“Crying, but with nowhere for their tears to go” organoids and art

Thursday 18th March

I’m on the mailing list for The Conversation, an online journal that has “academic rigour, journalistic flair”. One headline on today’s update is We grew human tear glands in the lab, and now we’re making them cry by Marie Bannier-Hélaouët, Utrecht University.

It wasn’t the headline alone that caught my eye, it was the image on the newsletter and website. Together, they sparked off a line of thinking. I can’t reproduce the image here, as it has copyright limits, so you will need to go and see it yourself. But I can describe it very easily, because it is uncannily like this image of mine, done recently. It looks like a bubble burst on paper, like this:

(C) Carolyn Black Bubble Drawing 2021

My image was not created by tears, but it made me want to cry when I read “The organoids were secreting their tears on the inside: crying, but with nowhere for their tears to go.”

I headed for Wiki, not wishing to over-quote from the The Conversation, in case I breach copyright laws. And I want you to read it too, because it is fascinating.

“An organoid is a miniaturized and simplified version of an organ produced in vitro in three dimensions that shows realistic micro-anatomy. They are derived from one or a few cells from a tissue, embryonic stem cells or induced pluripotent stem cells, which can self-organize in three-dimensional culture owing to their self-renewal and differentiation capacities.”

In the article, Bannier-Hélaouët describes this more poetically “the stem cells form tiny replicants of the organs from which they were extracted, which we call “organoids”.

To me, without the scientific knowledge of what organoids are, the word sounds like something from Star Trek. Maybe the term replicant feeds that thinking. The fact the organoids are grown in vitro, like humans can be too, also tugs on the emotions of human association.

Back to my drawing, shown above, that evolved from participating in a Drawing Meditation workshop recently. We talked a lot about breath and of course breath has risen high into everyone’s consciousness since Covid19. Partly because it attacks the respiratory system, and partly because there’s a high level of anxiety about, resulting in meditative practices becoming almost as essential as breathing itself.

I think it is fair to say that all of the artists on the weekend course found the bubble drawing process exciting, exhilarating and sometimes disappointing. The disappointment was usually down to the scientific issues, the type of detergent used, the dilution level with water.

But now, having read this article, I can’t help but wonder whether we were collectively moved and touched by the process because they were created from our precious breath and, like the tears, trapped in the bubble. The breath had nowhere to go. And I know I held my breath while I waited for the pop to happen, in anticipation of what it would leave behind.

And the joy of seeing a perfect trace, a record of my existence, on the paper, made me want to cry.

When I reframe the poignant sentence above – “The organoids artists were secreting their tears on the inside: crying, but with nowhere for their tears to go”  I feel deeply sad.  I immediately allow more serious thoughts into my head, about the impact of the pandemic on artists. I am not going to launch into politics here, now, because I want to leave you with a floating feeling, like a bubble in the air, floating off into a future.

Because imagination can take us there.

(C) Carolyn Black bubble process video 2021

*STOP PRESS*

GALLERIES HAVE REALLY HAD THEIR BUBBLES BURST – PLEASE HELP GET THEM CAMPAIGN TO RE-OPEN. If, like me, you think that art galleries are as safe and as important as horse racing, shops, gyms and nail bars, PLEASE sign this petition to support galleries to reopen after 12 April: https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions/577489 #CheltenhamFestival

Walking The Land First Friday March 2021

The inspirational prompt from WTL team:

Our walk will again have as a focus ideas around ‘Place’ – this time, how we know, recognise and respond to it.  It’s highly likely our concept of ‘place’ can be seen to be both fluid and deeply rooted. Below are quotes that go some way individuals try to explain that awareness:

“We lack – we need – a term for those places where one experiences a ‘transition’ from a known landscape … into ‘another world’: somewhere we feel and think significantly differently. They exist even in familiar landscapes: there when you cross a certain watershed, recline or snowline, or enter rain, storm or mist. Such moments are rites of passage that reconfigure local geographics, leaving known places outlandish or quickened, revealing continents within counties.”

Robert Macfarlane

“Place is always the first thing I connect with – rather than the music or the imagery – when I travel; I am always trying to understand what a place is, and what does it mean to the people that live here? What are its layers of history? How has it changed? How might it change?”

Julian Hoffman

We invite you to search your own thoughts on what goes to make a place special for you. Try to explain exactly what it may be about the place that influenced your response. This could be through any visual media, through sound or words…wherever it takes you.


Destination – Garden Cliff, Westbury on Severn Gloucestershire. Duration 2 hours

Circle Walking

changing my approach to Garden Cliff

led me to arrive from a different direction

to surprise myself

I passed a circle of trees I’d never noticed before

because when walking the other way I didn’t look left

I habitually turned right to see the huge oak tree

in the grounds of Westbury Gardens

further along I passed tree I knew well, in it’s hey day

I did my first circular walk around it

but it has fallen, rotting on the ground

pre-pandemic I rarely saw anyone at Garden Cliff

sometimes at sunset young couples in pairs may be spotted,

wrapped closely in each others arms, gazing

or elderly pairs in cars, staring,

parted by a gear stick and forty years

jackdaws mate for life

every morning I watch two pigeons

bobbing along the fence-top together 

on my way I saw several families

I hoped to find quiet solitude at the beach under the cliff

to gaze, stare, draw, film and walk in circles

Pleased to find myself alone

I unpacked materials and equipment

taking care not to let things fall into the mud

I set up my camera but, just as I was about to shoot

two children clambered over the rocks shouting 

they too had arrived to have an adventure

I carried on, hoping that my strange behaviour might scare them away

send them running home to their parents

and tell them there was a mad woman walking in circles

their parents would think they were making it up

So I carried on, recording the sounds of loud splashes

when they hurled rocks into the river

I took photos and prepared to take mud prints

when a familiar creature came bounding onto the beach

Django, a friend’s dog, followed by her, her Dad and two kids

operations were abandoned 

The place transformed from one of solitude 

to a social space, it was good to see them

two more people came into view

waving – to me, to Sarah? Her Dad?

I waved back to Eleanor and Russell, some friends from Dorset!

change allows for the unexpected to happen

the beach had transitioned

from uninhabited to occupied

had it had been a car park, the sign would flash FULL

My Walking the Land mission

was complete

the place I know so well, had become unrecognisable

an enjoyable interlude

from solitude

with people that share my love 

of the Severn


Post walk notes……

The morning of the Walking the Land event, I had given a talk for art.earth about my practice In which I had referred to transitioning from 180 degree drawings to 360 degree filming.

I remember my degree thesis was about circles

My final work for my MA included a mirror tunnel that transformed film footage into a big globe

I walk in circles quite often

When I drive places I like to go in one direction and return in another

The weekend after the walk, I participated in a Drawing Breath workshop

We blew bubbles with ink onto paper

I’ve recently been making circular monoprints

Meditation breathing is circular, as are the tides

We also drew from memory, then erased, and re-drew, repeatedly, without having the object in view

I’ve been blowing bubbles on printing blocks

And drawing a large circular work

Round and round we go

Body and mind, drawing and meditation equal balance

Reflections, reviewing, revising, reconsidering.

Following the weekend of the Drawing Breath workshops I felt physically exhausted, emotionally exhilarated, intellectually accelerated and calmly curious. I haven’t spent much time with drawing this year as I’ve been making films. So it felt like going home for the weekend. With a group of like-minded friends.

Now, two days later, I’m beginning to connect the work made over the weekend with some other recent research relating to river mud. I took some of my favourite work from the weekend and pinned it up on the studio wall. Yesterday I felt a little flat, so allowed myself time to develop a few things that were still lingering in my mind.

I really enjoyed the part where we were told to choose an object to draw and put it in a bag, so you couldn’t see it, and hold it in your non dominant hand. Then draw it with the dominant hand, from the sensation of holding it. I had taken a quantity of dry river mud from Garden Cliff – a beautiful rusty red colour, full of haematite. It took weeks to dry it out, in preparation to make pigment with it for printmaking. This bag of material felt quite sharp, brittle, grainy in my hand. I loved the weight of it, the way that it pressed into my palm. It reminded me a little of kinesiology. It literally gave me a sense of gravitas, held in one hand and drawn by the other. Balance. I drew with charcoal, my comfort zone material, and found myself working quite confidently, drawing almost to scale.  It is one of those I placed on the wall.

Two odd things with this red earth. One, the Mars landings and two, the possibility I may be anaemic. My body needs iron.

Yesterday morning, the day after the course ended, I was thinking a lot about how the bag of dry, crumbly earth felt in my hand and created a mono print with that memory. I laid white ink down on the block, drew into it loosely and took a print on black paper. It is fairly similar to the original charcoal drawing, but there was more of a curve underneath, showing the weight in my hand more than the original drawing did. Maybe memories really do hang heavy in our minds?

This print reminded me of another I did a week or two ago, when I pressed my  sketch pad pages onto the wet mud of the riverbank, revealed at low tide. That’s been on my wall since. It’s shaped like a brain and now, when I look at the first drawing of the soil in my hand, it think it looks like a cross between a brain and a heart.

So, going back to the soil for the drawing exercise. During the lunch break, I piled it into square glass vase then half filled it with water. It was mesmerising watching the material dissolve into the water, slowly sinking, settling. A small amount remained dry, like mountains, or icebergs, paler than the wet earth below, creating air pockets.  I made a tiny video.

It was only when I was looking intensely at it for twenty minutes that I noticed little bubbles were forming in the red liquid. Some organic matter was releasing gas from the soil into the water, compacted by the weight of the dry material above. Those little bubbles reminded me of the first exercise we did, of blowing bubbles onto paper. And of the time that a geologist explained to me that the smooth circular bumps and hollows in quarries were caused by air trapped during the rocks’ formation. When it came to drawing the vase and its earthy contents from memory, without looking, I wondered if I could include the bubbles, but using a chunky graphite pencil at a smallish scale defeated me.

Another thing I did for the first time during the drawing breath weekend was to draw my breath with my eyes closed, using dry watercolour crayons onto paper  fixed on the wall, then sprayed it with water. Like the water in the vase, the pigment was released, creating streams and drips which represented my breath flow.

We drew our lungs, our hands and, without intention, I drew a brain and a heart. Using earth loaded with iron.

body and mind

drawing and meditation

=

balance

Visioning in a pandemic

Watch full film

staring into white space
waiting
i see a circle
in the sky
start to emerge
then fade away
i’m watching
slow breathing
the whiteness
blocking my ability to think
the tide coming in
and going out
things float across my vision
my eye keeps returning
to the white
and the yellow
oh so slightly
yellow circle
that i keep thinking
i can see
but then can’t
birds call in the dawn
getting louder with hope
for a new day
then dip into silence
muttering at its absence
the future
in a whiteout
is clouded
the past
a smudge on a surface
drawing on water
the sun doesn’t rise
the river flows both ways
waiting
just waiting
for something
to change

Watch the film here

collecting rocks to make pigment with, reflecting on climate change

The Cliff looms high above her head, there’s someone collecting rocks on the beach to make pigment with. She gets down on to the ground and presses paper onto the surface of the mud. A smile breaks out on her face as she peels back the page – she has successfully transferred the landscape into the notebook.  The traces of her walk are recorded without the use of brushes or pens.

She thinks about the Triassic age, before the Jurassic period, when major climate catastrophe resulted in the extinction of dinosaurs. Maybe, in 2000 years, someone might find her footprints fossilised in this landscape in which he feels so embedded?

Some of the strata have uncannily straight edges, as if written or drawn by a ruler. The lines were formed by compressed mud and clay.

Nature found a way to produce geometric forms, even though humans think only they can do right angles, triangles and circles. Bubbles of water, or air, we’re trapped in the mud, leaving only the container that had held them there  – a perfect circle.

The earth’s surface appears to us to be suspended in time. Yet humans have shaped and changed it so often, it is hard to know where the edge of the natural and the built environment actually resides.

As she gathered her bags, the sun broke through the misty sky. Seagulls gathered high above the cliff. What about the birds’ skeletons – will they end up as dinosaurs of the twenty-first century? Alongside human remains?

The time when humans destroyed the planet and all it supports.

Hopefully it will recover, but maybe not in our lifetime unless we make changes. The Triassic-Jurassic boundary is marked by a major extinction in the marine realm. Was it marked by a line in the sand?

Reeds Waving

reeds waving light fading voices merge dreamers dream weaving flowing edges blur

click on this image to view the film on Vimeo

Carolyn’s story:

This new film “Reeds Waving is the outcome of an incidental coming together of a singer, Eva Rune in rural Sweden, and artist, Carolyn Black in rural England.

When making my first film of the pandemic lockdown When You Call I Shall Come” it was clear in my mind that I wanted to use a kulning song as the soundtrack, to call in the bore. They are traditional songs used to call in cows and reindeer. It is a haunting, clear sound that can be heard for miles and miles. The songs have been passed down through generations, as have stories about the Severn Bore. I foraged online until I found what I needed on Spotify and contacted Eva via Facebook to ask her permission to use it. Which she kindly gave me.

As time went on we kept in touch and eventually met online. We are living in similar circumstances and both welcome this opportunity to collaborate and develop new works. We have had wonderful conversations about the nature of collaborations, how they work, what would be best for us. We have learnt through testing and watching and listening. The Reeds Waving film began when I created the footage, bringing together aspects of our conversations. Eva is writing a book that explores dream bridges and my work is about the Severn – so I filmed the Severn Bridge at sunset with her in mind, having listened to her CD on the way to Lydney. I made her a film and she sent one to me where she sang a song to me from her river.

The reeds evolved from another conversation, when Eva said she loves rustling grasses – I had that footage already, from an earlier river expedition. I sent a draft of the film, as a simple split screen work, to Eva and she improvised the sound and song. We had sent each other parcels of stones from our rivers and gifts, through the post – she sent me a CD and I sent a photogravure of When You call. Eva recorded the song the day she received my package and the rustling sound is made by her crunching the tissue that wrapped the print. With her home recording equipment she created this soundtrack.

During editing I enjoyed the contrast between the noisy rustling reeds/paper and the quietness of the sunset scene. I employed the same switching process that I used in As Above So Below to respond to the sound, allowing the rustle to become the reeds.

It flowed together well with a bit of tweaking. We also tried adding my voice, but I felt it didn’t work so took it put again. Singing with someone with a voice as pure as hers is impossible!

So this finished work is the outcome of a long process of engagement with each other. We try things out and discard, everything is done by agreement. The words came in at the end, they narrate not only the film the both of us, to the point where the edges blur.

Carolyn – artist/producer

@severnsideartist on Instagram

Eva’s story:

In our current times of pandemic lock down Carolyn and I found a new collaboration together. With less possibilities to carry on with normal social life at home, we got to know each other on Skype and Zoom and  found our mutual interest in artistic explorative work. The first one of Carolyn’s films I saw talked to me, the film ”When You Call I Shall Come”. And from that starting point, we talked and started to share creativity, in a free flow when we have time and ideas. No hurry. 

When Carolyn sent me the film of the Severn Bridge seen from Lydney she included at separate voice mail where she told me of the setting, the weather and her thoughts. Carolyn was recording sound sitting in her car on a very rainy day, waiting for someone. The car engine was off, but the wipers on. I was really captured by the uncommon rhythm in the voice mail. Carolyn spoke each time the windscreen wiper wiped the screen. Then silence. Next speech on the next move of the windscreen wiper. I heard the wiper very clear, and the only motor sound was quite low, and I heard a mumbling tone, a key tone, of the windscreen wiper motor. This sparked my idea that I record my voice singing in the same period, synchronised with the rhythm of Carolyns voice talking + the wiper. I wanted to make use of the key tone in the motor, so I created a little ongoing ostinato that circled around the musical key. I found a sort of a beat in the windscreen motor too, with some bars of break in between. Very useful. 

I’m a beginner of how to use my new home studio but enjoy just moving ahead and see what I can do – now. It’s also an effect of the pandemic, where I see the benefit of making music here at home without much traveling. I find it really inspiring to discuss and create together with Carolyn, from our two different fields of art, but so much in common in process.

Eva Rune

Songs and Sound Poetry
A celebration of human imagination through voice

@eva_rune on Instagram

Making the case for revisiting creative occupation of empty shops and rethinking the High Street

I’m writing this post as an arts professional who has an opinion, with experience of supporting and delivering arts events in empty buildings. Artist-led groups thrived in the late 1990’s and early 2000’s, when artists began to initiate their own gallery opportunities, due to the huge number graduating from an overstretched university system. The YBA (young British artists) or the Britpack, was one of the first. That was in the days when artists needed spaces, and councils had empty ones that needed filling. The rest is history.

Below, I make the case for revisiting creative occupation of empty shops and rethinking the High Street.

Listening to the news today and hearing economists saying (yet again) that we must ‘save our high street stores’, and more or less blaming the pandemic and online businesses for the closure of shops, is depressing. For a start, our high streets have been declining for years. Yes, online shopping has taken the trade by supplying products more cheaply and delivers them to your door. Why is that a problem, isn’t it something that makes people’s lives easier? 

The only reason we must keep some retail shops is so we can buy local, good products, to reduce the need for  importing so many things. That way we keep the carbon footprint down. Shops run by independents, keeping the economy local. The government could invest in  farming and creative companies that work in an environmental way. Ones that support recycling, plastic free and fossil few industries. The recent government report, by Dasgupta, flags all this up. So the government can no longer pretend it’s not an issue – they commissioned the report. 

We need to reconsider a new economy that isn’t just about financial profit.

The biggest problem with the success of home deliveries is not that high street stores are closing, but that all those extra fossil-fuel vehicles delivering are damaging the environment. That could be addressed using electric vehicles, which the government could make a legal requirement. Where jobs are lost in the retail industry they could, surely, be employed in the environmental recovery industry, which must be our priority

For centuries new innovations have changed the way society operates and products are distributed. The printing press saw off town cryers; washing machines replaced dolly stirrers; tumble dryers mangles; tractors horses. The list is endless. Big chainstore shops are no longer needed because they make more profit selling online. Arcadia has collapsed, Debenhams and many others are closing. So what could replace them?

Years ago I read a book written by Louis Gerstner who turned IBM around. In a nutshell, IBM was the world leader in mainframe computers but desktops were arriving which could be used in homes. The closed-shop management team and Board would not acknowledge that they too should take on desktops or would cease to be needed. Part of the problem was appalling internal communications, but the biggest failure was not seeing that however hard you dig your heels in for the sake of the good old days, when a better, more useful and universal product comes along, it will inevitably, eventually, replace the old system.

I appreciate not everyone has technology, or the internet, even now. That is another outcome of social inequality. But if we stop trying to keep fixing broken things, like shops, (especially chain stores that don’t even contribute to local economies) open, and focus on enabling people to shop safely and well online, wouldn’t that be wiser? Don’t forget that libraries were opened to give access to books for all, even those that couldn’t afford them. Or pay for education. We still want, and need libraries now, but maybe for different things? It is interesting too that funding of libraries is no longer a government responsibility, but an Arts Council England one. Clearly our government no longer values our literacy and perceives it as a creative pursuit, not a necessity. Is there a case to argue here that creativity IS a necessity to our wellbeing as well as something that meets the human inclination to be social animals?

There was a time when people worried that cinemas would close down, when TV, video and DVD brought film into our homes. But they didn’t, they came back bigger and better with multiplexes. And to counter-balance that, small film clubs opened up in villages and towns. The film industry is still thriving and also includes small producers and creatives. Cheap access to digital cameras and phone cameras has opened up even more creative opportunities. All of these developments have contributed to social activities. People love to share experiences together, which is one of the greatest sadnesses for many during lockdown.

Mass production of cheap clothes, imported and sold at low prices end up in landfill, which has resulted in a genuine desire to buy quality, natural, handmade artisan products. And to mend them not bin them. The fashion industry are now looking at their own responsibilities in this system too. Fast fashion contributes to pollution, fast food no longer satisfies people.

No longer supporting chain stores means cutting out the middle men/women. Which risks removing power from those who only care about profits and have little respect for social need or environmental duty of care. 

Surely this is a good thing?

So now, to my point, how does this relate to the arts? After all that is my specialism, it is why you read my blog posts. Here is why:

  • When things progress and there is a sense of loss of things left behind, it is artists that often find ways to find new audiences or the lost social aspects – e.g. film – the big Hollywood films are still happening BUT artists and those who love 35mm are also thriving and keeping things accessible and social.
  • There became a concern that ebooks would destroy book shops – but many people went back to buying books, missing the tactile quality of paper books. And people like to share paper books. People still love going to book launches, the personal touch. Book Clubs thrive online and off. Artist books are very popular, as is bookbinding by hand.

There are many more examples, but essentially, what I am saying is that ART and ARTISTS enliven places and spaces. They are social and accessible. Anyone can join in. 

Since the pandemic began there have been losses and gains for the arts. It is horrendous for those whose practice depends on having large audiences, such as theatres and festivals. But for some audiences, this resulted in a gain. Suddenly, the big city-based event providers started providing access to audiences who had previously been able to see their performances. Those who live beyond the cities in rural areas. Those who can’t afford expensive tickets to attend the London theatres.

Art and craft materials are selling like hotcakes.Online art classes well attended. Artists who walk are thriving too – indeed many nature activities have been accessed by people confined to local areas. It is nigh on impossible to buy a dog these days, unless you have thousands of £’s. 

Everyone is appreciating the countryside more, David Attenorough is the new god, rural areas are packed with more visitors with shiny new camper vans with their puppies. 

So chain stores come and go, high streets have gone temporarily quiet. Those who have just discovered online shopping may well not return. What to do with all those empty shops?

How about artisan shops? Artist studios? Small event spaces? Local makers who run workshops too? Shoe repairers who also teach you how to do it (but they will always do it better!)? Book exchanges, with comfy sofas and serving good coffee and homemade cakes? Community spaces? Convert the big chain stores into a hive of artisan makers, where they make and sell too? Wool and fabric shops? Blacksmiths? Potteries? Artist supplies? Florists? 

The list could go on.

But in the meantime, until we are able to do this, let’s make sure that local authorities and central government stop pushing for reopening high street chains.  

They are the past, we are the future. 

We need to reinvent not resuscitate.

2021 Steps From Home – Walking the Land

Friday 1st January 2021- First Friday Walk

The prompt text from the ‘Walking the Land‘ team:

A few paragraphs of text from Thomas A Clark’s ‘In Praise of Walking’:

‘A rock outcrop, a hedge, a fallen tree, anything that turns us out
of our way, is an excellent thing on a walk.
Wrong turnings, doubling back, pauses and digressions, all contribute
to the dislocation of a persistent self-interest.
Everything we meet is equally important or unimportant.
The line of a walk is articulate in itself, a kind of statement.
We can walk between two places, and in so doing establish a link
between them, bring them into a warmth of contact, like
introducing two friends.
Pools, walls, solitary trees, are natural halting places.
That something exists outside ourselves and our preoccupations,
so near, so readily available, is our greatest blessing.’

I have a history of going on walks with numerous cameras and bits of equipment. I bought a 360 degree camera about 2 years ago and the first artwork I made with it was 12 Circular Walks. I used it again last summer when creating As Above So Below. The invitation to consider doubling back and digressions on the first day of 2021 was too tempting – especially if I was allowed do exercise my persistent self-interest relating to my love of the Severn.

I devised a system as I planned to use Map My Walk for the first time in years and I have a wrist tracker too. It was the 1st day of the 1st month of 2021. I decided I would wander (or should I say mud-wade along?) along until I hit 2021 steps. At that point I would stop and do some circular walking. On the way I began to wonder whether the action would be sufficient to draw a spiral on the Mapping App – so I walked in circles around some benches and a bin as I wandered, to test it out.

The first stop was at the end of a VERY muddy river-path. I stopped along the way, allowed myself to be distracted by the mud. Thought about The Bear Hunt by Michael Rosen, made a bit of video, did a voice recording about Rosen and sploshed on through.

When I arrived at my point at 2021 steps, I set up my video camera to point at the river, and placed the 360 one the ground. I walked around it. I then rotated the video camera to point towards my 360 and filmed myself walking around it with that too. The action of creating works about the seen and the unseen is embedded in my brain. I like to record the bits I can’t see while I am busy working on the seen! By that I mean filming the river while I walked behind the camera on the tripod. Then filming myself using the 360. Then the mobile camera.

I continued on the higher path towards Broadoak and did a bit of circular 360 there too. Little videos, photos. Then turned my back to the Severn and crossed the A48 towards the Silver Fox Café. I couldn’t go back the way I came, it would not be a circular walk if I did. And I remembered this song.

Round like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel
Like a snowball down a mountain, or a carnival balloon
Like a carousel that’s turning running rings around the moon

My return trip involved sheep dodging and crossing a small stream. I stopped and played again with my 360 camera on the little bridge. Walking homewards, I mosied behind the building site where some 90 new homes are being built, some with river views. I felt sad that I couldn’t afford to buy one – I dream of seeing the river every day when I awake, without having to leap out of bed and hang out of the window, as I currently do.

I took a few photos of the landscape through the security fencing – snapped some islands of cultivated foliage left behind and mountains of red soil. A landscape within a landscape.

I made a film called “2021 Steps From Home” which you can view on Vimeo – it is just over 2 minutes long – please have a look, it is the outcome of the above thinking. Using split screens, it reveals the process behind my work and the range of outcomes from a simple action – that of walking in circles.

The film below is on the route towards the sheep fields. I had forgotten that Map My Walk talks to you unexpectedly! (keep the volume fairly low or it will make you jump, like I did!)

Has Eastenders influenced my films? Or did the old masters/mistresses influence Eastenders?

This Christmas is a very weird one and Facebook dug up this blogpost from the archives from 4 years ago. I miss those rich soliloquy’s and one-to-one dialogues from those days. They should bring them back. Especially now we are so often alone – I think that’s why Alan Bennet’s Talking Heads series was so poignant this year too. How often do we find we are talking to ourselves, growling at radio announcements, raging about Tweets about Trump, or sighing in despair about our government? I know I do it more often than I’d like. But these days are a hotbed of it and art of today needs to reflect that.

Re-reading the blogpost today I see how important it is in terms of critical analysis. It plays very much on composition, on light and religiosity. And my recent films have been considering those things too. It is amazing how the camera, the setting, the content can draw you into something very deeply, during very few seconds.

Back to Eastenders, I must say this current series is getting worse by the minute – but it won’t top me seeing what happens at Christmas! It strikes me that the Producer is borrowing methods from the Nordic thrillers – with drone shots, complex plotlines, corruption. I’m not sure it works as well as the references to the old masters did, but things change, and so must we, as audiences. And creatives. 

Here’s the original writing, December 2016:

Christmas – I recently blogged about it, how I find it empty. As a closet Eastenders fan , I enjoy watching the build up to Christmas on the square. Impending doom, love, hate, violence and crisis usually thrown into the mix, along with a good sing-song in the Old Vic and a wedding, funeral or death.

Last night, on 16th December, there were subtle clues for sleuths; relationship shifts and twists, but the best part was the scene of Dot, alone, having not gone to the Nativity play. Sometimes these are the absolutely best moments in Easties – when the characters sit down, shut their Cockney mouths, and show us their inner thoughts by the means of classical lighting and staging. This shot is one of those old mistress/masters moments and I love it.

Most of the square are in church for the nativity play, and while the children sing Away in a Manger, there’s a cut to a slow pan towards Dot’s front door, then this view of her. It lasts for 16 seconds, the sound track continues and the shot ends when the song does, and returns to the church.

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The out of focus corner of the wood panelling on the left, the subdued midnight blue of the cardigan, the deep dye red hair of the hag-like face in contemplation; the upright spine of Christianity; the candle, light of the world, and God; the still life of fruit, Christingle exotic orange, symbol of the world and worldliness; ribbons for gifts, empty chair of an absent friend; string bag hanging on door, empty, no longer used; shiny brass door knob, polished, with care; in the right foreground something brassy – a lamp maybe? Definitely not Ikea. In the shadows, whatever it is still gleams, slightly, as old things do. As does Dot. Excellent chiaroscuro.

It could be about loneliness at Christmas, or a fading flickering light of the square about to expire. There’s a sense of imminence, but we don’t know what yet is going to happen. It doesn’t bear thinking about really. Dot is the Walford  matriarch, we see that when after the service lots of friends and family, having noted her absence, stream into her house with jollity and love.

This one  episode was the frame for this image, this narrative, this moment.

It does what a good artwork does, it holds a thought, incorporates a huge bundle of signifiers. It is both minute in scale and monumental. And very beautiful.