Woskerski and the Wall: Colouring Cleethorpes…

Dawid Paradowski is a London-based artist who was recently selected, along with a number of local artists, to take part in a ‘Paint the Town Proud’ initiative which has seen various artworks appear on walls throughout the Grimsby and Cleethorpes conurbation.

Dave, who signs his work Woskerski, is a versatile artist well known for his food illustration and it is no surprise that the main focus of his new mural is ice cream. Painted in a photorealistic style, the two cones that dominate the composition look mouth-wateringly delicious. The artist can now add the east coast resort, Cleethorpes to a long list of places his work can be found: in London and elsewhere in the UK, in the United States, in Europe and beyond.

Woskerski works with cans of spray paint and the control he has over this medium is incredible: I watched him for a while: he was working on a small detail, layering about six different colours, it was fascinating to watch. The artist estimated he had used around 400 cans of paint over the 16 days it took to complete the mural.

The thing I really liked was the way the various textures of the wall were still very apparent on close scrutiny: smooth concrete rendering, brickwork old and new, missing mortar, cracks. Covering this was a challenge for the artist I guess, but adds a lot of interest for me. The overall result is a beautiful thing and I know that the people of Cleethorpes are very grateful to have it.

might as well try to catch the wind…

Not so long ago I had time to kill – 30 minutes – while I waited to meet my son who was swimming at our local leisure centre. Here in Cleethorpes, on the Lincolnshire coast at the mouth of the Humber estuary, the centre is situated at the southern end of the promenade; behind it, the start of the dunes and salt marshes that stretch for miles down the coast.

Having my camera with me I thought I might like to make a few photographs to pass the (short) time I had and I chose to wander an area between embankment and dunes which was filled with a variety of grasses and other coastal plants.

Dropping down into that place was like entering another world: a strong wind was blowing and the dominant sound was the rustle of grasses as they swayed this way and that. My attention was drawn to the dance, to the accompanying music. I made some attempt to capture that motion, that sense of rhythm and mostly failed, as in the photograph above. Walking on, my thoughts turned to the notion of sea nymphs and I wondered if there was a goddess of the salt marsh. And this the mouth of the Humber estuary. Hardly the place of exotic myth and, though it had its own particular beauty, the only sirens likely to be heard were those of fog-bound ships. I made too many photographs during my short time in that place: photography offers a great intimacy between photographer and subject – whatever the genre – and I was pleased to have a result. Just one frame that went some way to expressing how I felt, listening and watching and all that jazz. Here it is:

I recently revisited that place and discovered that all the grasses had been cut down. They will be back next year. And there is a goddess of the salt marsh (I googled it): she is one of the Nereids of Greek mythology and her name is Lymnoria.

Walking the dog: freedom during lockdown

I haven’t got away from my hometown, Cleethorpes for some time now. I live a stone’s throw from the sea front and can be found somewhere along the local coastline most days. It’s good to see people out and about during the month-long lockdown but, as a photographer, I confess to running out of ideas. I have projects in mind but have had to shelve them for the time being.

The promenade and the beach are currently the haunts of those who like to excercise, those who simply enjoy walking, beachcombers and lovers enjoying the warmth of each other’s company tempered by the often bitingly cold sea air. And those who walk their dogs.

And so nothing has changed, for this is the scene in Cleethorpes every winter. But I wouldn’t be out and about every day making photographs, many regulars are getting quite well known to me and we exchange hellos, pass the time of day briefly. Halfway through lockdown and I am really feeling a sense of deja-vu every time I put camera to eye. I have started photographing my washing hanging out to dry, the kid’s breakfast, the street from my kitchen window and abstract views of my favourite chair.

I don’t have a dog and, although I am a cat person, I don’t have a pet. I’m happy to watch from a distance as people who do take the opportunity to escape the home and, like me, enjoy as much freedom as the coast can offer.

Camera used was an Olympus OMD EM5 mk II coupled with a Zuiko Digital 12-40 f2.8 lens. Thank you for taking the time to look at my blog.

Alone again or: a solitary life and the ‘rule of six’…

As she develops her review of Olivia Laing’s excellent book: The Lonely City, Hanya Yanagihara makes this observation: ‘I would venture to be even more specific and say that if love belongs to the poet, and fear to the novelist, then loneliness belongs to the photographer. To be a photographer is to willingly enter the world of the lonely, because it is an artistic exercise in invisibility.’ And to an extent I agree; much as making photographs with a pal or a group can be rewarding experiences, at the end of the day it is the photographer and his camera trying to make some sense of a world that continually refreshes itself before his eyes.

Over the past month I have limited my range to the seaside town which is my home. There are a few reasons and somewhere near the bottom of the list is the advice regarding the current pandemic situation. South of Cleethorpes and toward the mouth of the Humber estuary the sands broaden out, broken here and there by creeks emerging from the salt marsh. Dunes have formed here: topped by the coarse grasses that hold them together, they have captured my imagination and have inspired an idea for a new series of paintings. But out there under the big sky it has been people who have caught my attention: walkers with and without dogs, lovers, joggers, friends and relations. I have been provided with an opportunity to make some observations regarding distancing.

Naturally, there is an elemental aspect of walking on the North Lincolnshire coast and autumn offers a truly mixed bag of weather conditions which are often unpredictable. Strong winds, always cold, drive the fine sand across the flats, blasting exposed skin while rain, heavy or not, make the paths across the marsh perilous. Sometimes the sun shines and the shadows of walkers somehow serve to emphasize both the loneliness and the instant: that moment in time captured.

For me, the sense of freedom one experiences when out in desolate places is key. Often my mind wanders as I take in the various perspectives. Most of my family, past and present, will have walked here at one time or another. Many old friends too. And friends who are distant share the same sky: turning to face the sea I fancy I may cast my thoughts into the waves to be washed up on a distant shore where a good friend may paddle through them. Suddenly I spot a group of people in the distance and think how nice it might be to be in a ‘group of six’.

An ordinary street, a half thought out project…

Back in August 2019 I wrote a post on this blog: ‘A holiday snap and how Henry Miller hit the nail on the head…’ The post dealt with the photograph above which I took on my very last holiday in Cleethorpes, Lincolnshire.

There is no need to further explain the photograph. In July of this year I returned to my hometown; not for a holiday but to live. After 14 years out of the country.

After a two week quarantine in a holiday let overlooking the seafront the kids and myself went to stay with my sister. She lives on a quiet road that joins Humber Street and it was while returning from a walk that I felt compelled to stop. I had a second photograph of the short thoroughfare that had so appealed to my subconscious a year earlier.

It was after a third photograph, made on the last day of July 2020, that I decided I might try to keep an eye on Humber Street over the course of one year.

There are less that 50 dwellings on Humber Street and at the time of the last census it was home to 117 people. It lies roughly east to west on the slope of the ‘cliff’, the eastern end overlooks the River Humber and, as far as I know, it has had an unremarkable history. The postcode is DN35 8NN and I now live only minutes away in a flat at the top of the hill. I know the coordinates but little else.

Latitude: 53.5565 / 53°33’23″N, Longitude: -0.0251 / 0°1’30″W

I have yet to see much of the residents but hope to at some stage. I’d like to think I might include them in the project. No matter: if it happens it will happen. I did meet one chap and engaged in what turned out to be a lengthy conversation in the drizzling rain. But he was the owner of a flat on the street and he lived on the other side of the river, in Hull. His was a holiday flat – currently unoccupied – and we mainly discussed the ongoing pandemic which was having an adverse impact on his finances.

I took nothing in the street during September and at the moment I find myself looking forward to fog in November, frost and maybe snow during the winter months. At the end of the day I don’t want to force anything and the project was half due to my restricted movements for the time being: I’m usually strapped for cash and I don’t have a car. Perhaps a bit lazy, too. As for my new life in Cleethorpes – the place of my birth nearly 66 years ago – I love it. Though I’m not ready to hang up my boots and stick the popular house name, ‘Dun Roamin’ on my front door anytime soon.

How a trip to the Co-op enriches my passion for literature…

From where I am sitting, a trip to the local shops presents me with a choice of two routes and my decision as to which to take is mainly dependent upon the weather. If I make the trip via Alexandra Road I am exposed to the elements. And this is Cleethorpes. And it can be bitterly cold when the wind is blowing from the North Sea. As much as I love my home town this is a fact, although on a sunny day….

…on a sunny day you will find me loitering outside the antique shop on Alexandra Road (and, to be fair, on not so sunny days). I don’t know if it has a name for there are no clues on the shopfront. It’s been there for donkey’s years. Though the place is chock full of actual antiques, collectibles and other old stuff inside, on the pavement outside there are boxes full of secondhand books. For me, this is the attraction. It was here I picked up a copy of the beat classic: On the Road, by Jack Kerouac. I have several books by this author but never got round to buying this one. I have a decent collection of work by the Beats and have passed over a couple of books at the shop – one by Ginsberg and one by Burroughs – because I already owned them.

I can’t recall the number of times I’ve tried to read Ulysses but what I do remember is that I never got much further than the first 20 pages or so. I suspect that it is the sheer length of the work that I find daunting and not Joyce’s style. Anyway, I picked this up for 50 pence in the hope that it would be an easier entry into the great man’s literature. Speaking of price, you will pay up to a pound for a paperback and up to two pounds for a hardback book on Alexandra Road.

I love to cook. Although I consider myself quite accomplished in the culinary arts, the idea that those who consume my food – usually family and close friends – put so much trust in me. You can make someone very sick if you get the preparation of food wrong. I have bought secondhand cookery books at the Alexandra Road store – Mexican, North African and Spanish cuisines – but this is the book when it comes to explaining why a varied diet is important. Like shared tapas it is a thing you can dip into at will.

I love stories of real people: biographies, auto or not, fascinate me. I have recently picked up a couple: Wouldn’t it be Nice by Brian Wilson and the one pictured above. I’ve liked and disliked Cohen’s work in equal measure: I imagine his life story is a story worth reading, I’ll let you know.

The swinging 60s. I was aged 5-14 years, lived in a seaside resort and loved it all: mod or rocker? I wasn’t bothered. But the beatniks who descended on the place for the once famous Cleethorpes Jazz Festival, yes! At age 16 I discovered existentialism but in the decade before that I was a rebel kid – despite being a cub scout – I liked the Beatles but loved the Rolling Stones.

I have been looking at my world through the lens of a camera throughout my adult life. I am interested in the history of photography and enjoy looking at photographs by others. There were a few books that inspired me as a student: David Bailey’s ‘Beady Minces’ and Tony Ray Jones’ ‘A Day Off’ are two I remember. Work seen in magazines by Eugene Atget, Duane Michals, Don McCullin and Chris Killip also played a part in my development. The only photograph by Dorothea Lange I had really taken notice of was the famous one: Migrant Mother. Imagine my surprise when I found this book full of interesting photographs. Cost me one pound. Bargain.

The reason I started searching through the boxes of books on Alexandra Road was that I imagined I had spotted, in passing, a copy of The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir. I went back the day after and was disappointed. I have got to know the three guys who run the shop; they know that I am interested in Existentialism, Art and Photography, the Beat Generation writers and cookery. The only book I have so far discovered concerning my brand of philosophy is a small, well worn copy of some essays by Albert Camus. I had asked how much it would cost. ‘You can have that for nothing’ was the reply. I was so pleased I forgot what exactly I needed from the Co-op…ah, the absurdity of it all.

Life With Restrictions: A Visual Response…

I am reunited with my hometown, Cleethorpes. I have been here for one month after a very long absence and under the strangest of circumstances. Details are unnecessary. The month of July has seen a chaotic and confusing lifting of some lockdown restrictions. I headed for the beach most days, usually at either sunrise or sunset.

My photographs are sparsely populated. In the mornings I share the place with joggers, keep fit enthusiasts and their personal trainers, dog walkers, the odd photographer and those who simply sit and watch the spectacle of sunrise in silent reverie.

The evenings are slightly busier with the addition of fish and chip shop queues, skateboarders, pub crawlers and those who simply want to make the most of their day out. Sunrise watchers are replaced with those who can enjoy the sunset over the outline of what remains of Grimsby Docks further down-river. The odd detectorist scans the beach for treasure.

During the day, particularly if the weather is fine, Cleethorpes remains busy. Not as busy as would be expected under normal circumstances, but busy enough. I have photographs but I am not showing them to you!

I have always considered photography to be a very solitary occupation. I have enjoyed days out with a buddy or two, but at the end of the day I am trying to make sense of my world – by myself. Forty-five years of it have taught me a thing or two.

I anticipate the path of an approaching roller skater.

All photographs were made using an Olympus camera. Many thanks for looking at my blog.

The moment of decision: judgement? luck? – I’ll take both…

‘There is nothing in this world that does not have a decisive moment’

When Cardinal de Retz (1613-1679) made this statement he was talking from a political perspective, suggesting that the art of leadership is strengthened by the ability to recognise and seize the ‘moment’. The phrase ‘the decisive moment’ came to the attention of the photographic world when it was used as the title of the English version of Henri Cartier-Bresson’s book, ‘Images à la Sauvette’ (1952). Nowadays it is – particularly in the world of social media groups – a buzzword for countless photography enthusiasts and seems to simply relate to the decision – often misguidedly – to press the shutter button. The original, intended meaning – ‘when the visual and psychological elements of people in a real life scene spontaneously and briefly come together in perfect resonance to express the essence of that situation’ (John Suler, The Psychology of the Decisive Moment) is, to some extent, lost.

Winter, Fifth Avenue (1892) by Alfred Stieglitz

One early photographer who embraced the idea of such a moment was Alfred Stieglitz (1864-1946): he appears to have had the patience of a saint (as well as a strong constitution, lol) in waiting for the above moment: three hours in a snowstorm, reportedly. Here are his own words:

‘On Washington’s birthday in 1893, a great blizzard raged in New York. I stood on a corner of Fifth Avenue, watching the lumbering stagecoaches appear through the blinding snow and move northward on the avenue. The question formed itself: could what I was experiencing, seeing, be put down with the slot plates and lenses available? The light was dim. Knowing that where there is light, one can photograph, I decided to make an exposure. After three hours of standing in the blinding snow, I saw the stagecoach come struggling up the street with the driver lashing his horses onward. At that point, I was nearly out of my head, but I got the exposure I wanted.’

I have always enjoyed the resulting photograph for a variety of reasons, not least because I believe the photographer achieved his intention.

Following the stoicism of Stieglitz, it seems somewhat trite to mention that I waited almost five minutes for the photograph above. On the promenade at Cleethorpes. On a sunny day. I had initially been attracted by the shape of tyre tracks in the sand before I noticed a strolling couple on a course that I believed might coincide with those tracks. The judgement proved accurate; the silhouetted figures in the background were, interestingly, all separate and, because my attention was centred on the woman and child, I feel this is an example of luck. Whatever, I only noticed this once I had downloaded my image.

I had to hold my nerve for the snap of the ice cream vendor, above. Only a minute or so wait, camera to my eye, but on a busy-ish day with several passers-by. I was going on the hunch that sooner or later, someone with their head down and involved with a task will look up. I tried to half hide behind a giant plastic ice cream and the result was that luckily, although I was discovered, it appears (to me, anyway) that the attention of the salesperson is drawn to that giant piece of gimmickry.

And on to ‘the lucky break’, unexpected moments that add to the success of an image rather than, as is more often the case in my experience, ruin it. I had already made one photograph of the scene below – I was attracted by the geometry of it – but felt I needed to slightly reposition myself; just as I made the second photograph a figure appeared into the scene. In white, catching the sunlight and carrying a clipboard which made an interesting shape. The intrusion enhanced the photograph in my opinion; the original intention, the play of line and shape, was still there but now there was some human interest. I can’t claim it. Or can I? As the saying goes: ‘you make your own luck’.

In the course of preparing this blog I came across two very interesting articles. ‘Alfred Stieglitz: The Terminal and Winter, Fifth Avenue’ by Linda Tate (www.thestoryweb.com) and ‘The Psychology of the Decisive Moment’ by John Suler.

My pictures were taken using an Olympus OMD with a Zuiko lens.

A holiday snap and how Henry Miller hit the nail on the head…

‘Now and then, in wandering through the streets, suddenly one comes awake, perceives with a strange exultation that he is moving through an absolutely fresh slice of reality.’

The above quote is from ‘The Eye of Paris’, an essay on the work of the photographer, Brassai written by one of my favourite authors, Henry Miller. In my opinion it is one of the very best pieces of writing on photography and I very much recommend taking a look at it. The quote is significant to me because it defines a phenomenon that I occasionally experience when I’m out and about with my camera: the sudden urge to stop and look for a reason not altogether apparent at the time, perhaps subconsciously driven, as if my mind – far quicker at ‘seeing’ than my eyes – had gently tapped me on my shoulder and whispered, ‘look’.

During the four weeks or so I spent in Cleethorpes this year (my hometown – I’m returning for good next summer} I must have walked along Humber Street many times, yet never felt the need to record it as a photograph, save this one instance. And the compulsion to do so was exactly as I’ve described above. The light was constantly changing as fast moving cloud must have been passing over the setting sun and the scene before me appeared flat as I studied it. Once the sunlight broke through again there was a remarkable transformation. The resulting image only has to satisfy the way I felt at the time – the essence of stillness – and for me it does.

‘

It’s a closed shop. Well, almost…

My early morning walks in Lincolnshire often take me through high streets and I confess to being a keen window-shopper. Sometimes I find a window display interesting enough to want to record the moment; sometimes an empty shop, sadly closed down or simply closed for renovation offers up something equally appealing.

As a student, the work of Eugene Atget (1857-1927) made a great impression on me. The Frenchman was out and about the streets of Paris early and he photographed many shop fronts. Fête du Trône is my favourite and is worth seeking out should you be interested. The photograph above is a kind of homage to the great man; you will notice that I have mirrored the image so that the reflected word ‘hope’ is better read. Across the road was an employment agency (it is worth bearing in mind that Grimsby, once the greatest fishing port in the world, has seen better times) which bore the legend: (no) hope…

I find this sort of thing rather attractive, though I have heard it described as ‘an eyesore’. Each to his own. West of Grimsby, a little way along the Humber estuary there is another port, busier than Grimsby and an important oil terminal. Immingham is a small town and, like Grimsby, its connection with far-off places is reflected by a diverse population. Should you need something exotic to be cooked up for you or if you want to browse shelves for unfamiliar ingredients, you are catered for:

Head downstream from Grimsby and you will encounter neighbouring Cleethorpes; a seaside resort and the place of my birth, many moons ago. I found a pet supplies shop as I made my way down to the beach one day:

And on another occasion I reached the seafront, was suckered in by a faux ice cream cornet and, despite the fact it was a cold, miserable day, entered this excellent establishment only to find out that they didn’t have my favourite flavour (pistachio, if you’re interested).

Heading inland, Gainsborough – as far as you can go before entering Nottinghamshire – is a very interesting place with a fair history; famous for the Tudor Hall that once hosted the likes of Henry VIII, the town also attracts me for the wealth of shop front potential. The shops in the two photographs below sat side by side; I was sat on the wall of a splendid churchyard having a smoke when they occurred to me:

Boston, the third port in Lincolnshire, is a fascinating place to visit and was my home during the 1970s. Over the past three years I have spent a few days of my annual holiday in the town. It has seen changes and I’m hoping that it will be a subject for a future blog post. For the time being, here is an empty shop window shortly after sunrise:

Many thanks for taking the time to look at my blog. For the enthusiast, I used an Olympus OMD with a Zuiko short zoom for all the photographs.