Not here today #2

‘Angel of the North’, Antony Gormley, 1998. Low Eighton, Gateshead, England. Image: Su Leslie 2013

My mum and I celebrate our birthdays three days apart, and in 2013 we gifted ourselves a wee road trip to the England’s north east.

Antony Gormley’s Angel had been on my must-see list since it was first installed, and close up it is so impressive.

I’m not sure when (if) my mum and I will have another road trip, so this is a memory to cherish.

So young then

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I enjoy music, but mostly it is like a movie soundtrack — fitted around the essentially visual and verbal story of my life.

Occasionally though, I guess the genre slips, and the normally low-budget indy film I think I’m making out of life briefly becomes a musical.

Troy, by Sinead O’Connor, is the song that plays over a very specific scene where the heroine starts out quietly contemplating the complexities of her life, before making a momentous decision (which she will have reneged on by the time she gets home).

My dear friend Sarah at Art Expedition is hosting 30 Days, 30 Songs for the month of June. You can see her latest post here.

NZ Music Month: for today

Self-portrait taken in 1985. Image: Su Leslie

“If you had told me this time last year that I would feel like I do now, I wouldn’t have believed you.” Old-school selfie. Taken with Franka Solida 1. Image: Su Leslie, 1985

 

NZMM2016_jpg1985: six of us in a Grey Lynn flat. It’s in a block of four, and most of us have boy/girlfriends who stay over, so at any one time there can be up to thirty people resident. We’re mostly students, or in first jobs after university. Our flats face into a communal courtyard, so our existence is a very sociable one. There are parties most weekends, and we hang out together a lot.

My room is decorated with some seriously garish wallpaper, but that’s ok because I only really spend time there when it is dark. Except when I’m playing with the camera my dad has given me.

Musically it’s a great flat to be in. People with different tastes all sharing a single turntable.

One of the things we listen to is Netherworld Dancing ToysFor Today.

Daily Post Photo Challenge: vivid

Sometimes the simplest things evoke the most vivid memories. Photo: Su Leslie, 2015

Sometimes the simplest things evoke the most vivid memories. Photo: Su Leslie, 2015

Vivid is a quality I associate as much with memory as image. Perhaps vivid images invoke stronger, clearer memories.

Looking at the photo of my son’s half-eaten sandwich, I am transported to a railway carriage in Munich. It’s mid morning, cold but sunny, and we’re headed for Schloss NeuschwansteinUnsure if there will be food available on the train, we’ve been to the station Rischart for sandwiches and coffee. I can still taste the crisp bread and salty, cheesy filling, and feel the sense of joyful anticipation. Visiting Schloss Neuschwanstein was the Big T’s number one chosen activity for this holiday and we all wanted the day to be fun. It was.

It perhaps says a lot about me that some of my most vivid memories are invoked by pictures of food. The last of the season’s grapefruit from our tree were eaten while sitting on the back steps, juice trickling down my hands.

The last grapefruit from our tree. Photo: Su Leslie, 2014

The last grapefruit from our tree. Photo: Su Leslie, 2014

 When the Big T came home with a bumper catch of fish, we spent the day scaling, fileting, smoking, making stock, and finally enjoying delicious sashimi of raw snapper with homemade sushi.

Sashimi, made with snapper caught in the Waitemata Harbour by the Big T. Photo: Su Leslie, 2014.

Sashimi, made with snapper caught by the Big T. Photo: Su Leslie, 2014.

And like most parents, images of my child trigger strong, vivid memories.

The boy-child, aged 8, playing atop Ivinghoe Beacon, England. Photo: Su Leslie, 2006.

The boy-child, aged 8, playing atop Ivinghoe Beacon, England. Photo: Su Leslie, 2006.

A young boy, arms outstretched to catch a soft toy being thrown by an unseen hand. The vivid, acid greens of his clothing almost blend into the summer landscape behind him. This photo was taken on a family trip to England in 2006. We had spent a week around London and were finally heading north; a slow trip punctuated by stops in places the Big T and I had lived 10 years earlier. A lunch-time picnic by the canal in Berkhamsted was followed by a drive through Ashridge Forest and –inevitably given our love for elevated vistas — a walk on Ivinghoe Beacon. My memories of this day are still vivid, helped by images such as this which remind me of my exuberant, joy-filled son and his capacity to take pleasure in everything life has to offer.

This post was written for the Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge: vivid.

 

 

“if a window does not enhance the experience of seeing, it should never be built”

“Any architect worthy of the name always designs a window so the reality will be more clearly seen. If a window does not enhance the experience of seeing, it should never be built. The skill of the architect is the ability to make people see more clearly. The skill of the poet or artist is also the ability to make people see more clearly. Art makes truth both visible and accessible. Art lifts us up so we may touch reality.

Tony Watkin’s Thinking it through (2012)

 

Thinking it Through is a collection of columns architect and designer Tony Watkins wrote in the 1980’s and 1990’s. So far, I’ve only read a few of them and I think it will be slow going. Not in a bad way – it’s just that every few lines I come across an idea that makes me go “yeah, I have to write that down.”

If I was the kind of person who writes in their books, this one would be covered in scrawled margin notes already.

What I liked about this line wasn’t just the very simple, no-nonsense point about form and function, but that it brought to mind an extraordinarily strong memory visual memory. A memory quite literally of a window that should never have been built – or at least built in a different position.

In the late 1970’s,  I lived next door to a family who had an “architect-designed home.” Actually, since I’d grown up living in State houses, it could be said that I had also lived in “architect-designed homes.” But since mine were rented from the Government and the design was pretty standard across thousands of houses, the people next door were a bit special since they were amongst the relatively few families in New Zealand who had commissioned an architect to design a house specifically for them.

The reason Tony Watkins’ article made me think about the house next door was that its kitchen faced ours. The houses, although quite close together, were separated by a rather lovely garden of native trees and shrubs. Because of the proximity, I spent a lot of time seeing the “lady of the house” doing the dishes. Actually, what I saw were her torso and hands. That’s because the kitchen window in her “architect-designed house” was set so low that only quite small children could have seen out of it while they were standing at the sink.

So for several years I watched headless bodies doing dishes, getting glasses of water, filling the kettle, etc and all the time those headless bodies were looking at the wall above the window instead of their beautiful garden.

I’ve often wondered why the house was built with such a window. Was it a mis-calculation by the builder, or was it actually a design feature – deliberately put there by the architect. Surely if the builder had made a mistake, it would have been rectified. I guess I’ll never know, since lacking the facility to make eye-contact with the neigbours, I didn’t really get to know them.

I’m slowly working my way through Thinking it Through. I’m enjoying the intelligent, insightful text and Haruhiko Sameshima‘s gorgeous photographs; frequently reaching for my notebook to jot things down, and slowly developing my architectural world-view.

Beyond the kitchen wallI believe that in essence, design is being human made manifest in hard materials. Design should exhibit the same characteristics we want in humans; compassion, fairness, love, beauty, humour. Buildings should be friends – or at least fond acquaintances.

I’ve used to wonder what was on the wall above my neighbour’s kitchen window. A picture of a garden perhaps?