Journeys

I'm thinking a lot about journeys and movement from, to and through at the moment. This is in part because I'm off to Iceland in September to take part in a group residency and I am reading lots about it, considering my role as an outsider coming in, why we travel, the idea of a place versus the reality, and all sorts of related things. It's also always a part of my week in this city where any journey takes an hour, where my studio is six miles from my home, where my friends are far flung (although drawing closer), where I have three roles and no permanent spot for any of them. 

Last week I made some of these lovely glitchey panoramas that are helping me look at time. It's a technique I've tried before, whether shared here or elsewhere. They are a quick offshoot of something still else that's bubbling in the back of my hard drive. Who knows whether it'll ever come to fruition? It's not about the destination after all...

Oh, and it's also about manipulating the side of a bus into something I think terribly pretty.

A couple of ways of looking at a journey

It is Boxing Day. My mum is driving us to her house from family in Oxford. Outside, it is more or less sleeting. Inside, I am more or less asleep with my eyes open. Lights swing by, arcing and parting in sodium-tinted shades of mustard, mint, ultraviolet, scarlet; some woman on the radio selects bossanova tracks, smooth songs crackling as we pass through high hills that disrupt the signal. In an hour or two I will be in that middle bedroom with its magic, mystic properties of bestowing upon all its guests the best rest. For now we carry on along this somatic tube of road, tarmac thrumming to keep us on the edge of wakefulness.

Another way of looking is to listen. Click the image below or here to hear.