The First Day of Spring

The first post on this website also marks the last post on my old blog, a site made by a past friend which doesn’t really relate to me anymore. A post of this kind is meant to have some weight about it, but I have begun so many paragraphs that I don’t know what fits the criteria anymore. Instead I will begin with sequences of thoughts as I travel across England.

Reflection is important, and at the end of an experience such as a course we find ourselves in a transitional space. And strangely it is in movement that I find myself most grounded. I am on a train again writing this, and the majority of my development and planning for my work was done in this mode of transport.

I could describe what I see. Deep brown earth. Pale gold branches holding the potential of buds. Plants considered weeds. A heavy grey cloud enveloping the small barely visible streaks of blonde in a setting sky. I definitely saw seconds of pale blue. Under the grey, trees become shadows. It is 5.30pm on the first day of spring, and with that gift comes the weight of rain. There is nothing more surprising than the moment when a short burst of yellow light comes out from this burden and hits the bare tops of a tree. I pass the airport, and though somewhere in my heart I wish I could, I don’t leave.

The first contact microphone I made was tested on this particular train route. I taped it to one of the lower vents and had a listen. It blew my mind. I felt as if the deep rumbles I heard were from some new plain of existence, that I had awoken them from some kind of slumber, and captured them for myself. The perspective of the contact microphone is a close and delicate one. It is like searching through a rockery, and carefully over turning each stone to see what lies beneath.

We are nearing London and the yellow is now pink, clinging to the dark clouds like a vulnerable underbelly. Two geese fly together over a graffitied bridge.The light is going and every window reflects it. It will be dark when I reach Bedford. I would have gotten off the train at this point in the past, ran to Elephant and Castle, flustered and thoughtful. I just passed my old art school, never had I loved a university as much as this one. It’s a strange moment when you realise you are rather alone. Your portfolio is your diary, proof that your endeavours are real. A certificate confirms the end and the result. But my portfolio exists over many books and devices, and this is where the creation of this website comes from, it will be an easy, accessible platform to extract information from for myself and hopefully also others.

I was wrong in my estimations. We are only just leaving London, and already the sky is completely dark. Bedford is still 40 minutes travel away. 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *