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.

Grand Crew: vintage rock and those who help put the fizz into the show.

‘If you want to lift yourself up, lift up someone else’

Booker T Washington (1865-1915)

A friend got in touch recently. A tour manager and sound engineer, he wondered if I would be interested in spending a few days documenting the setting up of a stage show with the crew of a well known rock band. The band were due to tour the USA (as I write, they are in Detroit), it would be their fiftieth anniversary (deferred by a year due to the restrictions of the Covid pandemic) and it would be special. Aside from a few shots I would be left to my own devices. I would be transported, accommodated, fed and watered. I said yes.

Production Park is sited within an industrial estate not far from Wakefield, Yorkshire in the UK. The complex is dominated by Studio 001 which stands around six storeys high and which was to be my home for a couple of days. Built in 2005, the only production facility of its kind in Europe, Studio 001 has played host to the cast and crew of some of the biggest names in the entertainment industry. The building is largely a very big, black box with 4 loading bays at one end (floor around 40 metres square, working height around 19 metres): on one side of this and forming the frontage are offices, catering, various recreational facilities and, on the top floor, a hotel comprising 14 rooms. Mine was number 13.

I got the feeling, standing in that space for the first time, that the lighting was not going to be easy to deal with. Once three of the loading bays were opened up to the backs of large Transam vehicles and their cargo of flight cases, light from a bright, sunny morning flooded in and caused me a momentary rethink of my exposure calculations. Later, once those doors were closed, I was to discover that the testing of stage lighting could cause some sudden and unexpected problems. I love difficult light, enough said.

Before unloading began, crew members were busy with tape measures and the riggers were busy on gangways five storeys up. I was fascinated when a great number of chains descended from those lofty heights and even more intrigued by the chalk markings – symbols, letters and numbers – that covered the floor. Once flight cases and gantry parts arrived, the precision of panning became evident: each light, each piece of equipment had its place. This is stuff one doesn’t see at a show….

This was a new show and had never been erected by this crew before. The band, Judas Priest had opted for an industrial theme to celebrate 50 years in the business of ‘heavy metal’ rock. There were some unfamiliar props, notably large inflatables – a towering chimney among them – and a large lighting rig fashioned in the shape of the band’s logo which could be moved up and down during performance. The colossal space offered by Studio 001 provided the chance to get it all up and working and iron out any problems: the next time it would be erected – at a gig – the work needed to run like clockwork within time restraints.

As I noted, this anniversary tour had been delayed by the pandemic. One of the great things I witnessed was the meeting of old friends after a substantial lay off which hasn’t been easy for those in the entertainment business. In the dining room, on the first day, there was much conversation centred around experiences of the past year or so. One story, from a sound technician, particularly interested me: he had begun making and selling pizza from a truck at his hometown in Washington State, western USA. An excellent raconteur, the guy had me hanging onto his every word as he described the trials and tribulations of running a venture which, in the end, became too successful to cope with. He seemed glad to be back.

The crew made me feel welcome without exception, I found them friendly and interesting while their expertise and dedication to getting a job done well with as little fuss as possible was obvious. I tried to ensure I didn’t get in the way – during the unloading I literally needed eyes in the back of my head – and more or less adopted the ‘hiding in plain sight’ role that I have perfected over many years of making photographs in public places.

Shortly before I was driven back to the railway station I had an opportunity to go out onto the rigger platforms. It was an opportunity for me in the sense of making photographs but, being very scared of heights, my progress was slow as I nervously made my way across to a point where I could make the shot above. On ‘stage’ is Ritchie, guitarist with the band. Today I found out that he has been admitted to hospital with a serious heart condition. The remaining dates of the US tour have been postponed. I didn’t get to meet him but, as a guy who was lucky enough to feel part of the crew for three days, I wish him a speedy recovery.

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’.

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.

Art for Art’s Sake? On the Contrary

Spoiler: it’s personal.

Following an unbelievably brief episode last year, which reduced me to a state of near devastation and the effects of which are still with me today, ten months on, I realised (once I had managed to pull myself together) that I might be a little out of my depth. I weighed up any positives I could muster, picked a couple of brains and ended up facing a big, blank canvas.

Positives? Well my alarming weight loss, from a rather ‘portly’ 74 kilos to a slimline 64 in about two months, was – once I had ascertained there was no physical reason for it – a very big positive. The sometimes agonizing effect of damage to the cartilage between the vertebrae in the sciatic region of my spine miraculously disappeared and, touch wood, has never returned. I enjoyed being able to buy some clothes that I felt suited me and which made me feel good about myself and, importantly, it enabled me to achieve a childhood dream: to have the bohemian look of a starving artist. I kid you not.

I had a bunch of largish box canvasses I’d bought cheap some years back. I invested in some good quality acrylic paint – just the colours I felt I needed – and, being of reduced means, solved the problem of hardware by buying cheap household items with which to apply paint.

Before I go on, I will say that I undertook an art foundation course back in the mid 1970s, am a committed photographer and have worked with computer graphic design / publishing programmes. So I have lived a pretty visual type of life.

As regards the therapy, my first attempts evolved through experimenting with the tools I had bought: plastic adhesive spreaders, rubber squeegees of the sort used to clean down shower cubicle glass, scrubbing brushes, dish washing brushes, small decorator’s rollers and large decorating brushes. From the start it was pretty obvious that texture was going to play a big part in my painting. And I went with it, loved how little unexpected details and unanticipated revelations of colour as I built layer on layer suggested compositional ideas.

Once I had discovered exactly what I could achieve with the resources at my disposal, I located myself within my pictures. The choice of an equilateral triangle comes from my love of maps. Everywhere I go, the first thing I do is buy a map. The Ordnance Survey of the UK use a small triangle as a symbol for a triangulation point. It seemed relevant to me.

I, or rather the triangle, evolved into trees, flowers and ice shards. Something pictorial was going on and I wasn’t fighting it. Most of these new pictures were based on memories of my home county, Lincolnshire.

The eighteen large canvasses I have completed so far (each one shortest side one metre) are currently en route from Bangkok Docks to the Port of Grimsby, UK. More on that in a moment. Meanwhile I am dabbling with what I have kept behind. On paper. We are currently locked down so my camera is taking a break. It keeps me busy and improves my condition.

Untitled 2020: Monoprint and soft pastel on lining paper

I hope to relocate to my home town, Cleethorpes in the near future. After a long time away. Only a couple of years off a pension (unless the government moves the goalposts again) and facing a new life as single parent of two teenagers. I will paint, I was just discovering the potential of very fluid paint when I left off and I am anxious to return to it.

To use a well-worn cliche, the journey continues. I have the prospect of a one man show of a photographic project I am currently wrapping up. In 2021. I would hope sometime to be able to exhibit my paintings and other artworks. But no matter: in a metaphorical way, painting has saved my life. I’ve left it late but I may even work myself out. Stranger things have happened…

Thanks for bearing with me. I’ve enjoyed putting it down….

Where time seems to have stood still: once upon a market in Pathum Thani

Talat Klong Sip Song Hok Wa in the Lam Luk Ka district of Pathum Thani was once a bustling market community established around the intersection of two klongs (canals) from which its name is derived: Sip Song and Hok Wa. The place, which was also home to a small Chinese community, is largely deserted now and the few families that do live there do so among empty, dilapidated buildings whose occupants have long since departed.

The once busy klongs, their waters animated by the passage of traffic, are silent now. There is evidence that fishing is an occupation for some, but the still water is only occasionally disturbed by the splash of ‘the one that got away’ or the silent wake of a water rat. If there is any success story to be told here then the clue is in the odd, well-preserved interior you may come across. For these are very popular with filmmakers.

The ‘talat’ has been used as a location in movies, television shows, advertisements and music videos and goes some way, I guess, to helping provide continuity. For the hour or so I was there I saw no other visitors save a few cyclists who pass through – the area is popular with cycling enthusiasts – and those who attended the few retail establishments weren’t busy.

The appeal for filmmakers is the authenticity of the available properties: particularly the period furniture. I came across two women about to sit down for lunch in a room full of beautiful examples of this. Though the table, with seating for six more, lent an air of poignancy to the scene. I got the impression that they were no strangers to photo requests; once they had posed for a photograph they seamlessly continued with the job in hand. I then made the photograph I wanted.

So what of the future, I thought, once the place has ceased to be useful? Will the wonderful pieces end up on a stall in Chatuchak Market, Bangkok? Or maybe grace the dining rooms of well-heeled tourists? One thing thing is certain: it has all been recorded. Many times over.

The juxtaposition above amused me: the period Thai costume and the nod to one of the most well known of cinematic icons. Looking at the way I framed the image, I am reminded that I owe a great debt to the work of Eugene Atget (1857-1927). A big influence during my time as a student of photography in the 1970s.

I couldn’t make up my mind about the barbershop: certainly the couple watching television in a far corner were not expecting custom, for I went unnoticed as I hovered in the doorway. A film set? The musical, Sweeney Todd: the Demon Barber of Fleet Street (2007) came to mind. The scene lent itself to the chilling, but in a way that recalled (for me) one of Andy Warhol’s best works: the series ‘Little Electric Chair’ (1964/5). I made my picture and beat a retreat.

Thanks for reading my blog. Camera used was my usual: Olympus OMD EM5 Mk II coupled with a Zuiko Digital short zoom.

Catering for cat lovers: should we have reservations?

As far as I know there are around a dozen ‘cat cafes’ in Bangkok. My teenage daughter had been wanting me to take her to one for some time. She likes cats a lot. An opportunity arose during a school holiday and well, I like cats too…

I chose ‘Caturday’ as it was the most accessible, barely a hundred metres from the Ratchathewi ‘skytrain’ station. An unremarkable building – a modern shop unit – houses the cafe; it has a small porch with a rack on which you have to leave your footwear. There is a small hand basin; the list of rules advises that customers must wash their hands before entering. Once inside you are faced with a decision as visitors can either sit at tables or opt to sit on the floor. I chose a table. A fairly cramped experience as the owners certainly make the most of the available space. My daughter and I ordered a token drink – there is a basic menu of Thai food and the special Caturday cake was enthusiastically promoted – because we were there for one thing only: cats. And there are some…

The place was pretty much full and negotiation in order to make photographs required a bit of skill and agility. But I enjoyed the experience (of making photographs) and my daughter did too (being able to pet a variety of cats).

‘There must be some kind of way outta here…’

I recalled the ‘rules’ as I watched a customer share her food with a cat. This is prohibited but appears to be allowed. The cafe does sell bags of cat ‘treats’ and some of the cats did look a little on the weighty side…

The trip was worth it just to see the enjoyment my daughter was experiencing. I enjoyed it for the rather bizarre diversion. Before we left, I remembered to retrieve the bag I had left under our table and which a ginger tom was investigating. As I reached for it I caught the acrid smell of cat’s urine. I left with reservations…

Thanks for visiting my blog. Camera used was an Olympus OMD EM5 Mark II.

Will that be all, sir? Why I didn’t mind the 90 minute wait for a haircut…

The local barbers: great place for a ‘selfie’…

I visit my local barber roughly every two months. I have had my camera with me on every occasion, just in case, and once took some photographs of the staff (posed). On a subsequent visit I ensured I had some prints to give away and this stood me in good stead. The owner of the establishment, an endearing, bubbly woman who nominates herself ‘number one barber’, was happy for me to make some photographs a couple of weeks ago: I was third in a queue but it would be a long wait – the guys in front of me were having ‘the works’ – but a fascinating one.

The ‘works’, it transpired, offered photographic opportunities with results more akin to an ENT clinic than a barbershop. As a kind of drama unfolded I was totally absorbed with what was going on. The guy in the queue behind me had his own way of dealing with the long wait: he took a nap.

As did one of the guys being dealt with in front of me!

The lighting in the place was enough of a challenge to be interesting. The day was a very bright one and the only place I could easily take photographs from – without being in the way – meant I had to make my photographs contre-jour. This is a favourite of mine, however, so no real problems vis a vis exposure. The ear cleaning operation that unfolded involved the use of a small, very bright lamp. This did present a challenge, but I liked the dramatic effect it gave to the scene.

Photographers are always looking for a potential for narrative in their work, and I am no exception. The following pair of photographs – according to me – go some way to achieving this aim. They also demonstrate the importance of scrutiny in post production: the presence of elements within the frame seen and appreciated by the subconscious rather than the eye. These are usually beneficial: in the first photograph I was unaware of the Buddha statue overlooking the scene and in the second my attention was so fixed on the razor that I missed the dog statues on the opposite side of the frame.

And there you have it. The work of a barber can involve some painstaking and delicate work. My ‘number one’ barber pays incredible attention to detail – my straightforward dry cut takes around 40 minutes on average – and this made for a more productive and enjoyable day than I had imagined I was going to have.

Thanks for visiting my blog. I used my trusty Olympus OMD with a Zuiko short zoom lens for the photographs.

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.