Scratching at a Solid Surface 1

Happy Birthday, 2011

Curiously, photographers always remain alien to the site of the shot. Even if they happen to be familiar with the place… the act of taking the photograph turns them into visitors, or even tourists on their own premises. No matter how close a photograph comes to the space it records, the interaction between the photographer and the space always resembles the act of scratching on a solid surface. 

Jan Verwoert, ‘Research and Display: of Transformations of Documentary Practice in Recent Art.’ in Neuerer, G. (ed). Untitled (Experience of Place). (London: Koenig Books, 2003). p. 18. 

One never quite encounters the world, and photography inevitably establishes a peculiar remoteness from it, only ever documenting or transcribing a certain distance. On the rare occasion one comes in close proximity to a place, the experience is inevitably a traumatic one; exposure, claustrophobic or vertiginous spatial disorders aside, contesting histories repeatedly encircle place and twist it into territory. Locality is always something for others; always negotiated on their terms; it is set out before we arrive and continues after we have left. The photographer particularly, a gangly alien landed from outer-space, is only ever an intruder upon private interactions that take place in public. So place is something that one continually orbits, never belonging at its heart – always a piece of the puzzle, but lost somewhere in space.

Failing Orbit 3 - Economy / Edges

Chicken in a bun £1, 2010

The landscape, pitted as it is by the obvious signs of economic failure, austerity-measures and social-immobility, is a space where the dreams of success now lay tattered across its surface. The desires of excess have now been replaced by anxieties over the excesses of others. Once activated by the shiny new corporate surfaces of redevelopment, such desires have now been displaced to the mundane fringes of our urban centres.

In the late twentieth century, and first decade of the twenty-first, one desired an ideal ‘work-home-leisure-retail’ space, each one compartmentalised, but where the boundaries of each were seamlessly crossed; commuter-belt housing; urban-living in flats above Starbucks; supermarkets modelled on farmer’s markets; etc. The very consumption processes that structured everyday space had turned it into a fiction. City centres became privatised ‘zones’ and were given over to corporate demands; structured to keep the flow of consumption steadily moving, yet modelled to give the appearance of an everyday urban reality. The Simulacrum had indeed displaced the real, and the dream had flipped tragically into nightmare. 

The contours of this fiction have, only now, begun to reveal themselves in the dog-eared, marginalised spaces of the current economic climate. However, the intangible edges of social spaces, that are mapped in these photographs, are precarious places indeed. Peripheral zones are regularly off-limits. Anxiety keeps one moving through space; after all, only the perverse and deranged ‘hang around’ in these in-between spaces. Yet, where else to begin looking for the ruptures in social space? At the fringes one might find a tattered corner to be peeled back, under which might be revealed a zombie-fied version of the everyday; some terrifying Other possibility. Or worse, one may find that nothing at all, in fact, exists beyond the illusions that have been cast. 

Failing Orbit 2 - The Map

The Map, 2011

I find, one day, the marks of others etched into the landscape. Car keys have scratched at the painted surface of a map of the UK hanging outside a garage. Locations have been pin-pointed and routes have been taken. Journeys have been imagined or are yet to be ventured. Directions have been given and advice followed, or not. The lives of others are marked onto the surface, and these marks are impressions of the past. The map itself has become a landscape of intersections and encounters; lives lived. Time has taken its toll on these traces however, eaten away at them, precision-hits have now rusted and blurred. Exact recall is no longer possible, only tall-stories and re-written accounts that correct and distort the mistakes of the past.

Looked at from above, the landscape appears as a blank canvas on which histories are written. Hovering both above and outside, an omniscient vision of a totality, geography is a way of witnessing the lives of others by examining their spatial traces. Movements are tracked, land-use plotted, settlements monitored, society co-ordinated. However, the landscape at ‘ground-level’ becomes a scrutiny of everyday marks that are left as clues to histories that cannot be known. Thus, when one looks at familiar spaces up-close, one finds the traces of others are unfathomable. All the better then, to re-establish that distance, lest one’s own marks become unreadable also.

Messages from the Other side... of the road

Slimming World, 2011

When walking the line that separates the centre from its satellites, one often intercepts messages left by others, and intended for others. Signs of failure, dependency, longing and excess; all make demands on the recipient that cannot be fully met. Sometimes the messages are unclear; the meaning obscured by the gesture itself. Someone here once spoke. Articulating their presence on a different trajectory, by leaving a mark designed to be misread.

Slimming World, Marriage Guidance, Part-Worn Tyres, Happy 30th Birthday, Chicken in a bun £1; all desperate signs of dissatisfaction in the face of desire, yet clues to lives that will never be known, stories that will not be heard. There is a melancholic weight to such signals, they become obstacles to be navigated; best kept on the other side of the road. I take note of these warning signs, written in indecipherable code; their meanings remain uncertain, their directions unclear, their demands unheeded.

Failing Orbit 1 - Neighbourhood

Legends, 2010

On leaving my house I travel in a circular fashion, walking along the peripheral routes that orbit my own neighbourhood. Navigating certain urban, manufacturing, retail and domestic centers, I have been using photography to map the psychological spaces of my immediate locale.

If the traditional notion of ‘neighborhood’ connotes familiarity and belonging, here the neighborhood becomes estranged by the cartographical act of photography itself. The act of photography distances one from the place depicted. The photographer always alien to the location of the photograph; intruder, outsider. The way people behave towards you is testimony to this. Thus, it is not my locale that I photograph, but that of another. It is an alien world I build when I make images, no mere document of a place, but a fantasy of place. A desire to belong to a space that cannot be occupied.

The local is a psychological construct that one never quite ‘fits’ within; there is always gap between familiarity and belonging. Spaces may look the same on a day-to-day basis, they may seem recognizable, usual, unremarkable, but on closer inspection they become uncannily strange - ungraspable and impenetrable. Hence the circular orbit. To maintain a distance.