purplejaguar

The Space Race

Standing in space. Wide open away from any barrier, wall, manmade or natural object. Humans have a strange desire to be next to or under something. Taking a pee by a lonely tree. Creating an arch for your wedding, framing the lovely couple within the view. Grounding them. Why not have the wide expanse of the Arizona Desert rolling out before you, untethered, unleashed. But you take a picture by the only cactus within 20 miles. There needs to be a prop. Something to contextualise your presence on earth. Which makes it all the more bizarre that we seem so obsessed with travel into space. Space Twitter or X as it is now called. Putting the first people on the moon in 1968 then just waiting around until 2030 until we do it again. Apollo disasters halting any idea of mass migration to outer space. Elon Musk and Trump hoping to control the planet by regulating the space all around. They will charge us to breathe air before you know it. There is a fascination to searching the solar system, looking for likeminded inhabitants. So far though no one has turned up, except perhaps the clangers, trumpeting around with almost discernible presence. A fascination to look on where we all reside from a vantage point, from above, all trying to be gods, what an unbelievable waste of time and money. Fools fantasy. The planet is dying, yes, but rather than rush for the escape pod then surely it needs some TLC. People need help. Not some hair brained multi trillion dollar experiment. Imagine what you could do with the money. Applying for some small creative arts funds takes weeks of your life, jumping through ever decreasing hoops until you are squeezed by a Boa Constrictor. Review after review then your bid is deemed worthy of submission. Weeks of waiting, heart beating faster when any email pings into your inbox with the message “the quality of applications was very high…..”. And then, oh sorry you haven’t been successful this time. Please resubmit though, changing all your budget forecasts and being more realistic with your project aims. Be more realistic. Blimey. Fortunes are being spent propelling people into other orbits. You want me to be more realistic and less arty? Space travel is the ultimate rich persons folly. Pure art. Pointless. An inevitable outcome of greed and power searching. Can’t we just be happy in our communities rather than trying to form a space station on the boiling mess that is Mars. I mean a Mars a day helps you work, rest and dream of flying into the great beyond. Refugees, fleeing war torn nations battle across lands, rejected and looked down upon before reaching waters edge, crammed into flimsy life or death rafts, desperate for a life on earth. Do their kids wonder about life on mars, do they look at the moon and wish they could set foot on it or do they just wish for a safe place. Home. Not under siege. A place where they can exist. Not heading to some otherworldly final frontier but to real end points. Spaces to live within. A tree.

Manekins who I see as humans, in a shop window

1.12 Brian Eno Day

On 1st December 2016 I took the train from Bristol Temple Meads to London Paddington. It was one of those beautiful rare clear cold sunny vibrant winter days, one where the trains ran on time, everyone had a seat and enough room to spread out. I was very excited. At 11.47 precisely I was transported to the ornate iron and glass door of a mews house in Ladbrook Grove. Just about to knock on the pane I see a figure furtively rustling around the colourful and bright studio space. Picking up objects, transferring them, bustling around with what seemed like an ever enlarging grin on his face. A medium set bald guy with a kind of beard. Ah Brian, there you are. I was transfixed. I wanted to keep just watching. I did for about 11 minutes before I walked away a few stops and came back to the door to knock. Brian was welcoming and lovely, making me a large cup of his wizards tea.

During our session, artist musician Brian Eno demonstrated Chaos Theory with his 2 handed pendulum, where simple motion on the first one creates infinite non repeated movements on the second. So, a little nudge one way can send all kinds of confusion across the next, thereby subordinating populations. Collective consciousness came through in punk, hip hop, techno, jungle etc.. through commonalities of fashion, style, music, art, taste, lifestyle, place, rhythm, dance. There are instigators, those key people who lead the collective in a certain direction. We are all swayed in some way, which can be a positive in cultural scenes but have global destroying effects in political spheres.

Brian Eno hanging out with the German electronic musicians of Kluster, provided the time and space for creative exploration by dropping out and living in their Kommune for a while. London squats were the beating heart of the emerging punk scene, and within Western Europe.

Our connections to our lands, our ancestors, spaces and places, kneeling in the soil, digging the garden, the new rock and roll as Cosey Fanni Tutti and Kim Wilde continue to show. I’m sure Brian Eno potters around hot tomato plants, winding them carefully up their strings, reaching to the sky. Little glowing red orbs gradually appearing. The Farmers Boys and Girls in their Norfolk greenhouses. Sets of allotments are the socio-cultural space for the new creatives, or the old creatives who need to be in touch with their land, the city dweller who yearns for the countryside, everyone effected by global cost of living crises, where pulling up your evening meal from the ground can offset ever rising food prices.

Roxy Music keyboard knob twiddler Brian Eno learnt about the power of humour through his art school adventures with tutor Roy Ascott. His first lessons at art school included devising personality tests, where students had to enact the opposite traits they normally displayed. For chatterbox Eno, he had to remain silent for the sessions and let other people lead projects. When becoming a record producer, Eno introduced concepts relating to getting artists out of their normal comfort zone so that they would maximise their self in performances and composition ideas, without the usual routines or trappings. The Oblique Strategy cards he created with artist Peter Schmidt contains humorous, tasks such as play with your non dominant hand, do something boring or emphasise the flaws, whilst also suggesting role play ideas to bands including pretending to be an alien funk band from the year 2055.

Brian and I had a good chat. He showed me 2 floor standing safes, saturated with notebooks, relaying pictures and concepts from years of doodling and thinking. A time bandit. Brian got on his fold up bike and scooted off for a meeting with George Monbiot. See you again Brian.

https://www.intellectbooks.com/blank-canvas

https://www.enoshop.co.uk/product/what-art-does.html

This is the modern world

Everyone recognises their epoch as the modern world. We live in a modern world. We have always done so, back to JC (not Jeremy Corbyn) himself, announcing wow what a modern world I have created (sic). What constitutes modern? AI or AC? We seem to be constantly moving towards Tomorrow’s World, futuristic presenters Raymond Baxter or Judith Hann pronouncing new inventions which will change our lives on the BBC programme. Kraftwerk robotically striking synthesised drum pads. The computer, that most modern world invention. Everything is controlled by them, from cavernous rooms filled with metal boxes and spooled tape to small passages of text on the first desktop computer, really the IBM personal or ZX Spectrum. These devices seem even more futuristic now, more modern than when they arrived in the world. We are looking towards AI as our future, our saviour, our threat. A world where we can sit twiddling ever-expanding thumbs, surfing through an ever-increasing array of social media, yearning for a newspaper or weekly journal to plop onto the doormat. A reassuring and exciting presence, rather than a mini world, on a little screen in front of us. The modern world should be better. More nature. More free time. Greater freedom. A life worth living. Supporting the planet and actually enjoying it rather than mercilessly moving forwards, striving for the next thing. Samantha Harvey’s wonderful Booker prize winning Orbital, providing an expansive view from above, defining the gaseous layers which sweep around the little fluffy clouds of our beautiful orb.

AI has been around for ages, having a greater impact in certain areas. Music has utilised AI technology since the 1970s, through automated synthesisers, Kraftwerk on Tomorrow’s World, still looking futuristic today. AI will suddenly be implemented at pace, when everyone realises it has been there for so long, waiting in the wings for its opportunity to pounce. Early Dr Who episodes through stricken derelict London sites, Mad Max meets the time lord. Earthy. Dated. Tomorrow’s world is here today, always has been, constantly striving for the new, pushing forward in ever increasing ways that is meant to mean improvement, subtle alterations aimed at de-snagging. The present or future is not always improved. Thinking about my generation, we were lucky to have existed in a world that straddled the internet, saw rapid changes in technology but had a grounding in the analogue basics. Relate to the past but be excited about new technologies, providing a grounding so that AI isn’t let loose without contemplating the past, thinking about what will be missed, experience of technological advancement. Is there life on Mars? 1984 predicted a future before Big Brother, nasty Nick, a dystopian world which always seems to hang on a date slightly out of reach. How about 2032? That currently feels far enough away to have mystique so that the truth doesn’t need to be connected. A dream date. An impossible reality where everything is shiny and silver, silent, smooth, sensuous. The human condition of constantly looking forward whilst burying collective heads in sand about climate change. I mean the planet is always going to exist, things will be OK, global warming is a myth made up in a lab by boffins who are always proven wrong. Experts eh! The future will always be there, temptingly out of reach, tomorrow’s world ahead of today. In the blink of an eye time moves on, tempting new ideas just about in reach. AI can help unlock our lives, reduce the amount of time needed to be spent on daily chores, gathering information in seconds, the robot the research assistant of the future. Or the present really as the future has always been with us, just moments ahead. Iconic German band Kraftwerk still feel so futuristic, ahead of the game, computer dummies producing evocative minimalist music to cycle to. But there is a stark coldness to the thought of AI, not something comfy and fluffy. Images of sheet metal glistening in a bright orange glow, the ozone layer thinning daily, the end of days feeling nearer as our world becomes increasingly dystopian.

Album cover of Kraftwerk album Electric Cafe and a copy of Orbital by Samantha Harvey

A question of Truth

The world runs on the concept of truth. That we believe what people say. We invest in the words that come out of people’s mouths. Governments around the world twisting the truth for their own political gain, brought into power on other untruths whilst the general public look on with their mouths agape. Oh no they did it again. I can’t believe it. Brexit, the great untruth in the UK, a country taken on a ride by arch villains Johnson and Cummings with the support of other despotic individuals and countries. You are told by lying parents to tell the truth. It’s a great aim but one that falls apart quite easily. Small white lies you tell friends so that they are not offended by something. The world of marketing lives in a lying state. Some people are naturally truthful. TV show The Traitors features people blindly telling fibs to fellow humans who have supposedly, instantly become their best friends of all time ever. Only for this lack of truth to come out and their shocked expressions gradually dawn to the realisation that they are on a reality show called The Traitors. It should be the name for all politicians, holding yet another photo opportunity in front of the flag. Boldly lying where someone else has gone before. Selling their country down the river to the highest bidder, not really caring about much other than to line the pockets of themselves and friends. UK politician Jeremy Corbyn told the truth. He couldn’t help himself. No politicking around. Straight out truthfulness which made him a threat for those in power. Football managers lambasting their team after a shocking display, gradually the players will stop performing for him or her. Inside the dressing room the right amount of truth can be told, to motivate and provide direction. Neurodiversity often presents in extreme levels of truth telling. Not being able to cover up the truth. The whole truth, nothing but the truth. We lie to our children, tell them things will get better. The world won’t be destroyed in an almighty fireball due to the carelessness of previous generations, or a nation voting for arch villain Donald Trump. That things will get better. As a musician I prefer it when someone tells me straight out what they think of a performance or a song I have made. Usually it is a family member, outright frank about it. Whatever the situation. My biggest critics. Actually, couldn’t they be a little less upfront with the truth. To develop you need the truth. Record companies telling you exactly what they think, nuanced feedback. Feed forward. Propel you towards improvement, hopefully. You need a thick skin to hear the truth. About you, your personality. God you talk too much. You just seem to always be discussing yourself. Narcissistic. My youngest daughter always tells the truth. God dad, you look old. Thanks there. Hairdressers telling clients how wonderful their new style is. Donald look in the mirror. Outfits that are perceived to flatter. Living in a truthful space, knowing who you are, understanding the self takes strength but is a positive position to exist within.

It is so tiring chasing the truth, unpacking messages from politicians so that actual real information doesn’t have to just drip through social media channels. Truth should be up front and central. We have to tell the truth in our lives. I can’t go into work and start making things up because it suits the position I would like to take. There should be a truth monitor standing beside any political leader when they are talking, interrupting each time lies flow from their mouth. Trump’s speech would be very staccato. Hold people to account, be real, be human. BBC verify is all very well, but it occurs after the fact (checker). We need instant buzzers that sound whenever an untruth is made, although the cacophony would make life difficult to live. Donald Trump, that doyen of truth, announced that there will be no wars now he’s in power. King Canute. King c**t. No Ukraine, Gaza, Syria, Afghanistan. Tell the truth. Challenge the guy, ask him how this is going to happen because we all follow the sentiment but no one else has managed to achieve this. He must have superpowers. Or snorted too much coke. Narrowly missing having his head blown off, a shot grazing his ear so that diehard supporters can copy his Van Gogh left ear plastered image. A cult in charge of one of the most powerful countries in the world. Plus ça change.

The contrast between US presidential candidates Kamala Harris and Trump is quite staggering. On one side there is love, compassion, fun, normality, enjoyment, balance and plain speaking. On the other, lies, deceit, nonsense, chaos and confusion, bizarre behaviour that screams anger. Angry that he can’t be this good person. Angry with himself and the world. Retreating into his bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror and venting. The world’s gone orange, a colour of life and peace. There is great fear of everything around him. Insecurity. Is there a way that someone like Trump can return to normality, be saved from a life of lies, unhappiness manifest in being Mr Angry. Maybe Trump needs some time away from the disunited States, a cultural trip to Europe, France perhaps. Sitting in a café, wearing a beret, smoking Gitanes and pontificating about the latest conceptual art piece. Paris, the city of lights and love. Reach out Donald, don’t hide behind your fracking wall. Maybe it could save him. Grumpy old git. Face not moving due to a lifetime of botox, all sense of normality or expression, the creases of life eradicated from his image, cryogenically frozen although still robotically moving from platform to platform. Terminator 4. The orange one. Symbol of joy and experimentation within Johan Cruyff or Denis Berkamp. He keeps coming back, like a clown on a spring popping up from a box, wobbling around, putting up barriers, retreating within. He’s just scared of his own mortality. Narcissistic c**t.

US President Donald Trump looking angry and facing the camera.

Introducing Grammy nominated Acantha Lang

New Orleans soul singer Acantha Lang is performing at the Marine Theatre Lyme Regis Dorset on Friday 6th December, supported by two top Funk and Soul DJ’s. It’s an unbelievable coup for the town and area so here is some info about Acantha

https://www.instagram.com/acanthalang/

“Acantha Lang … I love your voice!”

Jools Holland

“She’s brilliant … destined for world domination.”

The Craig Charles Funk & Soul Show, BBC 6Music

New Orleans-born (London-based) rising Soul artist Acantha Lang has been compared to legends Aretha Franklin and Gladys Knight. Her acclaimed debut album ‘Beautiful Dreams,’ released in 2023, charted at #3 on The Official UK Jazz & Blues Albums Chart, garnering critical praise and rave reviews with 5-star ratings in Echoes Magazine and Soul Bag Magazine (France). Acantha graced the covers of the iconic Blues & Soul and Echoes Magazines and received Album of the Month honours from Soul Tracks, Relix, American Songwriter, KCRW’s ‘Top Tune,’ and more. Tastemaker Craig Charles (BBC 6Music’s Funk & Soul Show) notes: “She’s brilliant…destined for world domination.”

Lang has also been captivating audiences globally, making her US TV debut on CBS Saturday Morning and performing at the prestigious 2024 SXSW Music Festival in Austin, Texas, major venues in Spain and the UK, and renowned clubs like Bizz’Art (Paris, France) and Melkweg (Netherlands). In April 2024, she was a featured artist at The Dew Drop in New Orleans and performed alongside The New Mastersounds at The House of Blues and Blue Nile as part of the BACKBEAT Jazz Fest series during New Orleans Jazz Fest weekend where she met new fans like Anderson.Paak. She was also invited as a special guest for Jon Cleary at his sold-out show at the renowned Jazz Cafe in London.

Lang’s songwriting prowess was recognized before her solo career, crafting tracks for the GRAMMY-nominated Robert Randolph & The Family Band. Her debut EP, ‘Sugar Woman,’ earned her critical acclaim and the 2021 Soul Tracks Readers’ Choice Award for New Artist of the Year. She was also accepted into the Recording Academy’s (Grammy) 2022 member class.

Currently writing album #2 with further US and European touring to come off the back of a string of sold-out recent shows in Spain, this GRAMMY-nominated songwriter has established a dedicated legion of fans with her 13m+ viewed “Standing On The Shoulders Of” soul series.

With over 3 million streams and placements on top Spotify playlists like All Funked Up, Best Retro Songs, and Best Funk Songs of 2023, Lang’s music is resonating with a global audience. Radio support in the UK (BBC 6Music’s Funk & Soul Show) and the US (KCRW’s Top Tune of the Day) further solidifies her rising star status. Her most recently released single was a re-imagined funk cover of Bill Withers’ ‘Grandma’s Hands’, that was named Jazz FM’s Breakfast Show record of the week, added to the A List, plus also got love from esteemed DJ Trevor Nelson on BBC Radio 2. Acantha is currently preparing to return to the studio to write her sophomore album, slated for 2025

6.12.24. Marine Theatre, Lyme Regis

Must you Create a Legacy Instead of Just Existing

Why can’t I just sit at home and exist. What drives me to make some sort of mark on the world, create a lasting legacy, be constantly active, a diary full for months in advance, no time just to sit around and think. It always seems to be the way, agreeing to things without really first engaging the brain. A desire to do stuff, to be helpful, to explore ideas and put on events. Why can’t I just say no or keep my powder dry. Surely it would be easier just to sit on the side-lines, let other people run events but maybe that’s my nature of being an artist. One of the organisers. I’m not even sure it is one of my strengths. Well actually wooing is, so getting people to do stuff, to work with people, help, facilitate, be the natural number two. Peter Taylor to your Brian Clough. There is nowhere to go after over promising. You have put an idea into some else’s head and to stand and deliver. Or else try and back down gracefully without losing face or reputation. Keeping your mouth shut, thinking about things before promising. Review the logistics, the costs, the possible scenarios that could unfold in your head. It’s generally better to under promise, set expectations at a base level so you can gradually work up, surprise people, start to reveal the full extent of what you hope to achieve. Or don’t even say anything, keep your powder dry, have thoughts running around in your head that can stay there, under control, a multitude of concepts swirling within the brains matter. Is it a need to be liked, an area of conversation or just a desire to collaborate, support projects. By saying something it means you really have to deliver, it puts the concept out in the open. Surely this can be a good thing though as it counters inertia. Provides the possibility of creating something great, making a change, a mark on the world that delivers happiness to yourself and others once you have battled through the stress of putting the event on. If you don’t go out there and put your head on the line then you are not a competitor. You are someone happy on the side-lines, which is fine. Some people need to be the creators, innovators, those who push things forward and support a change in the world. Over promising is their reality. Realising dreams. Is there any point in any of this though. I mean we all shift off this mortal coil. Famous people are dying all over the place. Geoff Capes, iconic strongman of early TV. Seemed like a lovely bloke. He will be remembered. DJ’s Janice Long and John Peel, an anarchic Top of the Pops double act, laughing, joking, no longer here. A young guy from pop reality stars One Direction, plummets to his death from an Argentine balcony. Going in one direction, down. Quite youthful world cycling megalith Sir Chris Hoy, terminal cancer. All that healthy exercise and being superfit leading to inevitable doom. Maybe he should have just sat around smoking fags. Same result. You see people heading off for their daily jog or skulking around corners with rollies dangling from their mouth. Which one are you, what path do you choose. Lady Di. Princess of the people, changing the world, battered in a Parisian underpass alongside son of rapist, Dodi Al Fayed. He should have been the one in the car. Justice. If there was equity and fairness in the world then all those out exercising, eating healthily, being kind to the planet, one or no car families, care workers, doctors and nurses, nutritionists, musicians, actors, authors, recyclers, councillors, counsellors, cancellers, administrators, supporters, non-hierarchical activists, and famous shot putters should have the longest lives. We should know how long there is. Surely that’s fair. Otherwise, really what is the point. To be remembered? To leave a mark? To have in some way helped to make the world a better place through selfless behaviour? It is within your own heart and soul that this probably needs to occur, by doing stuff, creating events, putting your neck on the line, trying to improve other people’s lives, being proactive and making a difference is probably worthwhile. You might not get a medal but there should be peace of mind, inner comfort, a warm glow emanating from you, understanding that you have maximised your time on earth, nothing has been left undone or unsaid, like riding through the final 10 minutes of a spin class, pushing until the end, warn out but satisfied that nothing else could have been done.

https://open.spotify.com/concert/1ezpzIxWYHttqXE0pcwH7s?si=e178103aa2e14387

Gig poster for Acantha Lang at Seaton Gateway Theatre, East Devon. Friday 6th December, 2024

Blank Canvas

So for any people out there interested in creativity, especially within music, my first book, Blank Canvas, is available from Intellect Books. Remarkably good value for a book that straddles academic and commercial values. Lots of info from creative artists including Brian Eno, Pauline Black, Gavin Bryars, Barry Adamson, Roy Ascott, Gina Birch, Gaye Advert etc…..

https://www.intellectbooks.com/blank-canvas

Travelling

Time disappears as you move around, nothing really going on except for the exercise of travelling. Sat on a train that traverses the country, from bottom to top and back again. You aren’t really doing anything except for being stationary whilst an element of transport moves you around. It can be possible to read or catch up on work. Stare out of the window marvelling at the grey skies shrouding any kind of view, which veers from countryside to outskirts of towns, ugly regions designed cheaply and ineffectively. Blue covered seats, thick and padded, still retaining the stench of fag smoke, from a previous era. Compartments where you peered in, slid back the door and met you new companions. Time to watch the world streak by. To watch and engage with people too. On the train you get occasional moments of excitement as you pull into cities you have never visited, places resonating with history and stature. Glimpses caught of dramatic buildings, bridges over rivers, people waiting on the platform, eager to find a forward-facing seat, building up adrenalin as they prepare for the scramble onboard. Sometimes you might be keen to talk, a new neighbour arriving with their own history to tell. Other times the needs of work or your own for solitude mean that you will other passengers to take alternative seats, squashing together like equally smelly sardines in a tin. Driving takes your mind into an alternative state. One of concentration but extreme familiarity, manoeuvring a vehicle through windy roads and wide-open motorways. Talking to your partner, listening to the latest news, sport or music, whiling away the hours as you move from one place to another. Time lost. Although it is an opportunity for Zen like behaviour, turn everything off and let the mind wander and focus. Ideas or concepts floating around and seeping into the brain. A time to think, connect the rushing lines, plan the future whilst remembering the past. You should be able to reclaim those hours spent travelling. Static but in motion. Complete a claim form to send off to the ministry. I would love to be cycling rather than driving, being active, fit, healthy and alive. Still able to pontificate but out on the path, moving from city centre, urban sprawl, the sound of the suburbs, the air gradually lightening and freshening. You can breathe more deeply now. In through the nose, out of the mouth. Travelling with a purpose rather than just existing to get somewhere else. It does get you to where you need to be, meeting with family and friends, attending a conference, going on holiday. So much time spent travelling whilst on holiday. Moving from place to place. Just stay still and enjoy the moments. Have days where you exist in your locale. The covid pandemic provided this life, a time where you weren’t allowed to travel. You had to exist in your own space, which would be a nightmare except for the privileged who had the room to feel comfortable. Finishing a journey after driving for hours can feel mesmeric, as though time didn’t move. Time apparently lost but possibly invaluable. Exhaustion gradually taking over. Arriving home but without true knowledge of the journey that got you there. I should stop flying. The planet really needs us all to do this if we are serious about attempting to reverse climate change. But we aren’t. Not until it is slap bang in front of our face, peeling away, melting, burning, flooding, collapsing. Driving an electric car whilst it would be better just to stay in your own locale. A boring world where we don’t move around but the world survives, cools down, quietens itself and lets nature come back to life. Back to reality.

Bristol to Bath cycle track

Affected

Some people in your life make decisions that confuse or worry you. Their power. What can you do to counteract or deal with the power they exert, controlling your career, life path, manipulating your mind so that things which would seem outrageous or wrong in ever day living are passed, swept under the carpet, justified. Making decisions then putting you on the spot, you’re the one who has to explain what is going on, why money has been given to certain people. The PPE scandal where millions has been laundered, the truth wrapped in a veil. Who do you go to, who do you tell? Our world is dotted with conflict, sometimes all out war but often just a mass of elements that niggle, behaviour that hurts, disrespect. The gym teacher who asks the class for advice rather than understanding the wishes of the minority. Bullying, sneaking up to you, suggesting that you leave, that your work is underwhelming, snide comments. Words with extreme power. Passing by, leaving their mark but untroubling the perpetrator. People just getting away with it in multiple instances. Boris Johnson promoting his memoir, still insisting he did nothing wrong, those Brexit benefits. Saville, Weinstein, Al Fayed; sexual abuse, appearing out of the past as voice by voice the truth emerges when the abuser dies or locked away. People who can now talk the truth, power emerging through each ascending voice. Countries bombing neighbours indiscriminately, justifying actions through the weight of history, previous persecution, a life of being tortured, picked upon, maimed. The school bully never receiving justice, working away untouchable, poking here and there, making epee lunges. Fencing. Darting in and making a few incursions before retreating and waiting for blind eyes to be turned. Their own traumas affecting actions, digging deep into psyche, the past continually impacting on the present, a reset required.

Walking around

Going on a trip with friends it was a difficult choice. Where could we go which was in a couple of hours, that we hadn’t been before and was great for photography. Berlin, Paris, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Prague. In the end deciding on the Polish city of Krakow. Near Auschwitz, Resonating with past wars and brutalities. Unknowable pain. A pretty city. Picture perfect. Scanning the weather before you go on your trip, praying that BBC, Accu, Met etc.. are wrong in their forecast of incessant drizzle. There to take pictures but no light. Mizzle, more insistent but lighter than drizzle, a constant blanket of gentle spray. You don’t really get wet but there is a dampness, a coldness that starts to seep into your bones, breaking through Gortex through non stop lightness. You start to walk around the city and apparent photo opportunities jump out, peering through doorways, into shops. It’s a great way of looking at a city, as a photographer, especially when the light makes your task really difficult. Walking around, constantly, circling the city, heading for landmarks, the grey relentless. Night time and colours arrive, the neon glow of multicoloured bulbs elongating across vast squares, reflections more dramatic than the actuality, peering down, Crouching down by pools of water, reflections illuminating, doubling images. Adding to the misty intrigue. Umbrellas dotting the skyline, adding shape and colour, providing context and interest. Armed with a pocket camera, fixed wide angle, 28mm. No opportunity to zoom in but stay in the same perspective. Interest in the fore and background. Occasionally relenting from the clicking to move indoors, sample local beers. Atmospheric locales, stylised but resonating with Coldwar, Second World War menace. Dark brooding deep reds, greens and blues. Faded. Old photos, people lost to time, coming back to life. People creating new images, taking the space, providing film sets, stuck in time. Continue to walk, searching for images. The mizzle continues. Searching for a shipwreck, graffiti providing colour contrasting to the grey unchanging sky, no shards of light to provide interest just a grey blanket providing consistency. Statues and memorials. Crumbling buildings, memories hanging in the air, trapped, nowhere to go. Keep walking, searching for form, for light. Trams providing blue and red relief, the lights inside glowing through the dank grey. Previous lives trapped in, nowhere to go. Keep walking, observing, a sadness that is flat, not overwhelming, no drama, just constant and plaintive. Puddles continue to reflect, we walk, we peer, the mizzle continues.