in urban areas with more green space.” [2]

However, a UK study finds differently “after adjustment for confounding by respondent socio-demographic characteristics and urban/rural location, the association was attenuated to the null”.[3]   The report goes on to say “While we did not find a statistically significant association between the amount of green space in residents’ local areas and mental wellbeing, further research is needed to understand whether other features of green space, such as accessibility, aesthetics or use, are important for mental wellbeing.” I find this is revealing.

Looking around my mostly urban area, there are city parks, verges and further out, fields and a few country parks (of the pay your parking fee, be gone by dusk variety). I appreciate these but they are structured, small pockets of shared space in which we are ‘allowed’ to visit if we have a car and the fee. In addition to this, many ‘green’ areas are simply there because the land has no value for further development. The term ‘Edgelands’ was conceived in 2002 by Marion Shoard to describe “The interfacial interzone between urban and rural”. It is not necessarily a new concept, as a hundred and fifty years earlier Victor Hugo gloriously declared these areas "bastard countryside...ugly but bizarre, made up of two different natures".

These areas hold an unconventional attraction. This is my environment. The work I’m making is borne of this. My photographs show the damage inherent in these zones but include an element of hope as nature pokes through the poisoned ground. It’s a metaphor for how I feel, how I adapt, how I compromise within my surroundings and yet hope to grow.

Image from East Meet West Publication, 2020

References

1 Irvine, John (2015) A Path Not Far... Landscape Editions Volume One www.kozubooks.com

2 https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/23613211 Psychol Sci. 2013 Jun 24 Would you be happier living in a greener urban area? A fixed-effects analysis of panel data. White MP1, Alcock I, Wheeler BW, Depledge MH.

3 https://www.understandingsociety.ac.uk/research/publications/524371 BMC Public Health, June 1, 2017 A cross-sectional analysis of green space prevalence and mental wellbeing in England Victoria Houlden, Scott Weich and Stephen Jarvis

MA Shows, 2019

In 2019/2020 I studied for an MA in Fine Art, despite holding little more than an Art GSCE (and some irrelevant A levels). Prior to this I never knew it was possible. It was easier than I expected in some ways, though combining the final show and essay with raising two teenagers as a sole parent and running a house on a minimal budget isn’t something I’d wholeheartedly recommend.

During this time I realised my desire to get my photographs out of frames and to display them in alternative formats. I read more widely, and was able to indulge a yen to research concepts and theories. There’s tons that I still want to do…

Teenage Werewolves: NOT landscape photographY

Taking photos of gigs isn't something I do every time I'm out. It's fun but there's always a photographer more confidently doing their stuff. These creatures take many forms (hello Ollie, it's always nice to see you in your ear defenders) but this time it was a giant of a man stood slap bang in front of me, so the first few shots are worked around him until he moved to one side for a while. Yeah, I should have moved forward alongside him, but it takes some guts to do that and I felt a bit quiet at first. Besides, I was there to see the gig primarily.

So, this is a tribute band. Yeah, that’s unavoidably just a little bit cheesy at best. Yeah, it felt daft getting dressed up to go to the spit and sawdust Musician pub on a Tuesday evening, but this was Teenage Werewolves, the prime Cramps covers band, and it would be fun.

It was one hell of a show. A generously packed set with no support. In the absence of Lux Interior, Jack Atlantis performed the ass off performing. Attempting to catch Atlantis still enough to photograph in low light was as hard as trying to photography a hen without blur. He must have covered a couple of miles and even some altitude on the tiny Musician stage. It's not a feat that will be matched any time soon.

We danced, we sang, things got covered in beer, I got a damn hard wallop in the back from a particularly inebriated bloke but that's the price of being small and at the front of a gig (it really shouldn’t be this way but I won't get scared away - it's my space too). Loads of Cramps gems were covered, plus covers of Teenage Kicks, Teen Spirit and a Clash cover which was even good by my Clash hating standards!

13: The project that got away

Some projects fall by the wayside, this was one, though it did carry on for a few months until life took over in different ways.

Today, R is 15 and to have a record of him morphing daily into this proto adult would have been pretty amazing, but I acknowledge that it was a tall order and there were many other things to do. I became aware, particularly as the year went on, that I was mainly taking a snap before running out of the door. It was a difficult time. But it doesn’t hurt to have a bit of hope, does it?

13

And so it begins. My youngest child is 13.  And age arbitrarily plucked out of the ether as significant. He's a boy, my 2nd. My eldest child will turn 16 soon and has been taking up most of my attention to be fair.  He's good company and has exams coming up. This leaves this child, as usual, a little overlooked.  He amuses himself well.  He is difficult to spend time with unless you share his obsessions.  Today is a milestone as he's spent most of it with a friend. C is still here, playing games on the PC in a downstairs room whilst R plays on his own PC upstairs. This is their fun.

I am his mother. I do not know him entirely.  He is a child of the internet, of frustrations, of his obsessions and of school.  He is a child that likes to avoid things if he possibly can.  I am waiting for him to mature now - to turn the corner into being an adult.  I can't remember when it should happen, but it needs to soon.  I shall mourn the loss of my little boy. Today I perhaps feel more emotional about it than I ever have.  I accept it and I shall cope.  He needs to grow and I shall be there to help him.  Hanging around, on call, for when I'm wanted most intensely.  Hanging back to give him the space he needs otherwise.  Discovering which of the gaps I can use for myself and how.  Unravelling. Negotiating this new reality. Gently ushering him towards becoming a man I'm happy to call my son.

He has surprised me by agreeing to be part of this project, even by being imaginative and enthusiatic. There will be a photo a day. A photo that seems suitable for us, that day.  He won't always look happy.  They may not be flattering to our relationship. They will change over time. We may get bored. But we will try and we hope to be honest to you, the onlooker, without oversharing.

I'm sure the idea isn't unique. I don't know when or how I shall share it. It is a story of a mother and her son. We shall influence each other throughout but I hope that it will be an insight into our story and an irreplaceable account of this female mammal rearing her male offspring.

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13 No.1 Canon 7d

We're at the Great Central Railway.  It's his 13th birthday and we've been here many times before.  This place will soon be obliterated to make way for an extension to the line.  He knows I love it here and never complains about me poking around, taking photos.  He skips onto some steps. They're a smidge dangerous but he's okay.  We like the Sleeper logo and he chooses a pose intended to mock the tangerine horror of the recently inaugerated Donald Trump, who is both a figure of fun and something genuinely scary to him.

It's going to be a roller coaster of a year.

They call it progress

 “When we destroy something created by man, we call it vandalism. When we destroy something created by nature, we call it progress.” -Ed Begley Jr.

Nope, I've no idea who Ed Begley Jr. is.  An American actor, says Wikipedia, but I liked the words in relation to these photographs of the local railway sheds.  Clearly, the scene has been 'created by man' (I've never seen a woman working in the sheds - they seem to be assigned to period dress and tea duty only in this microcosm), though I'd argue that it was nature enough.  Every time I visit the Great Central Railway, it's not the trains that fascinate me, it's this area of ramshackle storage containers full of useful odds and ends that eventually become restored engines.  Every time I'm allowed to wander through the sheds, smell the oil and peep at the work in progress, the tools and the workbenches I appreciate the access...and the people working there wonder why I'm taking photos.  "We had some students in here once taking photos..." they'll say, totally unaware of how special this unpretentious environment is.

I took these photos a nearly two years ago and since then I've had little time to devote to such things.  I haven't now.  I want to be studying but I'm cleaning the house ahead of Christmas, which is long overdue and hindered by a back that needs to be a little stronger for such things. Still, I'm making progress in my microcosm, though it's influenced by what I think a house should appear to be, criticisms from family and ideas about home style (mostly ignored) rather than simply providing a safe, warm environment for my family and friends. Tools and guitars will be moved, offcuts of wire and piles of sawdust eradicated, albeit temporarily. My own clutter will be tamed. Still, until tarpaulin chic is fashionable, it's probably for the best.