Back at the start of the month I was taking the kind of walk I do a lot of in winter. I get SAD, and I’ve been freelancing, so I have to make a conscious effort to leave the house sometimes. One thing I do is order books from the library, so I have a continual reason to be out, dropping off read books, taking out new ones. They start off as functional, deliberate walks, rather than explorations, or leisure, but they can lead into more.
This time I started getting fascinated with the wooden structures that are built into the silt banks along the stretch of river between Bedminster Bridge and the former entrance to the Harbour at Bathurst Basin. They look so botched together, straining at the pressure of holding up the weight of the banking, and on their last legs. I wonder when they were built, how long they will last, and what will happen when they fall – and that makes me think about how so much of the New Cut has been so badly maintained, and seems like one or two big storms away from collapsing. It’s an unnatural river, and should need constant upkeep. Without it, it won’t last another 50 years, let alone 100.
My photos were bad – grey November day, just my iphone, and 200iso in my 35mm, but I love them. I hopped over the fence to look at the mechanics of the outlet that lets the Malago into the Avon, as I’m always intrigued as to what everything is. It’s this kind of view I like best, and these are the moments the functional walks turn into something more.
And it’s a continual obsession to take the same photos with multiple cameras, to see how the view changes – here’s the river from an unusual viewpoint, phone & 35mm.
The composition is better on the mobile, the colours better on film – but neither are great. I wish I’d had my medium format or DSLR with me. But I love them for the memory, and because I can’t remember seeing this view before. I want to see what it looks like in winter, and spring, and summer. Golden hour and frosty morning light, and everything between!
Avon Stories 