The Race

"It's not how you start, it's how you finish..."

But then "every end has a start."


I'm on a train to london with the pod. It's nice to be out.



{Today's soundtrack: The Hours - Narcissus Road}

Thankfulness

Sigh. Today I'm feeling a bit miserable because the foot injury is flaring up again. Most of all I want to run around and be thankful for this lovely job, the one to go in that space we're watching, and most of all I want to be happy about a calm and treasured time of things all having worked out OK. But most of all I'm cross at having to stay still with my injury and separate from the world! It's so tricky - we're not built for isolation, and I'm not great at sitting still. I'm trying not to be grumpy but it's quite difficult!

For now, in order to make a point of thankfulness, I'm reaching for these photographs from shoot day. They help recall a grand and blessed session with special folk, and make a point of the fact I get to do some lovely things in my work, to which my stillness today tips a little nod.


{Today's soundtrack: fireworks somewhere in town, and an owl in the tree outside. Yes, an owl! And I thought it was some teenagers larking about...}

Trees of Justice

A man once said, "And the trees of the fields shall clap their hands." What on earth does that mean? Trees don't have hands.

But then, maybe if you think of branches as arms, and the leaves as hands, and if you've ever stood beneath a sycamore branch while the wind blows its leaves, it does somehow seem like hands clapping. And then if you step back into that wind to look at the whole tree it becomes like an excited crowd of people. And if you step back further to get a view of the whole field of trees it could–in a certain visionary way–mimic a huge stadium audience, cheering something quite brilliant and arresting. So, maybe as you're standing there feeling tiny, there is an impression growing that the trees of the fields do indeed have hands to clap and they sense something to cheer that we just guess at for now. Let yourself be enchanted by this.

I can't tell you how much I love trees - these fantastic, giant poems to strength, resilience and longevity. The roots of a tree grow as deep as the branches are high, an important reminder that as deep as a person's suffering is, so is their capacity to love.

Trees of justice, oaks of righteousness - excellent encouragers.


{Today's soundtrack: wind in the leaves}

Trophies

If you didn't see this picture with your own eyes, you would never believe that in a kitchen somewhere in the UK there was a saucepan full to the brim with malteasers, going partway to create adequate reward for a week of hard earned triumph.

Half marathons complete, crutches thrown away (believe it sister!) and the job of my life handed in (deadline TODAY). Completion of these things, my friends, has to be acknowledged.

No, this image will ever win awards, but just looking at the contents of that saucepan is enough to get the endorphines coursing while the radio provides music to smile to. And surely that's (in part) the job of photography - to record unbelievable things as they happen. (All of this is true, but I promise you'll never see the pictures of me running...)

Halleluliah, amen.


{Today's soundtrack: Supergrass - Sun Hits the Sky}

In Dependence

How to go from super-strength to incapacity in the crossing of a finish line: run a half marathon with acute tendonitis in your achilles heel by telling yourself its just those quite new and not properly run-in running shoes pressing a bit, and the camber in the road going the wrong way. Upon crossing aforementioned finishing line in reasonable time, find nice St John Ambulance people for an ice pack, then leave all shame at the door as you try–unsuccessfully–to get up again and listen to them radio one of their famous ambulances for a lift to the doc and crutches.

Oh dear, housebound and having to enjoy my beloved but humble garden-on-the-steps from a removed angle. It does look nice from up here, but there's nothing like being close enough to see the pollen on the bumble bee's legs as it drinks. I do miss being down there, my patient space of idea and prayers alongside things that grow.

Yes, this is the latest drama going off in Lizzieland, though it feels quite lovely to sit down all day eating choc without being assumed lazy or greedy. Kind, kind friends and neighbours coming to cook supper and water the plants, and lessons in dependence and being in a lot, neither of which come easily.

Thankfully, I've had so many gorgeous offers of help I've almost had to invent things for people to do so they don't go away feeling unwanted! (It's amazing the looks of "alright suit yourself" you get when you try to suggest you don't need anything.)

Thank you friends, I'm on the mend again. By the way, if anyone is going to the shops I could do with some cake ingredients...


{Today's soundtrack: radio4 + 6music, for the company}

Blasting in Progress

For a minute, the road was closed off by men in hi-vis jackets and big boots. No one was allowed through. A siren sounded, first twice, then three times, then there was a deep and rumbling bang which startled my core. After one final long siren, we were clear to go. It was only a small building site, and the effects of the blast couldn't be seen, hidden in some drain pipe I suspect.

This blasting, for the passer-by it's more than just a sound. One particular memory I have is hearing snow-cannons blasting drifts in the Alps, about 5am before we would normally wake. It was deep and base enough to shake the chalet timber, and it surprised me then how–even though quite innocent–to the untrained and unsuspecting being it is so frightening.

I can't imagine how it must feel to live with this all the time in hostility. The soul must find itself startled out of all grasp on peace. Either that, or you become especially skilled in achieving peace in the thick of chaos. Either that, or you become so hard-hearted you stop noticing.

Learning how to be at peace while sitting on piles of rubble is a rich lesson.


{Today's soundtrack: birdsong}

The Rules

So, what are the conventions around using a tea-cosy as a hat? Dave, I know you'll have thoughts on this, but it's one thing wearing yours at a DJ Derek gig under cover of rum and darkness, and another altogether to choose the high street in broad daylight.


There's often a stage in between hot and cold where going commando (as they say at festivals) is not an option, particularly if you suffer from dreadful hat hair, as I do. In these times the spout/handle holes could be utilised as well placed ear vents. Maddy is only partway to demonstrating the look here, but personally, I admire the boldness in her lateral thinking, especially when it's crafted in the form of a wicker basket full of flowers.

What's the best thing you've ever reclaimed as head gear?


{Today's soundtrack: the guys were listening to The Beatles earlier on, but we're all concentrating really hard so it has reduced to intense electrical hum.}

Fopped Off

Once upon a time, Bristol, like many other towns, had a number of small, independent record shops. The good folk who worked in those shops knew their stuff, probably knew your stuff too, would comment on your purchases and recommend their top new releases that you really should be listening to, stock extra supplies of locally gigging artists and stick hand-written reviews on CD covers, that sort of thing. They had carpet stuck together with gaffer tape and wrote lists on boards with dry markers. They sometimes even sold our second hand CDs. Familiar old friends were these little shops.

One sunny day, New, Handsome Record Shop came strolling into town and, wearing the badge of independence and putting turntables on its downstairs counter, seduced the local crowd. With its lollipop motif ('suck it and see') and super-bargain stocks, the smaller shops found they couldn't compete and without a warehouse of cheap tat to pimp in customers they all went out of business.

Handsome record shop loved being flavour of the month, though flavour got the better of it as its eyes turned out to be bigger than its tummy. Somehow it thought that buying an extra helping of record store pudding it would get the wings it needed to topple the Big Guys off their perch. Instead, it ate so much record store pudding it couldn't get off the ground and went extinct.

Now all we have are the Big Guys.


How to avoid this happening again:

1. Shop local and actually discover the name of the person behind the counter, who has been there for years and is training up their son/daughter to take over the business. They know where you live. Mr Tesco doesn't (unless you have a loyalty card).

2. Don't use loyalty cards - insist that shops sell things at the price they can afford in the first place rather than making false reimbursement at the checkout. And anyway, credit you get on a loyalty card should really be going to the farmers growing things organically (for example) so if you do use a loyalty card don't complain organic produce costs so much.

3. Don't be seduced into thinking that just because something's cheap it's worth having. Quantity never did equal quality.

4. Seek out the shops where carpet is held together with gaffer tape, because surely they've seen some local action and that counts for a lot. What they have to offer is integrity, and they don't need polished marble flooring to convince you.

and finally,

5. Remember that when New Handsome can't be bothered no more you're the only one that loses.


As you can tell, I'm quite annoyed about bloody Fopp being so stupid and greedy and putting themselves and everyone else in the area out of business. I no longer have a cute local to browse for today's soundtrack. This is just wrong.

And yes, I did doctor that picture. Grrr.


{Today's soundtrack: Nina Simone - Little Girl Blue}

Watch This Space

A rough building site, shadows curling across the rubble and along unfinished walls, and a time designated to sit and watch this space. There isn't even any paint to dry–this time we're watching something take shape from very, very deep down inside.


It's both inside me and inside this wall. You can't see it with your normal eyes, at least, I can't. I have to keep closing those normal eyes so I can see this coming together more clearly, so it helps to sit here in the physical space for a while and let the pictures come on into view.



This is a big commission–the amazing thing I've mentioned before but couldn't elaborate on too much. It is a commission to fill this wall space with images, and while I have a fairly strong idea what kind of images, the specifics are just now being worked out. While that content develops inside it's captivating to see the elegance and grace of these shadows on the wall, the triptych of wire shapes and the soft coherence of a simple colour palette already at work. These things speak a little about the essence of my images to come. There is a peace already here while beauty emerges from the ashes of a derelict place with plans for hope and a bright future. It's good to watch because it confirms that something goes ahead preparing the way, and it's right to watch because the nature of this preparation helps encourage the vision on its journey.



This is an active building site so full safety gear is required. It feels somehow poetic that I should be there in armour, protecting myself from harm while encouraging the ideas out.

(Follow this link to related NEWS article, August 2008.)


{Today's soundtrack: Coldcut - Sound Mirrors}

[ Homeland ]

to be continued once the CD of images reappears... hmph.

[ interlude ]

Apologies for the delay since last posting. The Homeland story will continue soon once the absorbing events of this week are navigated. These include development of that *amazing* job announced way back on May26th (details coming soon), and my Great Aunt's funeral, which was yesterday.

The funeral wasn't really so sad - Auntie Ros was a very old lady who was probably blessed in passing on, and the few family that were gathered had a special and happy time together remembering her. She lived overlooking Dartmoor, and in memory of Ros today's images are only in my head, collected about twenty years ago - the view from her sitting room across the moor to Hay Tor, the bright blue of her ducks' eggs (which I'd never seen before), and tiny, yappy chihuahuas running around chintzy sofas and a muddy stableyard. A lady of the outside places, bless her and her looking out and up to the hills.


"I lift my eyes up to the hills - where does my help come from?"

Psalm 121



{Today's soundtrack: Mahler's Fifth Symphony}

Homeland : episode ii

One by one, they ascend.

Consider this, that as many shapes and colours as there are lifting into the sky, there are people walking the same piece of land as you with a hope they long to let fly. All our hopes are different, but perhaps they all ascend in the same direction, and perhaps the wind carries them all together whichever way it blows. Some hopes are big and captivate many, some small and almost unnoticed.





Although our hopes are unique, we're all in it together, carried not in our own strength but by something else beyond us. What is it? And doesn't it make you want to stop looking at your feet?



These are your people. This is your tribe, your clan, and doesn't it look brilliant?


{Today's soundtrack: Koop - Absolute Space from Sons of Koop}