travel – BLANK CANVAS

Time to Stop

I love waking up and seeing the view from my kitchen. The endless variety that the same picture conveys, changed by seasons and the vagaries of the English weather. Coastal winds transforming the seascape unfolding in front of me. The variances as the sun rises from a slightly different position each day, spraying deep orange and peach light that gradually lightens as the sun rises, turning our home into a constantly varying symphony of colour, replicating musician and artist Brian Eno’s light boxes, never the same, always different. Nature drenching its mood and perspective. Whilst studying for my doctorate I used to cycle most days between the south western English cities of Bristol and Bath, stopping at the same point and snapping a shot on either my phone or camera. A beautiful spot where the city was left behind and bucolic countryside emerged, fields, horses, a church spire rising out of the English village, creating balance in the view. I was entranced by the differences in similarity, the chance to look more deeply when you start to know every element in your picture. Sometimes the horse was there but other days not, or in a different location creating an alternative balance. Standing still and contemplating. Repetition providing the opportunity to stay in the moment, the place, the view. Not a set of holiday snaps which blindly take you around the pool, beach, lunch, church, beach, afternoon drinks, sunset, dinner, party. A beautiful view is to be savoured, unfurled through the ages, the chance to measure your life alongside the beauty of humans and nature. An opportunity to be static and contemplate change, to work out what it is all about. To stop rushing around, stand on one leg and breathe, the tree of yogic life. Zen gardens. Life is everything around us. Let’s be more observant, take time out, put the phones away and actually live, fighting the demands and distractions of the modern world. Recognise what is going on around us, the different dynamic of certain moments or days.

Why does the start of the week feel different to the end? Parts of the year have certain scents, views, feelings, which time stamp our development. Facebook reminding us about what was happening on the same day one, two, seven years or even eleven years ago. It all seems so recent. Present, in the now. Time has sped past, our lives juggernauting along at breakneck speed, unable to slow it down as caught in a merry-go-round, gliding up and down on a horse, repeated views blurring past from the bottom of the hill. Our lives have reportedly changed over the 58 years I have been present, but it all seems the same to me. The UK. The long hot summer of 1976, Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, exciting pop music with punk screaming into view, strikes, extreme weather, long periods of drought followed by flooding, a warming globe, familiar places and faces. Not a static life spent in one location, from birth, school, work to marriage, children and death but a multifaceted one travelling the planet, moving from place to place, adventures that make life exciting and dynamic. London, Paris, Glasgow, Bristol with a swathe of smaller locales in between. Days which were dynamic, a cure for the humdrum, a world of creativity and chaos. Moving from cities to the countryside has provided boredom, the ability to stop and stare, think deeply, be at peace and start to wonder and wander, contemplate, remember, look forward. Internal conversations becoming clearer as the fog starts to drift away, lifting from the valley floor and revealing a beautiful landscape stretching into the distance, providing the first glimpses of clarity on life.

East Devon Soul Festival

Dates: 3^rd July – 5^th July 2026

Seaton, East Devon

Outline

East Devon Soul Festival is a community music event with sustainability and revitalisation at its heart, bringing opportunities for local and national artists to perform in the seaside location of Seaton, East Devon, utilising available resources and infrastructures. The festival will feature multi genre eclectic music from local and national artists, crossing genre divides but all joined by the concept of soul, music that moves, has humanity and expression. All in collaboration with local venue owners and community groups.

Ethos

Seaton in East Devon is a town with multiple underused venues, a lack of activity but with the infrastructure to support a creative ecosystem. Sitting between the more vibrant towns of Lyme Regis and Sidmouth, Seaton has been left behind.

The aim of the East Devon Soul Festival is to bring music to the town to support socioeconomic enhancement, providing culture and economic life, encouraging people to come in and support local businesses. East Devon Soul Festival will generate an uplift in culture for the town, providing hope and opportunity for future events to occur and release the creative potential of the region, benefitting a wide demographic, including young people, families, older residents, and those who may otherwise have limited access to arts and live music due to financial, geographic, or social barriers.

East Devon Soul Festival will offer opportunities for local musicians and performers to showcase their talents, promote wellbeing through shared cultural experiences, and strengthen social connections in the community. Through collaborations with schools, local businesses, and community groups, East Devon Soul will also provide volunteering, training, and educational opportunities to encourage participation in event production and the wider creative industries.

Sustainability is a key driver for the East Devon Soul Festival. We want people to have a great time in a wonderful location whilst leaving as little carbon trace as possible. Underutilised venues will be opened up. For example, the iconic Seaton Tramway can be transformed into a beautiful 500 capacity venue. The Old Picturehouse Cinema becomes a hub for global funk music. The Hideaway Cafe at the far end of the promenade a venue for late revellers, with DJ’s spinning electronic House or Drum and Bass. The beach front Tide Cafe will have acts performing on its balcony.

Incentives will be provided to travel to the festival by green transport. The small gauge electric tram can ferry people in from campsites or Bed and Breakfasts of the nearby villages of Colyford or Colyton. Gas buses will be used to connect the nearest train station at Axminster with Seaton, a 20-minute journey. Electric tuk tuk’s will bring spice to East Devon life, a novel way of entering the festival from local villages. Arrival by bike and foot will be encouraged through elements of VIP access, food and accommodation discounts.

Line Up

The music ethos for the East Devon Soul Festival is quality eclectic and inclusive. Music for everyone but with a cohesive narrative, where bands featuring female and non-binary musicians are encouraged. Upcoming acts who will engage and educate audiences from across the spectrum, classical to electronic dance music, jazz, funk, soul and folk. East Devon Soul will have appeal for all ages and tastes. From string quartets to New Orleans Soul, Jungle and Grime to Jazz. Music is naturally eclectic, and the festival will showcase this glory, providing opportunities for local artists and showcases for acts brimming on the edge of stardom. The common denominator is that all acts will be approved by the East Devon Soul team, unleashing years of experience across the music industry to bring a festival for the local masses.

Some of the artists already lined up to play include artists we have programmed previously including Acantha Lang, Dr Meaker, Buena Bristol Social Club, Kirris Riviere and the Delta du Bruit, Hannah Williams and the Affirmations, Moscow Drug Club, the Jazz Defenders, Revelation Roots, The Egg and Fulu.

Spinning tunes in pop up venues across Seaton will be top artists including legendary DJ Krust, Queen Bee, Beatles Dub Club and the Allergies.

Seaton

The seaside town of Seaton sits on the South coast of the UK, just inside East Devon from the Dorset border, flanked by its better-known siblings Lyme Regis and Sidmouth.

Seaton has a natural aspect, sitting at the end of a wide valley, flanked by beautiful countryside, beaches and cliffs. The town itself has many underused facilities including lots of available venues, outside spaces, some with seating and power, plenty of parking and reasonable transport links. Unlike its bordering brethren, Seaton is never overrun by tourists in the summer months due to a lack of historic buildings or perceived beauty. There is a flow to the way that you can circle the town, making it an ideal location for a festival.

Map of Seaton

Venues

The Gateway Theatre
Seaton Tramway
The Old Picturehouse
The Hideaway
Tide
The Vault
Eyre Court

Fishermans Gap and Jubilee Gardens
Thury Harcourt Place
Windsor Gardens

East Devon Soul Festival promo – https://youtu.be/DVIg4H2cywA

Winter

It used to be a time I dreaded, long nights stretching, engulfing days but as I get older there seems to be greater romance in those cold winter days. Jumpers, snuggling, battling through rain. The dark emphasising the light, neon glowing. Xmas. Glowing lights. Mulled wine. Waiting for change. Looking forward rather than at the present. I am determined to luxuriate in the wrapping up of winter, to stroke the deep woollen knit, put my feet up towards the roaring fire, gentle puff on a pipe, reading The Hound of the Baskervilles. I love the low searing light of winter. In summer it is expansive and flat, but those cold wet dark months are crossed with laser like strips of sun, striking from far to near, providing depth and excitement. Waking up in the dark and gradually arising with the light unlike summer months where it is instant, turning a light on, no sun to full sun. You can leave your garden to just exist rather than spending hours fighting off excessive growth, hacking at weeds, willing the grass to stay short. Winter is romantic. You two or three of more against the world. Summer is full on, everyone out there, festival, party, active, blinded by the flat light, wide angle, no place to hide as the sun engulfs. Splashing on suncream to protect against a deteriorating ozone layer, a thin film with holes puncturing through. No aircon. Instead, dark dramatic atmospheric winter world, wrapped in blankets, fire on, lights twinkling, a season of thought and anticipation. Wrapping up the year. The worst thing about winter is the thought of its arrival. Increasingly my summer months are ruined as summer solstice disappears in the rear-view mirror veering towards it’s winter equivalent, the days getting inexorably shorter. The long lead up to dark wet cold depressing months when I should just be enjoying summer days and nights drifting along. Never ending days to be replaced by never starting moments. Some of our friends have the right idea, lucky sods. Enough money to luxuriate in English summers and then plan their winter escapes to South America, Asia, Australia, Africa, maintaining the light of life, following the sun, keeping winter at bay. Up in space there is no issue with the seasons. If you’re looking down on earth they fly past, daily, providing a dazzling display of summer, autumn, spring. But surely embrace the winter. There is a stark beauty, a low light which plays enormous shadows, providing greater depth and interest onto vistas. Wrap up warm and get outside, look at the views, seep in the world. Neon Lights twinkling in the gloom, providing a vibrancy and electricity. Colour and interest. Beautiful cold thin morning sunrises where metallic light purples and thin warm oranges litter a pastel sky. Look to the now but also ahead. Winter can be cold and lonely but there is also the promise of something better ahead, the winter solstice a marker, the most hopeful day of the year when gradually more light and interest arrives daily, the football season coming through its phoney war into games which actually means something, there is jeopardy. The long slog of league games developing into a tussle for the top, to move up or down a level, settle on a new normal. Cup games in muddy fields, ball stuck in treacherous puddles as wind rattles around the stands blowing you sideways. Fearful of the journey from changing room to pitch, vaseline caked over freezing limbs. The winter is also a time to luxuriate, to cuddle up with some of the great authors of our time, let ideas and knowledge seep into your brain. Relearn. Recharge. Rethink. Settle into new and old concepts, philosophy, AI, culture, stories of war and peace, light and shade, action and adventure, beautiful prose or edge of the seat excitement. Winter seems to be the longest season, to go on inexorably, dark following dark, where illness can lead to death. But it is also the most romantic, when friends and families come together, to talk and argue, to annoy and rejoice. The last time in that house. Setting markers, remembering departed family and friends through stories, games and laughter. The rest of the year you can be apart but the winter forces families together, to eat too much, watch too much, slobber on the sofa until the hope and joy of new year arrives. A fresh start. A new beginning. The chance to reset and go again.

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

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

Making decisions

Coming to a conclusion, gathering all of those thoughts together can be such a difficult process to go through, something which affects your life and those around you. Some people get comatose by the perceived enormity whilst others make it without a second thought. Going on gut instinct, coordinating all those different elements into one coherent whole within seconds. They know that is the right decision. Others struggle to leave the house. Deciding what the take with them, to wear, which bag, shoes, hat or not, a couple of coats. Really they are well prepared, ready for any situation except perhaps nuclear war. Others just leave like that, a thin raincoat slung over their shoulder and off they go. Every moment of every day is about decisions. Our lives are defined by them. Planning who to go and see, what events, how to balance your weeks Go to the gym or a run down the beach. Entering into the duty free area of an airport and faced with that unique scent of a million different perfumes, sparkling dayglo bottles ready for a little body taste. Rub some on your neck and no idea if it suits you or smells nice, matching with your pheromones or smelling like petrol. It is a good decision not to rub hands around the neck region after putting petrol in your car. Venturing further in the concourse a selection of familiar shops await. Maybe some new sunglasses for the trip. Gucci, Ray-Ban or Polaroid. Millions of lenses gleaming back at you, frames with subtle differences. How do you choose? Go for the cheapest option perhaps that looks remotely suitable. Can you decide what looks good on your face or do you need an accomplice to help. Choosing a certain pair will alter your overall look, almost personality. Big and brash or cool and sophisticated. Bookish or biker. You are at the airport with decisions already made. A holiday planned. Weeks of pouring through travel guides and Facebook posts to come to the ultimate Greek Island. How do you choose? Undiscovered Greece, near islands you can hop to, beautiful but unspoilt. Searching for your own bespoke piece of paradise. It’s your honeymoon so this needs to be right. Not a half-built apartment with builders staring through your window, providing the chainsaw morning chorus like a Greek Einsterzunde Neubauten. You could just rock up at the air take off place and see what’s available. Go for the moment. Close eyes and point at a map of the world. How exciting. Too exciting or unpredictable perhaps. Part of the joy of holidays is planning, building up a perceived idea of what it’s like. Inter railing. City to city. Walks in the mountains. Going to visit friends. An academic conference with a holiday tacked on. That seems to be quite an effective way of deciding where to go, following the call for papers which can be connected to your own research but which land in interesting places. Canada, Jamaica, Finland, Porto, Korea, Paris. Random American cities which might be worth an extended look. But all this travel. Is it really worthwhile and hey, have you heard about climate change. Altering the world in front of us. Surely we should just stop flying. Stay local. Cycle. Walk. Do nothing, be inert. Agh, such a difficult choice. A lack of real knowledge or collective behaviour. Why should I sacrifice these extra elements of my life when I see friends and foe jetting off around the world. If they stop, I do. Leave the decision to someone else. If the price was too high then I would find alternative things to do. If I knew by not flying the world would be saved, then absolutely, I’ll never set foot in a WH Smith’s again, trying to decide what novel or non-fiction book to get, something that will impact my holiday so directly. A book connected to the place I’m going or something which completely transports me to a different world. Should I stay or should I go?

A bunch of cuts

Nottingham is an interesting place. Sat halfway up the country, home to Byron, Boots, Raleigh and lace. It is not somewhere I previously considered but starting to work with the university there and my youngest daughter going to university in the city, has brought it into focus. I met an orchestral leader and educator in the city, someone who transferred their life from LA to the East Midlands. For work, such is the joy of academia, throwing you around the world in search of nirvana. Looking for the excitement and safety in equal measures. Academic working puts your whole sense of place in another context because it provides opportunity and threat. The chance to travel around the world, put small roots down wherever the best role seems to fit. It also keeps you there though because when you start to specialise in an area the options become less apparent. You raise a family and don’t want then have to decamp somewhere else. It provides a level of paranoia, especially within the creative arts that are under attack yet again in Higher Education. Leave those teams alone. Fight alternative beings rather than going for the easy targets situated within the arts. The creative arts bring a whole range of excitement, interest and sets of skills that really traverse boundaries. Reflexivity, stamina, concentration, innovation, dedication, collaboration, humour, physicality, neuroscientific skills which are transferable or just lay in place to entertain. Local Councils like that in Birmingham or Nottingham are in financial peril, so the first they consider is to cut the arts. But these are the elements which make them, drive local industries, provide employment, set the tone of a place. Why not think about doing the reverse. Embrace the arts, place trust in their ability to lead your city to prosperity.

I am exploring the concept of scenius, the collective genius existing within scenes. Exploring the intricate parts which make up successful scenes, lifting them beyond the norm. I see the main elements as centred around hierarchies, process, experimentation, relationships and flow. The Bristol music scene as defined by bands such as Massive Attack and Portishead brought disparate parts of the city together. St Pauls and Clifton, placed in the Dug Out club and revolver records equidistant between both areas. The music resonated with the sound of the city, the Bristol hum, water sloshing underneath the pathways, providing a resonant frequency which connected with the bass music, a slow tempo with depth. An ethos based on attitude. Political protest. Standing up for the common good. Preparing to fail or anger the regular creative arts industry. Banksy. Placing faith in art. No compromise. No sellout. Each place has its own resonance, connects through natural and social factors. It’s time again to fight for the arts, to provide the new upcoming government with so much evidence that they finally support the arts once and for all, enshrines British culture with the security it needs and deserves.