Friday, 10 October 2014

Blackheath. Stumbled Upon.

...after seeing the Astronomy Photographer of the Year exhibition, I went outside and sat on a bench in front London. I didn't have a camera or a bag or anything, just my travelcard, and nowhereness spirit- just my memories- fast-fading; slowly aging. I remember the last time I was there, it was freezing cold and very quiet and there were very few people. This time around, there were tourists everywhere and it was strange, so strange to sit there and watch London and to watch people take photo's, to watch people take the same photo again and again, - the same view, the portrait, the same smile, some more staged than others- and so after a while, I left the crowds behind and as I drifted along, I thought to myself, isn't it oppressive- photography: taking photos. Sometimes it's so oppressive. Sometimes I see marvellous places and with no camera, I think to myself, what's the point in witnessing this beauty, this fascinating something- and not being able to capture it, to take it away, to look it again and to relay. To relay.

And so there's something pure about the places I go without a camera & without a clue, without a single thing to record something new: except memory. Yeah, there's something special about experiencing- just experiencing- just remembering. I wandered out of Greenwich Park and towards Blackheath. Blackheath-  the plain so green, the skies so big, the church so distinct, the village shops, the hospital painted in black, the conservatoire, the halls, and then... something special...the Age Exchange Reminiscence Centre. 

The Age Exchange Reminiscence Centre: a place lost in time, a place filled with memories (sad and happy) and relics (sad and happy), and swing music from the 30's or 40's or 50's, nah, I wouldn't know- and an old lady with red lipstick looking quite at home, and worn items with packaging so outdated, and the library and the cafe and the little garden with sunshine, and the tree with multicoloured autumn leaves, shimmering in the sunlight and gold lettering embossed on the doors and the rickety radios and faded newspapers and desaturated photographs and vases and those sweets in those tall glass jars like in something out of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the old version, the version with Gene Wilder, and eating beans on toast in that garden, and listening to that old swing music, distant now, in time and space and also in distance... it was quite fascinating. It was quite special...

I've been wandering around London for 10 years now, in this time I've stumbled across so many different places and met so many different people, and really, I don't know why I'm finding it so difficult to write my book. It should be the easiest of the them all. But it isn't- ///----nothingness////