Some Northern Soul in Ghost Town

Me ‘ome town is a ghost town. So many shop fronts boarded up. Large, major buildings cacooned in plastic, across its basin, where there is a  pool and outdoor screen. A surreal, almost futuristic experience when walking through.

The theatre is white, gold and shiny. The national media museum is still here despite threat of pulling funding. It has the best cinemas I’ve been in.

I seem to keep missing the demonstrations, celebrations, commemorations and parades that happen. But I’ve only been back six weeks.

So many of us left in droves in the 80’s and 90’s. The basin tipped and with the water we all tumbled out. In search of work, away from our dark satanic mills.

Now everything is sand-blasted and golden. The mills glisten in the sun – when it shines – Dubrovnik-esque.

And I go in search of the ghosts. Not even the ghosts are there.

Unlike its larger neighbour, my home town has a certain something. It’s indie,  rock,  art, film.  It’s earthy. There is soul. Yes and Northern Soul.

And so I venture in and back out. Slowly accepting its developments and new movements, meeting people, looking in to places. Ignoring the surface and digging deeper.

It is the world’s first UNESCO City of Film beating Los Angeles, Cannes and Venice to the title in 2009.

The National Media Museum is the most visited museum outside London.

It was once the centre of the industrial revolution in the UK and the birth place of the Labour party.

Do I dare to believe that it will revive itself. That’s up to us. Change, and the city will change with us. Only we can make it so.

A series of events are coming soon.

A story for the city is too.

My personal journey and that of the city are entwined. Future and past.

Still thinking about getting a record player…

skeletonsmusic                                  Found on Pinterest – origins unknown. Print Media Centre?

Gone but still breathing

I went in to the vast cavernous space on the 4th floor of Salts Mill (all quarter of a mile of it) for an exhibition today  – it still whiffs of lanolin. The air was heavy with particles and the breath of a thousand mill workers.
Worsted
Alpaca
Mohair
My eyes, throat and nose were building up to a huge post-industrial sneeze. I was there as a baby in the belly of my mother. I recall that sensation well.
Take a mask if you are sensitive to hard graft.

Hisao, Naoki, Yoshihiro

I feel the need to explore more. It’s always been a big part of me, being drawn to the past and concerned about the future and how to work the two together in present day.

Much about current politics dismays me and I have no real desire to be a part of a political party. I would rather connect with people in a more abstract way – but practical too.

I have been exploring the names given to babies in Japan. I am interested in these themes…

Hitomu – single dream

Naoki – tree of truth

Hisao – story of life

Akira – clear and intelligent

Hiraoki – spreading brightness

Yoshihiro – common good

Kazumi – beautiful peace

 

Gustav_Klimt_Tree_of_Life_525