Not far from me, if you go up to where the witchfinders once roamed, where jackdaws chuckle from the treetops and devil's coach-horse beetles scuttle across your path, cursing you with their scorpionesque tails, this is where you'll find...
... the caravan park from hell!
Oh, what horrors lie in wait behind those mildewed panels?
A broken door, a broken window... there's something sinister about the way that curtain hangs half in, half out, as if trapped whilst trying to make its desperate escape...
...as barbed wire spikes and stinging nettles conspire outside
Wait - is that a shadow I see moving behind the grubby nets?
(But I do love the way the patterns in the mould seem to perfectly mimic the intricacy of the lace...)
I'm glad to say there really is an innocent explanation for these creepy caravans - but why spoil a dark flight of fancy?!
I’ve walked up this pathway a thousand times, I’ve photographed
the trees before: their mistletoe baubles, pollarded boughs, the shards of
trunks struck by lightning – I’ve even shared them on these pages.But every time I walk this way I swear I see
something different.Once it seemed to
be a ghostly shape emerging from the mist.Another time, a leaf was magically suspended in mid-air, twirling and
spinning for ages without visible means of support until I realised it must be hanging
from the finest thread of spider’s silk.This is the place just to observe and when you do, you simply never know
what you’ll find.
And that’s how, as I walked up there a couple of days ago, I
came across the devil.
Although distant, he caught my eye immediately.Why haven’t I seen him here before?I can only assume he is also a shape-shifter,
his form ever changing as the wind and the rain and the sun sculpt his features
each week, each month.But the moment I
saw him, I recognized him, from this:
19th Century illustration
Well, actually, more from this:
My photo below doesn’t do him justice but, believe me, he had
perfect white eyes, small dark horns and the bulbous hindquarters of the
Sabbatic goat. And then there's that whip - the way he was wielding that
whip!
I walked around him very cautiously, and came home with my soul intact. Dare I go up there again tomorrow and see what has become of
him, though?Perhaps by then he will have
changed form once more, and all I’ll find is benign old broken tree stump
sprouting a long, thin branch.
If I ever win something on the Lottery (unlikely, I don’t do it), or come into some inheritance (unlikely, no-one still around with anything to leave),
or you're a generous philanthropist reading this now (lovely to meet you!) – there's something, not too out-of-this-world, I'd just like to do.
It's fairly modest: a kind of art project - travelling around Europe photographing windows. Not any old windows, though; I know what I’m looking for - ones that, soon as I
notice them, have a strange, déjà-vu effect, as if I’ve been on the inside of them, looking out. I’ll be out of harm’s way, in
the open air, but I’ll know that, on the other side of their small, dirty panes, up high and out of reach (always up high),
all manner of unspoken danger and supernatural wickedness lurks. I'll know because I’ve been behind these windows many times, in dreams.
The recurring theme (probably a common one?) is that I’m wandering through a building – often an old house with paneled walls and narrow staircases, like you see in creepy 1940s films, but sometimes they're industrial or 1970s office blocks – and I go higher and higher. Everything's fine until I step into the very top room or space with that window, and then I feel ‘the malevolent presence’. Sometimes I'm trapped, peering out at a normal world I can't get to. I
never see the source of my fear, just sense something very sinister in the room. I'm sure a psychoanalyst would have an explanation. I might not want to hear it, mind.
Anyway, maybe I'd overcome these disturbing dreams by
capturing the physical image of the windows themselves? It would be great just to have enough freedom and funds to go
travelling with a cool high-tech camera (once I've learned how to use it) and then I could click away to my heart's content (in between eating linguine in Tuscany and visiting the Louvre in Paris. Perks of the job). Let me know if you fancy doing the driving.
I s'pose that's what dreams are for, the daydreams anyway... that's where things start, tho' in this case it started with nightmares.
I'm unlikely to have time/money to fully indulge in something pointless like this, though. Who does? It's a shame, isn't it - all the things we might do if only we could just suspend normal life for long enough and take off with no other concerns. Not major life changes or ambitions, just 'projects' - things that really are possible, but need a bit more than you have.
Meanwhile then, I took a short stroll locally (before I sprained my ankle!) and found a few high windows, the best I could do with limited time, anyway. Here are just three crappy, furtive pics to try and show what I mean. (I had to tell the owner of one that I was photographing a bird on his roof as I didn’t want to let him in on the unspeakable paranormal malevolence in his attic.)
Are they a bit creepy, or is it just me? I mean, just imagine yourself, trapped behind them, where no-one can hear you scream....
Don't be misled by the pretty gable around that spooky top window
Even the alarm won't protect from the evil presence in that attic room
The tiny ancient window up there on the left offers no escape from the terrifying ghosts within
While out walking off one Toffifee too many in the mist
yesterday I took this photo on my phone and realised it could be a kind of analogy
for life, especially at this moment as we transit from one year into the
next. Following the path to a future that is unseen
(or should that be ‘unwritten’ to paraphrase Joe Strummer?) - none of us knowing
quite what lies ahead. That’s not strictly true in the case of this
photo's subject as I know it to be a big old manor house with sheep and a moat with ducks and stuff but,
if I didn’t know that, well, I’d still keep walking anyway.
The analogy continues: the path is rutted and full of
potholes, but navigable if you take it slowly; in the distance to my left there
is a graveyard, and although I know it can’t be, on the lower middle right of this
photo I noticed a small unexpected shaft of white light which looks kind of ghost-like. (Believe me, I’ve zoomed in on it a few times in the strange hope
of figuring it into Bowie’s face but to no avail.)
There's no doubt that this has been year of awfulness for the world, much
of it genuinely shocking and unfathomable and, for many like me a year of deeply sad personal
losses as well as public. But it’s had
its fair share of sunshine and sweetness - this is a world full of good people too and you're the proof! That sounds so cheesy, but it's genuinely heartening to know so many views and sentiments are common amongst us here. I think we just don’t hear so much about the nice stuff because
it’s going on all the time quietly in the background. All those small, unselfish acts of kindness
by friends and strangers don’t make the news, but I reckon that’s a good thing because it confirms that they’re simply the norm, not the exception.
Anyway you have to keep walking the path, don’t you? – on a Summer’s day there might even be a
cream tea served by a comely wench in Tudor costume at the end of this one* by
the way (please form an orderly queue). Although, to be honest, I
turned around halfway yesterday when, thinking I was alone, I suddenly saw three shady hooded figures emerging
eerily from the misty distance and got spooked....
So - a very 'Happy (and hopeful) New Year!' to you - and thank you to everyone for walking with me through this one.
* The manor house is open to the public for historical recreation events in case you were wondering!
Out walking today between the long line of trees that lead up to a manor house, I was struck by the beautiful shapes created by their previous pollarding. Many of the enlarged stumpy ends of boughs from which the spindly new growths spring at awkward angles resembled animal heads. I could see pigs with their blunt snouts and narrow eyes, cattle with flared nostrils and deer with fantastical antlers, entwined and knotted with mistletoe. I wished I could capture them with my camera, but I knew the effect would be lost. These imaginary creatures wouldn't survive the flatness of photography.
But I took pictures of the trees anyway.
Apart from zooming in against the light here, no special effects were needed. I think of those marbled pictures you can make by pouring ink on oily water, or the result of blowing paint across paper with a straw.
I love this tree - surely some kind of monster:
But I also love how black and white can create a certain spookiness
It seems fitting that some scenes from 'Witchfinder General' were filmed right here.
Like a butchered animal carcass this trunk looks as if it's been cleaved in two:
I was greeted by a most beautiful face this morning....
You may have seen him before here
This gorgeous image, the subject of which could so easily have been one of Edward Curtis's models, came courtesy of photographer Barnaby Hall. Thanks to a wonderful charitable initiative and Mr Hall's personal generosity (thank you!) in donating it, I was so delighted to receive this print in return for a small contribution to Artworks For Aid, who are raising money to help refugees at the 'Jungle' camp in Calais, a cause which I am very happy to be able to support.
I am mesmerised by those clear, expressive eyes - the kind of eyes that could make you fall in love, without the need for words, the kind of eyes that prompt so many questions: who were you? what kind of life did you lead? what were you doing that day... maybe 100 years ago? So I looked it up - by which I mean looked up the artist Barnaby Hall - to see if I could find out more about how this young man's enigmatic and quite haunting portrait could feature in his picture.
Oh wow!
He IS Barnaby Hall! The shot is an old passport photo of the man himself, taken by a street photographer in Brazil, from about 1971. Am I allowed to fall a little bit in love with the face of his younger self?!
Yesterday I jumped on a train to visit a friend I haven't
seen in ages. The first part of the journey is on one with just two
carriages. The second station it goes through is home to the East
Anglian Railway Museum, so you never know what you're going to see on the track next to you when it stops there. I was very chuffed one time to see 'Captain Sensible' (in locomotive form...)
Nothing quite so memorable this trip but I take the opportunity to
point my camera through three sets of windows as we pull up next to
one of the exhibits.
And I like this logo. You can't go wrong with a dragon red lion! (thanks, mondoagogo)
The view from the viaduct always thrills me; it's the height, you
see – don't get many of them round here. It's about 80ft up and I love the way the houses below look like little models.
The train continues through the flat fields... the clouds give a
real sense of distance. Gorgeous day, isn't it?
A few minutes later I'm on another train - four carriages this time. We pass through
Colchester.
What can I tell you about Colchester? It's meant to be the oldest
town in Britain, and in Roman times it was their capital here. It
has a medieval castle, a zoo and a garrison and was also once home to
Damon Albarn and Graham Coxon. Many many years ago I saw Joe
Orton's play 'Loot' in Colchester - very good it was, too.
I take a few snaps as we make our way through more flat
fields...
... and abandoned industrial areas.
My train journey finishes at Ipswich, where I walk across the
bridge over the River Orwell towards the centre. I don't know
this city at all and find its simple unfamiliarity oddly exciting.
What can I tell you about Ipswich? It's another one of England's
oldest towns, home to the Tractor Boys (not a band but Ipswich Town
Football Club). Nik Kershaw once lived in Ipswich... as did a band I
recall hearing on John Peel back in around 1980 I think, the Adicts:
Do you remember them and their Clockwork Orange look?
Anyway... I find my way to an old street and into a sweetly-scented gift
shop, above which is a small art gallery, where my friend greets me.
There's a sign at the bottom of the stairs warning that some of the
work on show is not suitable for children...
I really enjoy looking at my friend's creations* and I'm so pleased to see them on display:
Then we walk down to the waterfront. It's a somewhat
schizophrenic place; perhaps the same could be said about every city.
The bright white yachts on the sparkling water are photogenic enough
but other sights catch my eye more.
We have lunch in a quayside bar, watched over by this chap; I've
no idea why he's there...
...and enjoy catching up on life over chips and a pint of Black Horse Stout from
the local brewery, which the barmaid tempted us to try, because we'd asked for Guinness. It tastes just like Guinness.
As the afternoon draws to a close I decide to catch the bus home so I can enjoy a different journey and views from the top deck. Parts of Ipswich's outskirts are grim. In the distance I
notice an end of terrace house with large words spray-painted across
its grey wall'KEEP AHHT! GUARD DOG'. The phonetic spelling makes
me laugh but the thought of living next door has me shuddering. Then the bus swings out into open countryside again and I spend the next hour
hanging onto the yellow rail as it lurches around the tight bends. I try to take some photos but not very successfully - this old barn looked more interesting from the other side.
I wish I could have captured the rotting exoskeleton of the old coach I noticed in someone's back garden, and the llamas too - we have lots of llama farms round here - but I wasn't quick enough, or steady enough, with my camera. Never mind, I just love looking through the windows.
* for more info on the artist whose work I've shared here please email me
