• “I’ve never been so entranced with a museum show. My mind and body fell backwards 1000s of years into the past. I landed, shocked, finding a cabinet full of cascading light onto a series of eight small scapula. Moving in for closer inspection I saw the most delicate yet somehow frantic carvings sketched onto the animal bones; silence surrounded me with the warmth of a thick fur blanket. I saw drawings of animals rendering the utmost sophistication, resembling deer. These images were created by intelligent beings, almost alien in my imagination. I had met my true masters, I felt eager to please and anxious to learn. The drawings were created without the contamination of culture, status, knowledge, money or success, the tiny drawings were the most important artworks I’d ever seen.

    “These objects emphasized the vast and never ending specter of time. Here we were in the modern world as a minor blip in the age of humans. Each one of us adding a tiny subatomic speck to the story of our existence. Sketch book in hand, I started drawing the shapes of each bone. Thousands of years on from the moment a person sat in a cave, with only firelight, drawing into these bones, now here I was replicating them. This thought brought a better understanding of why I was drawing, and why they had been drawing: a connection between me and the ancient masters. Still here and still prominent in our lives is the primal practice of moving from world, to eye, brain, hand, pencil, surface and back again, again and again. This practice connects us through vast amounts of time and space offering salvation from the paradoxical anxieties of consciousness.

    “We are similar in size and stature, although we inhabit a very different world from our prehistoric cousins. At the museum in Spain, I pulled out my camera phone and took pictures. I flew in a plane across a vast ocean back to the metropolis of New York city with 8.5 million other Homo sapiens and Photoshop-ed the images on my plastic electronic screen conjuring a manipulation which isn’t seen in nature. I took glass, cut a clean rectangle of 12 x 9 inches and used monochrome oil paint to produce a pseudo-scientific vision of a once ancient and sacred practice, object, and spirit.

    “The paintings were only completed once I had digested them internally, spiritually, and intellectually. Eventually, I returned to Spain and explored the prehistoric caves. Being one step closer to the ancient sketches was as amazing as seeing them in the museum; occasionally I managed to escape the tour group and found moments of solitude with the cave art and the guts of the mountain. Words are futile to describe my feelings, but a mysterious nostalgia overwhelmed me. It was as if I had arrived home, thought a home I could not remember, one which produced a quiet discomfort within me, even a sadness.

    “Though I painted Neverlasting some time before the Bone Paintings, time and space are not linear and neither is my work. I painted Neverlasting with no particular intention, only intuition. Producing Bone Paintings allowed me to see the surface of Neverlasting as a cave wall. Smooth, frozen liquid, alive, and breathing. It has many stories to tell, some of which are still visible in my own fingers or brush strokes. Could Neverlasting be the inevitable fade of time with its deep infinite abyss, despite the stories we leave for each other, which bind to our existence? Or Neverlasting is the sense of entering a deep dark cave, making a fire, which could be how I feel when painting. It offers nostalgia or the seeking of comfort through exploration and painted expression. Nothing else matters in the moment of creation. Perhaps an impossible harking back of a deeper human longing to return to the womb, the cave of mother earth where we travel for spiritual contemplation and essentially where we all come from.

  • Wood 10x10x10’ 2018

    Installation created on site in its entirety using recycled wood. After the studio was constructed the paintings were painted in the space itself. Creating a strange platform in which the viewer could stand within the subject matter of the paintings on view.

    The 7 glass paintings are an homage to a previous studio build 7 years before. Painted from photo stills of the older paintings using small brushes creating a flat surface.

  • Coming to america and the dream of the new start & adventure. Explore how the america idea came to be an actuality? Possible scene of you leaving UK and starting a fresh at airport. When arrived in new york felt anxious. By not having a bike you weren't able to feel relaxed within traveling and accessibility of city. Maybe use a scene with noise design (sounds etc) traffic and bikes to seem overwhelming.

    Supplies:

    Solar panel for recharging phone and lights. Cheap.

    Phone, charger, charger pack.

    Bike lights.

    Head lamp.

    Torch.

    Clothes (light), two pairs of crappy shoes.

    Hat (Bike cap with neck cape).

    Sun glasses.

    Sun lotion.

    Bug spray.

    Tool kit.

    Puncture repair kit and inner tubes (6).

    Padding for saddle.

    Duct tape.

    Electrical tape.

    Tent.

    Roll matt.

    Blanket.

    Camping towel. Light and quick drying, thanks larsen.

    Paper map. Printed pages and pages of google maps screenshots, since it was impossible to find an affordable and good road/ cycle map of the USA.

    Sketchbook & diary, pencils and pens.

    Book; The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge by Carlos Castenada. Recommended by Pedro.

    First aid kit.

    Headphones.

    Ear plugs.

    Toiletries, Vaseline, wet wipes.

    Water containers, one large 4 litres and two 1 litre.

    Bungee ties.

    Rope.

    Pen Knife.

    Gas Stove, Pot, Spoon.

    Pepper spray.

    Whistle.

    Lighter x2.

    Compass.

    Flight booked from Houston back to NYC a month in advance. Cycling back might be a little much.

    Bike; Hybrid, Trek. Second hand, from a kid in Brooklyn who rode upstate one weekend. Tried and tested machine.

    My legs.

    My Head.

    USE list as potential opening scene and intro to film. Possible animation of credits and even Tom’s inner thoughts of preparation with animated handwriting. You used a big map to route your journey.

    Introduction and day 1:

    August 1

    I always wanted to take a long cycling or driving trip, August 2016 in the USA was the time to do it. I don’t know why I always wanted to do this, I’m very much a home comforts kind of guy but I do love travelling and for me this is actual travelling; not getting on a plane and appearing in a different place. It’s about the journey I suppose, moving and working one's body to get somewhere over a stretch of time. The experience of moving from one point to another is often overlooked, since for many of us it’s simply a commute to work or the shops or the pub or something, but what happens in between is the passing of time. What can we experience in that time? I’ve been cycling for years as my main form of transportation in the city and thinking about it now it's when I’m closest to me even above art making. There's something about riding and moving that allows me to relax, fly and be quiet, it’s a meditation. Especially in the city, you have to be constantly aware of your surroundings, otherwise you could end up in a lot of pain. Riding London and New York might be difficult for people to understand because of the traffic and the fear of death. But its not scary, most drivers are considerate, you gain a great sense of unity in the ride. One feels and sees the blood vessels of the giant organism we’re in. Sees its uniqueness and somehow obtains a great sense of unity with every other so called individual. However you realise that none of us are individual despite believing and perceiving so. In terms of staying safe, my Grandad once said to me, “if you’re going to ride a bike in a city, you are invisible and everyone around you is deaf, dumb and blind".

    Taking an actual trip somewhere doesn’t happen as much as I would like it too, at least to somewhere new. But even in a day trip, there’s something about the journey which makes me feel exhilarated, human and fulfilled. I took a two-day cycle trip with one of my best friends, Larsen in Finland a few summers ago and his other friend who took painstakingly long to explain monotonous things in a monotonous way.

    “Ummm, it was like, let me think, it was, something, what’s the best way to describe it, it was ummm, it was nice, yeah it was nice.”

    Above could be a funny scene to cut to?

    This trip was perfect even though it was only two days on a terrible bike it was an amazing feeling. Literally moving across the earth along a substantial distance. I think we did something like 180 km in two days. Extremely un-prepared for but it was still amazing. Although our saddle-sore bums didn’t think so by the end of the trip, anyway that's another story. After that I always I wanted to go again, for a longer distance, until I hated cycling. So, five years later.

    I just finished my first year at the New York Academy of Art, where you shit out your own brains, and in a last critique I had with Wade Schuman before summer break, he said to me;

    “I want you to take conceptualism, abstraction and figuration on a camping trip and make them get on! “

    Above speech is relating to the moment you realised and were told to have an adventure to explore yourself. Off the back of not recieving a residency from teh academy and therefore “seeing thefailing the first year

    I’d already decided that this is what I would be doing, so I took it as a sign that this trip was a good move to help resolve my artistic issues; and here I am in my tent only 60 miles outside of New York city but in the middle of the woods. I found an abandoned house so went into the back garden and a wooded area further down. I actually felt safer camping than in the house. It looked like there had been several murders in there. I figured people are more dangerous than nature. Breaking and entering into a murder house on my first night might not be the best way to start this trip. Anyway Wades statement would ring around my head from then on out.

    I decided Houston TX because I always wanted to see Texas plus they have some James Turrel and Rothko exhibits that I needed to see. (Especially the Rothko chapel, its been a dream of mine to see). Along the way I want to become more acquainted with nature. I never experienced nature outside of a town, city or even populated village. I want to experience things before I die, this fuels my art and my life. I am interested in experiencing a particular lack of comfort maybe? Pushing myself in random ways, to discover my limits or myself a little more. But for sure I just want to do as much stuff in my life as possible. Why though? So I can become a well rounded man or so I can be happy? I guess all the above? I always feel a great sense of longing when seeing natural landscapes, especially deserts. I imagine being dropped off in the middle of the desert and left to walk and walk and walk until I find an ocean? Magically I don’t die of starvation or dehydration and I have a companion with me, a German shepard pup named January.

    My tent is pretty comfy and cozy, despite the thin layer of material separating me from the insane amount of bugs outside, I feel protected and secure, if a little scared, it's my cocoon. It sounds incredible out here, insects calling, birds sounds are amazing, rain will be great. There’s nothing better than the sound of rain when you’re in bed at night. One of my favorite things in the world. From a solid storm to a light taper of raindrops. But in the tent it will surely be amplified. A slight improvement on Flatbush Brooklyn’s, domestics, parties and NYC sirens. Fucking dumb people, shouting in the streets at each other.

    Bloody Hell though, at that thought, I remembered the pain of leaving the city. Firstly it was a six story flight of stairs down, obviously in a couple of trips I did this. The cycle route began with my normal commute to school. I felt like a true traveller. I was so excited and nervous. A ten year old boy again, my only priority was this journey. I ran away from home as a young boy with a bike and sleeping bag. I got less than a mile down the road when my neighbour came and found me lying in a bush drawing and writing. My Mum had called the police, I had to go home, she was a tearful mess. Dad came from work and it was shite. Now nobody could stop me. I felt special, lucky and like a weirdo. But in NYC everyone is fucking mental. I got to the old Brooklyn bridge and had to yell “biiiike” at ignorant tourists walking in the bike lane over and over. People that don’t ride bikes have no idea how dangerous it is and fucking dumb to wander blindly into a bike lane. I’ve seen a person get hit, it’s not fun, funny for me though. Coming into Manhattan and heading towards the ferry to New Jersey was the beginning of uncharted lands. No going back now, as I climbed onto the ferry I watched Manhattan island slowly move away from me. The following was shiiite, highways, cars, lorries, industrial plants, ghettos and literally highway intersections! It would turn out to be the worst part of the entire trip, it was like a spiritual hauling of my being, torn out of the concrete jungle, into suburbia and the countryside. Stressful, I remember thinking;

    “What the fuck am I doing?”

    Riding along tiny pathways with trains steaming past me, toxic waste spewing from the bubbling pits and giant smoky trucks consuming my air. I could feel peoples eyes on me from their safe boxes on wheels.

    “Why is that person not in their box?”

    They would think.

    “Must be homeless or mentally sick.”

    When I would see that person when in my box I’d wander where they’re going and where they came from? I made it through and ended up in Summit, such a beautiful little town. I would like to see more of it. There was a more scenic and safe route out of the city but it would have added a huge detour, next time. Anyway what will be will be.

    Spiders- so scared of spiders, just found a little one in the tent! I’d done all my research, the two I needed to watch out for were the Brown Recluse and the famous Black Widow. Both would have me in hospital if bitten. I had to remember to pat down my shoes and shake them out every day. Also important never to leave my tent open when I’m not inside. I can’t believe the first day the first creature in my tent was a fucking spider.

    I cycled through Watchtung nature reserve which was very beautiful, dense almost jungle like forest, very boggy and rocky. And at points impossible to cycle, I had to wade and haul my bike up rocky and muddy slim steps whilst being whipped by vines and bushes. It was also extremely hot. August in north eastern USA. My bike was fully loaded which made it double hard to push up here. I had two bike panniers full, a back rack full and the front handlebar with the sleeping bag over it, which made for a great leaning cushion when riding. The heaviest and most important thing was the 4 litres of water. God it was hard work getting here, I was in the lowest gear, exhausted and dripping with sweat. I cycled through some delightful bike paths in the end, after having to push the bike up the rocky paths. I hit little traffic on the roads and just as well because they were not spacious. I had to switch my phone off to conserve the battery until I found a place to fill up on water and I guess power for the phone. Although it is tricky navigating without the map. No bloody Ipad, so pleased I left it behind.

    Show how tom is navigating his journey and route. When drawing it did not necessarily help the process of toms journey to explore his art but in fact he didn't want to draw as the absence from it seemed refreshing not to. The drawings don't have to craft the story but can help the narrative within Toms vision or feelings.

    Abstraction, Representation and Conceptualism?

    Disregarding the art historical concepts “labels” for these words. They can all three be in one piece. I think I achieved that with the rock drawing. But I know next time what to do.

    (Look at adding diagram with A-R-C triangle)

    I think what Wade was getting at was that I tend to separate these three things when in actual fact they are all three inevitably and inextricably linked, but I don’t know, its schizophrenic.

    Tom had always planned to have a trip on a bike (camping), Wade only talks with tom about his creative side but tom takes this and fulfills his original journey plans with this in mind.

    Aug 2

    So far I feel a lack of magic despite waking up in beautiful woods with birds singing and insects calling. A little low on water and electricity. I hope this goes away. I have to get use to this as my new life style for the next month. I don’t know what I was expecting? Nothing I suppose?

    I’m not exactly off the grid but am camping and cycling like crazy, I feel like I am free. I always wanted to know what it would be like to travel, now I’ll find out. Not bound by work, wage slave, bills, friends, meetings and responsibilities. For one month I’m a nomad. Possibly the USA is the best place for it, all I need is a banjo. I think freedom is the key idea here. Freedom from culture and society and all the above. Of course there are things I love and need about our western culture and society but I can’t help but feel like it’s only because that's what I was conditioned for, born and bred in England going too and from London. I always had a yearning to be free of bills and contracts and shit. I can't help but feel its all imaginary and a total waste of time. So this is my attempt at being a hobo, leaving the sheltered comfortable life and “free” to travel and move where I please when I please. Importantly I’ll be camping all along the way which is something I only ever did in music festivals or cub scouts. Actual camping in not exactly the wilderness but on a journey across a vast land certainly at the mercy of the elements. Either way it’ll be interesting. That being said I am total in contradiction. Relying on roads, a bike and stuff that culture and society has provided for me bought by the money, economy and work has given me. Better go charge my phone so I can use the sat nav to find my way in the fucking wilderness.

    I feel bad, I could’ve re-routed my journey to have stopped off at Otta’s or Ting Ting or Bill and Steph’s, but that would have wasted lots of time and they would have tried giving me lots of things and help and I wouldn’t want them to see me in this way, I literally look like a freak. I am worried that I won't make my flight from Houston on the 31st. I’m aiming for an average of sixty miles a day, so I should be fine despite going all over the place, I might take a more direct route at some point. I will carry on for now and see how I get on in a few days. I should reach DC tomorrow night.

    Originally tom had speedometer & mile counter but alas this was dropped early on lost on day one.

    Anyway I am seeing some very beautiful sights, postcard suburban America, perfect lawns and beautiful houses. This is so nice, not sure I could do it though. As I am camping in gardens of derelict houses! What's troubling is despite the adventure yearning and freedom, already I am wanting this to be over and pining after my safe haven of Flatbush Brooklyn…!

    Remember Ashtanga, Vipassana, Art. The ten day silent meditation retreat, observe reality and nature as it is don’t push away the suffering and don't try to hold onto the good times. Simply be and observe…. breath, pedal, cycle. This is a blip.

    Could cut back to meditation retreat and then back to bike riding.

    Enjoy or at least be in the moment. You always wanted this experience, you are doing it now!

    I had planned only so much for this trip. I knew that there would be various obstacles that would come up which I couldn’t plan for. Or me being me, couldn’t foresee. One of which was quite big, I had certainly thought about, but again; me being me had glossed over. I hadn’t fully considered my sleeping arrangements. I didn’t know where I would be pitching my tent at all throughout the entire trip. I planned on literally looking for shady spots in which I wouldn’t be disturbed and which wouldn’t have me trespassing, arrested or in danger. At the end of each days cycling I simply aimed for green and blue spots on the map. I winged it. At the end of this day I found a large and well pruned national park with various jogging routes, playgrounds and statues dotted around. I did see park wardens driving golf buggies. Best to stay out of sight if I could. I found a great spot which was strangely open and hidden at the same time. I was backed up by a little forest area, sitting at the top of a hill on top of a kind of large step which had much overgrown meadow like grass covering me from anyone that would walk by. This was situated around 30 meters from the closest path so I was safely hidden and comfortably slept that night, after a long day's riding through a huge american suburbia.

    ****Today my sister Flo also did something which we were talking about before I left but didn’t get the chance to set up. She organized for my ride to be raising money for Alzheimer's and dementia research. Both my Grandparents on my Dads side have pretty bad Alzheimers and its difficult. Watching two monumental figures in your life lose the plot. They are both old in their early 90s so have had an incredible run. Still though... my Grandad is a mechanical engineer and my Grandmother is an artist. They’ve travelled the world and had the most fascinating lives. They grew up in war time London and lived here in America for over a year whilst my Grandad did his masters degree at Illinois state university and they spent some time living in New York as my grandma likes to tell me over and over again. You have to see the funny side of it but it is sad too. I miss them, I used to go to their house every other friday night for Shabbat dinner and wine. Now it’s hard seeing them lose it. In a way I would rather they just died and moved on. I don’t see that they are particularly happy anymore. Its interesting observing their passing because its like an end of an era. They were always the two central pillars of meeting for our family, aunts, uncles and many cousins. Without them the “leaders” of our family are gone, so what will happen to our family unit? Anyway nothing can last forever and everything is in a state of perpetual change. I doubt we will raise much for the charity but the symbol of doing so is important for me.

    Aug 3

    Waking up in Valley Forge national park was so lovely. I cycled around the park for a bit admiring the sight of pruned nature, chuffed because the park rangers hadn’t caught me. The sun is shining so I tried charging my phone with the solar panel but it didn’t seem to do anything, maybe I need afternoon sun or something. A bit frustrating because it’s a hot sun that’s making me sweat and burn at 8am. I tested it before leaving and it worked? Nobs.

    I make my way to a place called Williams Corner and am desperate for a pee. I find a diner, perfect, I recharge with food, book and phone. I sit in there for around a hour, and realise I am getting anxious about not cycling! I quickly get back on the road again and instantly feel at ease when moving. I head West to avoid large built up areas, to a place called Reamstown. The countryside and the ride is beautiful here in Pennsylvania; I come across the Amish! There's lots of them, they blow my mind. I never saw them before, it's quite cool that they disregard the rest of the world, but I can’t help but think its strange, although they obviously think we are strange, how can you live like that? I think they’re pretty brainwashed actually. They look like aliens.

    Reamstown is a ghost as far as I can see. I quickly get back on the bike and choose another location for camping. A cut through to one place which is on route but a further ride, can I get there before night fall? Or another location which is closer but off route? I’m not sure, this closer one seems better. My gut says to go to the further one but I don’t listen. I go to the closer one! On route I realise that this trip so far I haven’t been listening to my instincts, to the universe, my gut. Randomly yesterday my water fell from the bike and poured half the container away as it rolled down a hill away from me, as I scrambled after it huffing and puffing and cursing and sweating. I get back together and a little boy, maybe around seven years old pops his head over the fence and says “hi” I say “hi”, he says “what are you doing?” I explain, he says he is waiting for his Dad to leave so he can say bye. I see a car poking out of the driveway. The car leaves he shouts “bye”. I think to myself, I bet this boy could help me refill my water. But I don’t want to cause a hassle, his Mum or whoever will think I’m a crazy person or something. So I leave. Was this a little story I missed out on, what could have happened? I remembered I was once a young boy, we lose so much when we grow up. Although what we gain is substantial, I do always yearn for the days of innocence to be back with me but inevitably people, older people take the innocents away from you. I envy people that have a child like quality to them, I never want to lose the child within me, despite when growing up I always wanted to be old and older. The grass is always fucking greener. I hope to never lose that sense of amazement at the world. Even the mundane, especially the mundane in fact.

    Anyway I get to this place, try and find somewhere to sleep and don’t feel good about It. The road is called “Dead End Road”, where the road literally ends into a bush. The park alongside is hunting grounds, according to the signage. I have a bad feeling about staying here, plus I still have energy, and more time than I thought. So I go to the other location. It was the correct decision because I found a loud but good place to camp with short, shaven grass. Loud because it was near a road (40 meters or so away, there was a train track hidden somewhere and bloody loud in the middle of the night.) But I slept well enough. On the way a boy (15-17) is cycling a speed bike with all the kit, helmet, goggles and lycra. He cycled along side me and says

    “Hey man, you riding cross country or something?”

    We chat for a while whilst riding, he is full of admiration for me and what I am doing. I needed that guy. In hindsight my earlier decision was perfect, I wouldn’t have met that kid if I’d taken the later route first, so gut shmuck. He was cool, training for some olympic bike racing! I admired him. But having him kiss my arse so much for doing what i’m doing gave me the confidence boost I needed, because my mood was down.

    Aug 4

    As I awaken I climb out the tent to find a couple of cars parked across the way from me, one guy in the driver’s seat. I hadn’t noticed them when I arrived last night so I assume they arrived after me, maybe travelling and needed rest so pulled over here, but who knows. Maybe they are just working. But I felt exposed, was I going to be in trouble for camping in random places? I was a little on edge and wanted to get moving.

    I started cycling through a really nice nature reserve, and then to a million crazy hills! I found a place to charge and ended up having a really good chat with the guy in the coffee shop. He ran the place and was a great guy, “Chris” although I couldn’t help but think he could just go on and on talking about everything. I’m such a grunt, he was an interesting guy. We basically agreed on everything but he did enlighten me after I told him about the experience and feelings I had with the young boy. That this was an experience I was suppose to have in order to grow. So learn from it; again I kind of know this, but always good to have reminders. I do think that generally in life it is good to listen to that little voice inside, especially when it comes to art making.

    After that I had a good day cycling through many more miles of hills and finally get to what should have been a spooky campground, actually it was really nice cut grass again. I think I like clean cut grass, seems to be less insects. This was a Jewish cemetery I found a little corner of the grounds totally out of view from anyone who might come in. Although this night was a loud one, so far every night has been actually. Maybe I am still on edge but I keep waking up in the middle of the night several times. I feel good in the mornings though so it’s ok right now. But this night I could here the insects, Cicadas I think. They were so loud, like having your head next to a train engines mechanical churning, louder than last nights train for sure. Tomorrow I was set for D.C.

    Aug 5

    So far every morning the cycle has been serene and calm, I mean what a way to start the day, blue skies, waking up in nature and riding your bike and fucking fresh air. It’s the time when I have the most energy and there is the least amount of traffic.

    On my way to D.C was much of the same landscape, plenty of miles of corn fields and the odd forest, and all mostly flat. I’d been texting my good friend Eve from art school, she’d arranged for me to stay with her aunt and uncle in a place called Alexandria just outside of D.C, so cool of her. I was worried about entering D.C considering how terrible it was cycling out of NYC. I wanted to avoid cities but entering the capital of the US was simply delightful. There was a forest trail for most of the way going right into the suburbs of the city, which slowly morphed into the city centre and skyscrapers. My route lead me to the White house. I like the feeling of D.C, it's not a giant city like New York. It feels way more calm but still with stuff going on. And despite wanting to avoid them It was nice to be in a city again after only five days of cycling. I realise that although I have a yearning for nature and the countryside I am meant to be in a town or city, I was brought up on concrete with a few little patches of green surrounding me. I’m used to being close to everything I need and the excitement of the city but always need the escape to the countryside.

    I get to the White house. It’s a very beautiful building, although a lot smaller than I had imagined. Somehow it reminded me of Buckingham palace. The structure is white, it’s surrounded by tourists taking their photos of the building. There were also anti war protests going on which was relevant in thinking of that part of London, with parliament etc where the same happens… We are very lucky to live in the west but I hate our leaders. And I do wonder just how free we are… I am free enough to be able to pack up everything and ride my bike across the country go to its capital and criticize the government. We live in fascism except it’s not a single dictator its a system, that being said we live in peace. Anyway I won’t go in too deep. I need to learn about anarchy. The security arrangements look similar here as they do to parliament, its funny how we have to protect all the important people of the world. I suppose just making them important doesn’t mean that they are good per-say. I carried on down to the WW2 memorial and the obelisk, Lincoln’s statue and the famous stairs. I couldn’t help but think of Egypt and their ancient monuments. I wonder what people in the future will think of this civilisation? Well I think that with technology, the course of history has been changed, so future civilisations may simply know exactly what our world is like because of photography and the moving image. We are so dumb because we allow a small number of even dumber idiots to take us into war. We’re capable of so much good, but we’re still to greedy and controlled by our egos.

    I would have liked to stay there for longer but I had to get to Laura’s (Eve’s Aunt). I got really stressed because my phone battery (map) was low but I managed to get there just before the battery died, despite not being able to follow the over complicated google maps instructions that wanted to take me around all sorts of strange routes. Anyway I got to Laura's, she and her family were very welcoming to me. Although I almost immediately felt like I am intruding a little, she seems to be a very frantic mum. She has two boys, Kyle and Ryan. They are pretty identical twins, really cool kids. Although kind of weird but most kids are. Then about five minutes later eve’s brother turns up, (Luke). He seems very nice, very intelligent guy, primed to be a stereotypical all American dad, I could tell that by the way he acts with the boys, machismo and at the same time very posh. Seemed weary fueled by testosterone towards me, maybe me towards him, alpha male stuff I guess, but a good guy overall.

    I am told to jump into the shower because they are taking me out to dinner; Shower! Enough said. The last time I had a shower like that was after a weekend at Reading festival. The longer one goes without one the nicer it is when you do eventually have one. Mike the dad is a super nice guy. We get into the car and drive to the restaurant where Mikes parents are waiting for us, again super nice people. I sat down next to them and Mike’s Dad was telling me about a trip he did hitchhiking from south Texas to the north of the US. It only took him a couple of days, he said there was one point which was really scary. In Mississippi walking through swamp land in the middle of the night, to the sound of dogs barking and knowing that alligators were very close, all around but he didn’t know where. Jesus! I need to be careful where I camp when I get down there. We get home, have some drinks and randomly catch the opening ceremony of the olympic games in Rio. Laura's neighbour comes over too. She told me that when she was young she did a cross country bike tour for two months. But she had a whole bunch of people with her, drinking and staying in hotels every night, not camping in random places alone like a mentalist. Still it was good talking to her, I felt like we bonded more than I did with the others. she checked out the bike and said it was a good ride which was good to hear, especially from someone who had already completed their own adventure. She asked me lots of questions about the trip, I think to make sure I was fully prepped, maybe just because she was curious too. The thing I didn’t know was how to change a spoke. But It probably won’t be needed.

    We said our good nights, I was a little drunk and very tired but had enjoyed a much needed rest in a crazy home, shower restaurant and family time. Although it really made me miss my own family, bring on September when I would be going back to England for a bit. The best thing about this recharge was maybe sleeping in a bed, also Laura gave me ear plugs which would help me for the rest of the trip. I slept like a rock that night.

    Aug 6

    So far I have encountered several adolescent boys. I think I noticed this because the book I am reading, (Carlos Castenada) a novel about a man’s inward journey towards himself whilst taking peyote in Mexico searching for awakening and being able to, “see”. I think to myself, when I was a young boy. Who was I, who am I now? I feel like I am exactly the same except though growing older one loses and gains different aspects of oneself, but essentially stays the same person. Different experiences shape and mould us like clay. I miss when I was a kid, un afraid of cameras like I am now, I was less aware of myself in the world and cared less and of course had an innocents about the world and my place within it. I miss mostly how I would laugh uncontrollably. I would act out things from my head or from movies so freely, I cried my eyes out laughing. This hasn’t happened to me in a long time, I think since my parents divorced a dark moment in my life plus stuff which I am too afraid to write down and share. Fuck it.. A little “me too” experience which never goes away and well, my mum being insane... Although I have gained independence, some awareness and a little wisdom, maybe? Traumers help build a person into a rock. I am more aware of my lack of awareness now. I find myself in constant awe of the world which will never leave me. I could never appreciate things like I do now. I wonder how much I will change in the next 10 or even 20 years.

    On this day, I woke up in a comfy bed and decided to sleep and relax as much as I could. As Laura said to me, help yourself to food. So I raided the kitchen for breakfast and as a thank you I decided to draw their dog and leave it for them. Aussie was his name, a beagle crossed with a Jack Russell. Really cute and kind of out of proportion which made him more cute.

    I had a meditate and another shower, I re-evaluated my planned route. I’m not getting to Houston by the 31st at this rate. So I looked into buses. Seems my best option is a bus from Christiansburg VA to Knoxville TN, it also means I won’t have to cycle up and over a mountain. I hadn’t taken into account that those roads would take twice as much time due to the hills and that camping would be hard because it would be freezing at night due to the altitude and precipitation, I had nothing to stop me freezing.

    I started cycling again, and quickly got onto a beautiful trail along the Delaware river down towards the next town, I didn't think I would make it in time for night fall and camping so it was simply just a case of going.

    I found this day hard, usually it was in terms of my body but I felt good in that sense, today was particularly difficult on my mind and soul. I was really missing my family. I thought to myself, I feel like I have never been so far away from home. It’s not a nice thought to feel truly alone. I really needed some company here. But I am not alone, my dad told me “we are just a text away.” I spoke with them all, my sisters and my mum almost every day I was texting my dad.

    I got lucky, I missed the only torrential down poor of the day and of the trip so far by pulling into a supermarket. I sat waiting for the rain to stop and had a nice chat with a woman who was waiting for a yoga class to start.

    The roads here were so long and barren, there is nothing here, it seems so regimented and prescribed, kind of like Milton Keynes, but three times the size, ten times the space and less stuff, less buildings and not really any culture as far as I could see, not a familiar one anyway. There is so much space here that everyone has no choice but to drive everywhere, I don’t like that. Although in regards to my loneliness, reverence or even fear of the huge amount of space. Dad said to me, “enjoy the space.” And there’s so much of it in comparison to being in New York, although I think he was referring to a mental space. Well I had both so fuck it, let’s eat it up.

    Aug 7

    On this day I rode a lot of miles from Arden to Fredericksburg to Mineral all through the state of Virginia. The weather was beautiful and the routes were perfect, minimal cars and plenty of beautiful sights, rolling green hills, lonesome trees and blue skies. Strange sights also, I saw a lot of little houses with all sorts of kitsch nick nacks in gardens. Bullet holes in road signs, domestic animals running all over the place and people sitting in their porch ways playing guitars. Very strange living places, I think this was hicksville USA, weird and kind of scary. I remember one place in particular was a stainless steel mobile home on wheels which looked like it hadn’t moved in about 80 years. Rusted to fuck, tarnished and decrepit slowly being engulfed by green creeper plants. As I cycle passed I looked into a dark window and saw the silhouette of a figure sitting in a chair staring at me, head turned to follow my flow as I passed.

    “Fucking keep cycling!”

    I thought. I was exaggerating this horror and scaring myself a little. But it was weird here, Imagine being in his or her shoes. Sitting there stroking the dead and rotting corpse of your cat on your lap, touching yourself at the same time, chanting in some weird hick tone. Then seeing me ride past, making fucking eye contact with you. FUUUCK. Ummmm then again I saw lots of people just enjoying their Sunday, hanging out in their front gardens with loved ones, laughing, singing and chilling. For some reason I felt safer around non white people here. Many of them would wave to me as I cycled by mostly black and latino. Maybe it’s the stereotype of the white hick or redneck racist that frightens me. I mean they do exist, and my skin goes pretty brown with consistent sun and I am jew. I saw quite a few signs saying no trespassing. I guess that’s a problem but really? I saw one which blew my mind. On a large plot of land leading up a winding driveway to a massive mansion a sign read;

    “I believe in God and I believe in guns, if you trespass you will meet both of them!”

    Very fucking Christian of you, you fucking ignorant twat! Honestly that was incredible. That person's mind must be made of unset jelly. Fuck them.

    Mentally this was a very good day, I felt good, probably being well rested thanks to Eve’s family and well fed, also because the route was beautiful for the majority of the way. I pretty well just flowed through the landscape enjoying the ride I slept in a park again and it was all good. Tomorrow I am entering Charlottesville, hills and into the mountains.

    Aug 8

    Today was a funny old test in more ways than one. (Side note, why does it have to be a test?)

    I aimed for the town of Charlottesville VA it was a good 3.5 hours away by not so good roads or a 4.5 hours away by better roads. I went for the longer route and thank God because it rained. At first I loved it, it was fresh and turned out to be something of a shower, I felt clean after. It was on and off. Riding down this road, I catch in the distance a figure, my eyes locked onto what looked like another cyclist but a lumpy shadow. The closer it came I soon made out the shape of a guy riding with numerous bags, closer and closer soon he passed right by me. As we passed we made eye contact, slowed down, stopped, dropped our bikes to turn and see. I met myself... a guy, similar looking… only a few years younger than me. He was cycling also doing a cross country trip from Oregon to Williamsburg VA. He said he’d been on the road for 50 days and it was amazing! I was very happy for him. He had only 150 miles left, he seemed full of energy. We spoke for a minute and then understood each others urge to leave as we both wanted to make up the miles. So said goodbye and good luck

    “stay dry” he shouted.

    “That’s not going to happen”.

    I wonder how many people are cycling or traveling across the USA at the same time as I am, or in the world. How many people in the world that are on a pilgrimage of some kind? Was this a pilgrimage? To be so inward and yet on an outward journey. Thats a nice contradiction, I mean doing anything alone for a substantial period of time will make one look inward. So what do I see? The reflection of seeing this guy gave me more confidence and excitement to keep fucking cycling. Life is good.

    The rain came down, soaking into my bones, a good day to be in water. But it became exhausting after a while. My skin shrivelled up, my fingers are spongy raisins and I’m sick of it now… I think,

    “The last thing I need is a puncture… “

    Of course it happens, at that very moment. I pull over and change the tire. I decided at this point to take the not so good but quicker road into Charlottesville, VA. I needed to get there now, for shelter and rest. So funny how happy I was moments before the rain slowly drowned my enthusiasm. Then the fucking shitty puncture. Through this quicker but harsher route I had cars next to me all the way, closer to me with not much space and still the pouring rain. The cars are loud and thoroughly annoying. Fuck this route, still hammering rain and every car nearly pushing me off the road, I hated everything. Eventually I get to the entrance of the town and take the Monticello trail. Pretty well as I enter, the rain subsides and my mood lifts. So beautiful, wooden bridges and well kept trails running alongside the mountain covered in trees. It ran all the way into the town. My mood went from 10-90 in an ancient instant. What a treat, so worth the struggle. Really nice town and I found the perfect little spot to get hot chocolate, change into dry clothes, reflect and relax I had just done 50 odd miles in the rain. I think about the guy I met, it’s almost as though I keep finding these reminders or beacons of promise which are meant to encourage me onward. ARC. I need to keep going, keep on going.

    I got talking to a very inquisitive person called Kristen about my trip. She told me about a trip she was suppose to take with her Dad cross country but they hadn’t gone yet. She is a photographer and has a studio in town, she seemed very sweet and had a kind of nervousness about her but as I said inquisitive, I think she likes me actually. She invited me to the studio and even said I could stay at her place if I wanted. So kind, she definitely likes me. Amazing the kindness of people. She brought me into her life after only 15 mins of talking. Although I was anxious about not cycling but I couldn’t turn down her offer, despite not being particularly attracted to her, but we could be friends. Plus the weather was terrible.

    I finished off my time in the coffee shop and went to her studio. What an interesting building made up of art studios, design and architecture. It was half derelict but people were working in there. What a great find, every nook and cranny looked like a perfect film set or still life painting from a romantic dark world which you only see in the movies or in design books, weird books. The light was amazing, old furniture, large stained glass windows, warehouse converted but on the cheap and rustic. Yet another surprise was waiting for me. An artist here named Steve from Yorkshire England who studied art at Reading University… small small world. How is it that I have cycled all this way found myself in the middle of Virginia and met a random Englishman who studied art in the town I was born in? Coincidence is too overwhelming for my little brain to take in. I feel like there is a weird poetry being written here by the universe but its a drug trip in which the conclusion is always just out of reach. I’m the main character in my story, but what if anything did Steve think about me rocking up, from Reading also an artist?

    Kristen asked me if I could pose for her, she took some photos of me, I felt awkward. I did a drawing for her and we went to get a pizza after loading my bike into the car. Such good pizza! Great chat, we spoke a lot about relationships, I ended up talking to her about Alena for a while. The Rio olympics on in the background. She was still in my mind after she sent me a random message a few weeks ago and I haven’t met anyone since… She told me that I didn’t need closure or truth or explanations from her and that I should let go. Despite arguing with Kristen she was was right, if getting a “Hi” from her once every six months effects me in such a way, I clearly haven’t moved on, I guess I don’t want to. Anyway we went back to her quaint little apartment in the countryside and crashed.

    Aug 9

    Chill was how this day started. Waking up in Kristens little apartment in the countryside of Crozet she made some eggs and coffee for me. Then she agreed to drive me to Lexington. A good 50 miles that made up for the time spent hanging out with her which meant that I could reach Christiansburg later that evening to get the bus to Knoxville. Having her drive me, taking the bus and then cycling from Knoxville to Duckriver (Nachez Trace) instead of looping up and around tennessee and kentucky. This is the only way I will get to Houston in time for the flight home and not freeze in the mountains. Plus enough time to see the museums there.

    After Kristen and I had a coffee and food in Lexington for an hour or so I hopped back on to the road. Now this was a mission, I cycled through incredibly beautiful landscapes. Train tracks on flat green grass framed by forests of hilly trees on my left, rocky rivers and more luscious green trees running on my right, and almost no cars for miles. Until late afternoon it was easy flat and beautiful riding. But I was entering the mountain now, time to climb. Most roads were up hill and of course there were downs but the ups were longer and obviously harder. For around an hour it was mostly ups to downs. Steep and long! It was so tiring but the worst was to be entering Blacksburg, the town next to Christiansburg only a mile or so away. Imagine any one of the hills going up to the Crystal Palace in London. They were maybe a quarter of a mile long these hills were the same steepness and went on for at least two miles. Doesn’t seem like much but when you have a bike full of heavy baggage, and have already ridden some 50-60 miles. You get the point! This was relentless with no downs. Just ups the whole way. I was nearly always in the lowest gear I could hear my heart pounding in my ear, in my head with a thudder on each beat! That lasted for about four miles before that I had about four miles of long beautiful downhills. But night had fallen, I had my headlamp on and was sick of hills, all the bugs in Virginia had come out to fly in my mouth. Although these roads are beautiful they certainly ride hard. Finally I get into the town of Blacksburg, and what relief I feel. So beautiful! I am panting like a dog and relish the chance to sit on a bench and relax for ten before my next move.

    Blacksburg is a beautiful little mountain town, reminds me of Morzine, it was Alpine. I found an amazing Vietnamese place which gave me an incredible black bean burger. Apparently the house that the restaurant was built into is 200 years old and had been totally falling apart when these people came in and fixed it up. They did a great job, hired a local artist to come in and paint mural landscapes of Virginia, I could see all the land I had ridden in paint before me. It felt incredible in there and the people were very friendly.

    The Christiansburg bus stop was another hour cycle away. I was just about to head for it and the rain started coming down hard. So I waited it out… for an hour and a half, the owners of the place said I could stay on the porch as long as I wanted. She was a hot asian older woman, pretty and had her man come over for a few drinks, an american buck, they had an awkward chemistry. We sat on opposite sides of the porch until they left to go and shag in a comfy warm bed. I had to go to the bus. I booked my ticket online in the restaurant and the bus was due to leave at 1:25am. It was getting to the time when I would have to go and would have to get soaked by the rain, 12:15 or so! I was so lucky. As I stood up the rain, torrential rain, stopped. Incredible. I road to the bus stop and got there in good time. The stop was sketchy, it felt dangerous. There was a massive scrap yard behind me with a digger making a giant bonfire. So strange and lots of empty parked cars at 1 am. The bus was supposed to show at 1:25am but the timetable at the stop said 3:30am! I hope it’s wrong. I call up the company and ask. The guy on the phone says it should be arriving at 1:25am. I ask him,

    “by the way is it going to be a problem to take my bike on the bus?”

    He says it’s going to be an issue but it’s up to the driver. Great so even if the bus comes I don’t know if I can get on it. Still I wait and hope, I compact the bike down to a small package by taking off the wheels and piling up the bags and wrap it up. 2:30am, still no bus. It’s starting to get cold for the first time in a while and I have hardly any layers. On top of that my clothes are still kinda damp from the previous day. Haha I am cold, tired and hungry, literally. Other people were coming to the stop now. And a bus arrives but heading in the wrong direction. I eagerly ask the driver for some info. She says she wouldn’t let me take that bike on her bus!

    “Dick!”

    And says that the one I am waiting for is on the way but is late because it broke down. At this point I was so tired I had no choice but to sit and wait and hope that I could get on this bus. I fell asleep, in a lump on the ground. A girl waiting with me was nervous because she was heading to get a flight, she couldn’t miss. She was so kind and saw I was cold so gave me a jumper to wear. I was getting very cold now, and what the hell was I going to do if I couldn’t get on this bus?

    The girl and I were discussing other options, she said her friend could drive us some place and we could sleep at hers? Etc etc… and at that moment the bus arrives! It comes tearing around the corner. I was so nervous, please let me on with my bike, please! The driver gets off the bus and the first thing he says is

    “Whos the guy with the bike?”

    “Err, me.”

    “Get it on! I can take you to Knoxville but that’s it ok?”

    “YES, THANK YOU!!”

    So happy, so lucky, so relieved. How did he know I was there? The previous driver must have informed him about me. She wasn’t a dick! So lucky! I chuck the bike in the back and go find a seat. I immediately sliiiiide into the seat and relax my head into sleep. What a fucking release.

    Aug 10

    Technically this day had started with sleeping in a bus stop in the open air. I suppose one must be prepared for this kinda stuff when travelling cross country in this manner.

    The bus was actually cold and not in a nice way. Americans are obsessed with their air conditioning. I arrived in the centre of Knoxville. When stepping off the bus a wall of heat hit me, it’s either cold on a bus or oven hot on the street. I took out all my wet clothes and tent and sat for a bit allowing the heat to dry everything out.

    I headed to a nearby place to recharge and chill, I was tired after the bus and I guess the worst nights sleep I’d had. I did get some sleep but not more than five hours and it was extremely uncomfortable, despite the mental relief of getting on the bus. I spent a couple of hours resting in a nearby coffee shop. I don’t know what it is but I noticed there were a lot of babes walking around and lots of red neck looking guys. They didn’t seem to mix. Other than that Knoxville seemed to be the first place I visited which I didn’t really like the look of and I would find out that this would be the case for the rest of Tennessee. On my way out I cycled through some places that made brooklyn ghettos look like safe humble English villages. I was thinking this is where someone will rob me at gunpoint. Propper dodgeville.

    Whats worse is that the rain came down again, and it was torrential. I had to stoop in an alleyway in between these dodgy houses. I waited under a tree for the rain to stop, every dog around here looked like it would attack if you got close, except these two cute pups in a yard opposite me who were hiding from the rain, a husky and staffy. I think they actually wanted to just say hello to me. But I was still a little on edge from this place so didn’t go near them, plus I was on their turf. Thankfully the rain only lasted 15 mins or so.

    Today was not a good ride. I was very tired, fatigued and just tired in general. I aimed for Rockwood TN. It was over a 5 hour ride I basically did it with no break! Bad idea. It was not fun and the roads were not good either, they were busy with cars, with hardly any cycling space to go on. When I did get the space I was so tired and tired of riding I was just miserable. I put in my ear plugs which sent me into a quiet place and offered some relief. Eventually when I got to Rockwood I headed for a blue patch on the map just 15 more mins away. It was total heaven, passing more rural kinda freaky american homes, the lake was incredible. I took off my clothes and jumped into the water, it was luke warm and refreshing, so clean, fresh and perfect. My body was weightless, being cleaned and massaged by the nature around me. All the sweat and dirt from the road had gone and my mind was clear, the best bath I ever took in my life. The water was still and powerful, the place and moment was something of a dream actually. After such a tough day this was the best thing. And again highlighted the up and down nature of things the pendulum that swings and that the way to go was to push through. Embrace the negative moments as tests and embrace the positive moments as rewards. But do not crave the positive and do not push away the negative. Easier said than done.

    After washing and having a little swim, the sun started to set. I made my camp, right beside the water, the bugs were letting me relax tonight which was an added bonus, no bites! This night was extremely comfortable and the best night's sleep I had in a few days.

    Aug 11

    Today was a way more chill day despite making 70 miles. I started climbing a mountain and then running through a road called “Hillbilly Way” being chased by dogs, really? I had to road rash style kick them away from my side as they went for me. I’d decided to go and meet my old friend Doug Hale in Nashville. Every place I tried to stop for coffee or tea, to sit down has been desolate. Everywhere being closed or just having fast food or fuck all. Weird place this Tennessee. But for this nice little cafeteria I found. They serve iced tea “sweet or savoury!” This very nice old lady started talking to me “Jan” A small town girl born and raised in Crossville, telling me that she loves reading etc etc etc. I kind of blanked out but enjoyed the vibrations of her voice and her presence. She was soothing and for some reason made me feel like I could love her, platonically.

    I carried on for the day riding for a place called Ragland bottom. Sounds awful but on the map it’s a large expanse of blue and green, eventually I get there and it was heaven on Earth again. The lake was warm and fresh for about an hour or so I set up camp to fall asleep next to the water, sunset and stars. It was too beautiful. Despite the calm beauty and tranquillity I was aware that I was by myself, it felt good, but was framed by a yearning to share this moment with someone special.

    Aug 12

    Waking up in Ragland bottom was so nice. I walked down to the lake for a morning swim. Tranquil. There was a mist coming off the top of the water with turkey vultures bathing in the morning sun. I swam around until hungry. After breakfast I had arranged to meet Doug in a place called Lebanon. But my first stop was an hour away Smithsville. It was a relaxing ride for most of the day. Everything mostly was downhill but my arse was starting to ache a lot quicker than usual. I was happy to be having a break with Doug. I think I will have a day without cycling tomorrow. I’m halfway through and half way there after all. So once again today was the day of cycling through nothingville. These towns are all small and desperate. Everything seems to be closed. I had to buy a bottle of water from the supermarket and decant into my own bottles. There were so many antique shops everywhere I decided to push on and on, just to get to Lebanon and meet Doug. Lebanon seems bigger on the map so there should be more there nope, just fucking antique shops and dumbass gun shops. This place is very weird. Little America. There is nothing here! I swear I am not a fan of Tennessee or the south so far, except the lakes. After waiting in a very strange buffet restaurant for Doug with what seemed like a crowd from Southpark, propper mongy people.

    Doug arrived! It has been a good 10 years since I last saw him. Amazing to see a friendly face especially from Newbury. He has a really big car! We chucked my bike in the back and made our way to Nashville please let Nashville be more interesting, obviously it was. We got to his house met his really cute dog stacks, looks like a husky and sheepdog cross extremely friendly dog which has been a nice change from the dogs of the last few days. It was strange to be reminiscing with this guy from my home and so far away from home, talking about mutual friends and how is everyone ect etc. I felt safe with Doug. I figured out that the last time I saw Doug was when Rob and I drove to Oxford to see him and Frank Turner’s Million Dead final tour. His wife Taylor came home and we went into town to see none other than Frank fucking Turner play!!! What the fuck? Big old coincidence but surely there is more to it? The last time I saw this guy was 10 years ago to see a random band I didn’t really know. This English band happens to be in Nashville Tennessee to play again when I randomly cycle across the country, I know humans like noticing patterns in everything but there must be something to this. Whats more is I recall hearing this Frank Turner song in the diner whilst waiting for doug. I will never know maybe I will, hopefully before I die, fuck maybe that is the conclusion, death. None of us were really into the gig. I mean I enjoy seeing anyone live to an extent. They’re great musicians these guys but its not my cup of tea, country folk Irish music or something. There were lots of white skinned punky types in the venue. It was odd finding myself in a gig environment after the whole cycling thingy. For some reason I felt sad through my boredom maybe I was confused at the whole Frank Turner and Doug coincidence it did consume me for abit.

    Anyway Taylor was really nice and it was very good to see doug again they make me feel very welcome. We went to a local bar, had beers, food and Rio Olympics. I got drunk and smoked! Constantly trying to quit. I was quiet for most of the night, I didn’t have much to say to Taylors friends who joined us, Doug was in deep conversation with some randoms, but it’s okay, . Seeing Doug and his wife life made me reflect upon my own. My friends Jack, Louis, Teg, John and Larsen all settling down. I want this. I suppose it will happen when I’m ready for it. If it doesn’t then that’s fine too. Doug had to to travel to Orlando for work and Taylor had to travel also so they left me to look after Stacks and relax at their home.

    Aug 13

    Today was my rest day. I spent much of it sleeping sitting, watching the olympics and Meditating. I wonder how I would fare in the cycling events in the olympics? I then deluded myself into thinking I was probably as good as those guys at least at long distance riding. But they go at a crazy pace, i’d die. Plus you have to wear those stupid spandex clothes I’d feel like a right bell end. Two weeks in is half way through I am so looking forward to this being over now. When it is, it will feel like a dream but already I feel I have learnt a lot from this experience. Thinking is important but at the end of the day doing is what matters. I went through the rest of my trip on paper and it looks like my route is going to be disturbed by bad flooding in New Orleans and large storms, I understand now why my American friends kept saying “stay safe”. It’s not Europe, the weather here is not to be fucked with. The Natchez trace seems to be okay but when I hit Natchez, I’m going to have to cut across directly to Houston. Which could be good or bad, cutting from Knoxville to Tennessee was okay apart from the lack of nice towns. Anyway I am looking forward to getting going again tomorrow and meeting Doug in a bar to watch the first Arsenal game of the season, then he will drop me off at Pasqua Natchez trace.

    Aug 14

    Today I woke up in Doug’s house bright and early. I did some much-needed sun salutations had breakfast and packed my things away trying to make sure that I hadn’t left a trace behind me. Speaking of trace today I would be there! Excited to get going again and excited to finish this thing now. I’ve seen so much, so so much and experienced so much already and I still have two weeks I wonder what else lays ahead? Well I had seen something on the news about the floods down south but the signal cut out so not sure. Then Dad texted me about the flooding as well so I decided to change route after Natchez.

    I was due to meet Doug at a bar in Nashville to watch the first Arsenal game of the season, home to Liverpool. The ride into town was very nice and easier than expected I had good views of the city and was impressed by the giant stadium and several tall buildings, NYC like but I don’t like Nashville I’m sure it’s an interesting place but I’m not into it on first impressions. The bar was funny “Fleet Street” the English themed Arsenal supporters bar! I couldn’t believe it. It was fun and although I have zero faith in Arsenal anymore (and they ended up losing the game!) I enjoyed myself, Doug came late from his Orlando trip. We hung out for a bit before he drove me to Pascua and the famous Loveless Café where the Natchez trace starts. We grabbed ice cream and said our goodbyes he’s a good guy and a good friend.

    Side-note there are so many butterflies around, one of my favourite animals.

    So I leapt onto the bike and onto the trace, refreshed from the break and ready to get going again to what I’d hoped would be the best portion of the trip. Cyclists have priority which is amazing the next few days riding will be delightful also the routes are flatter, not many hills or at least not many crazy mountains. And the traffic is light there are motor bikers and a few other cyclists I wanna see people travelling like me I think I want to travel buddy. Preferably a female who I like and likes me back. I love how clean the roads are, already there are so many beautiful sites to see. The Trace began with a large bridge over a main road heading into the woods and hills of greenery.

    I get confused with the time because I travelled across a time zone so I was actually an hour behind. I push on ahead, keen to get going. After some time I saw a turn off, which I reluctantly and somewhat automatically took. Thinking I could have a little break although it’s sometimes hard to stop cycling when you have good momentum. But I was pleased I took it. I came across a fantastic view of the valley below and a beautiful young family. Mum, Dad and two daughters of one-year-old twins.

    I said “hi”

    Immediately Albert (dad) offered me a cold drink yes please, how kind of him. They were setting up a picnic I was just going to sit and read for a bit. When he says do you want some fruit? There is a bowl of blueberries strawberries grapes and raspberries I sat down and join them they are so nice, unfortunately I forget the mums name, but she was beautiful. We talk about the kids, they are truly beautiful, all four of them seem to glow. I tell them about my trip I want what they have one day, I say goodbye take a photo of them and send it to him on Facebook. It’s insanely perfect, actually cheesy as fuck, beautiful man meets beautiful woman and has two beautiful girls then goes for a picnic overlooking a green valley with blue skies and wild flowers. They’ll be divorced in a bit.

    I carry on cycling and see a giant cloud overhead I don’t wanna get caught in the rain so I keep up the pace until I find somewhere I can stop. Not too far down the road there is a place called Jackson Falls with a covered seating area, I stop. Check out the falls which are very small amounts of water dripping down large beautiful stretches of rock. Kind of underwhelming but very quaint. Almost English. Then the wind picks up drastically, I go back to the bike and the roof and when the rain starts coming down. It’s heavy. Well it cut my ride short but I still managed a lot of miles today. I don’t wanna get wet so I will stay put. I have a Fountain to refill my water and I have toilets to sit down to read and relax before setting up the tent and dinner when the whole moment gets turned upside down. A massive spider dangles down from its web right in front of my face from the Ceiling above. A good 2 meters above my head I jump back and bat it away with Carlos Casteneda. FUCK to my horror they are everywhere above me spinning webs and dangling down, I freak out. What do I do? I look to the bike and another one is landing on my saddle. I hate to kill them but my fear takes over. They’re garden spiders with big bums and little legs, fat fucks. I go to put my headlamp on as it’s getting dark quick.They’re everywhere especially around the light of the toilet. I take a look outside to see if I can move there but there is nowhere and it still raining! I can’t allow these things to push me out into the rain so I find a large stick with numerous little twigs and leaves and start brushing them out of the way. I end up killing most of them. I feel bad but not bad enough to stop. It’s a massacre I’m constantly looking up and around me as they are dangling down face height, swiping the fuckers dead and out. I think I have most of the ones nearest to me and start looking around to secure the area and after about five minutes of peace one of them appears right next to my hand on the saucepan! Like a stealth attack I kill it. I kill on on a large scale, every step I take is not without hesitation. I’m flustered and manic as fuck, I quickly cook, kill, cook and eat. A car pulls up and must have seen me, usually I’d be weary but I didn’t care, I was wired. They stayed for a second and then drove away haha. I must look like an insane person, swinging a stick around in the dark. I need to get into the tent I’ll be dry and safe I set up and climb in! Safe. In the morning after a not very good night sleep I cautiously open the tent. All the spiders have gone I guess they only come out at night. It seems like a nightmare now just a memory. Even writing this makes my skin itch with black shapes appearing and disappearing in my periphery, I dream of not being so afraid of spiders. I would one day love to hold a big one in my hands. They’re fascinating creatures and beautiful. My fear is so primal and deep though. Perhaps one day I will take it on.

    Aug 15

    Waking up in heaven was edgy this morning but I soon discovered that most of them had all but disappeared into the nooks and crannies to sleep in the day. Still enjoying the sound of nature, something I realised only I appreciate when I haven’t heard it for a while. I do miss the city, but I remember thinking before I left that this trip would allow me to become closer to nature. When living in London and New York City can be difficult to find nature. Yes there are parks but there’s always litter, distant sound of the city and someone nearby. I say this in the middle of the Natchez trace Mississippi surrounded by serenity and yet the calm distance reminder of the city as a plane sounded overhead. Still I have to carry on cycling until I could find a designated place to sit on a bench and a bonus here, charge my battery. Since it was really only one road for the next few days I had my phone off most the time.

    Day 15 didn’t see much but lots of nature, lots of space and nothingness, trees and fields. I did 85 miles in a day which was pretty good going. There was one spot which was a very beautiful little creek and waterfall where I paddled for a half hour. Met a good man randomly, he gave me a banana and some Reeses Cups. So kind. I pushed on and got past the state line from Tennessee to Alabama. I wasn’t sad of the thought of not going back to Tennessee for a while apart from maybe to see doug. Alabama another milestone. I’m only cutting through the top left hand corner of the state and should be reaching Mississippi early tomorrow. I get to a large bridge (the John Coffee memorial bridge) maybe a mile long over the Tennessee river and see a perfect place to set up camp for the night also to have a little swim.

    Aug 16

    Again another heavenly place to wake up in, next to the Tennessee river. Still I was in the mindset of having my nose to the ground. I powered along this morning at such a quick pace with the end goal in mind. After a couple of hours I found a nice little stop off with the reception area where I could charge my batteries, I also bought a soda. Ate some brunch and had a read I kept dozing off which was a nice feeling, butterflies were all around me a waterfall in front. This trip certainly is about nature. I’m constantly struck by beauty, power and fear it instills in me. Of course humans are nature too but we have built homes, towns and cities. We like our chairs where we’re safe. But we do lose ourselves sometimes. I keep looking at trees and thinking how beautiful they are. We need to live more in harmony with the environment. Save it, to stop it from killing us. We need to be considerate to be selfish.

    (Funny how people outside of the city all greet and wave to each other especially other cyclists)

    So over halfway through the trip, time wise and looking at how far I have left actually I only need to do a minimum of 50 per day to get to Houston for around the 29th so I decide to ease off the pace. Still I get over 70 miles in today but maybe that’s because of my morning burst, tomorrow I will take it chill and sleep. There’s more I want to take in, I should draw more. I can feel my leg muscles too. I don’t wanna push so hard that I get injured. I carry on down the road and come across an ancient Indian burial ground. They constructed large hills cut out of the earth around them and built temples. The hills are around 20 meters in diameter covered in overgrown plants and the structure on top is now long gone. But the field itself is so beautiful. Natural green grass there are eight of these hills. So peaceful, and mysterious I decided to walk up to one and instantly regret it. My feet are badly eaten alive by numerous bugs the second I set foot on the long grass. I have a strange sensation of my ears popping for some reason. I fear that I’m trespassing on something bigger than a God fearing gun slinging dickheads mansion. I go back to the bike to do a drawing. A car pulls up and a young guy comes and says hello to me probably around 25, long, hair and glasses. I think he said his name was Chris (again?). He seemed like a cool guy, we chatted about travelling and stuff for around 15 mins. He told me that he and a friend drove around the whole country in a car! 11,000 miles. Crazy but really cool. He was from just outside Nashville, in the winter they had an ice storm in which the whole state was covered in ice. Everything shut down and you were stuck in your house for a week. The only trip one could make was a short walk to get groceries.

    It had been a few days since my thing about my childhood and meeting males especially adolescents boys had been in my mind. Maybe he can be apart of that? This trip has been a journey of the self, so it would make sense to meet these guys from young young ages to my own. He was me when I was in my mid twenties for sure. But what about Luke, Charles, the other Chris and Doug, and what about the women I’ve met? Fuck knows I’m just noticing patterns. I should make a series of works based on patterns. Maybe it’s a trip out of a particular phase of my life and into another. I’m turning 30 next year.

    I carried on down the road and noticed angry rain clouds up ahead. Not sure if they would hit me or not but I wanted to find shelter just in case. I was getting tired and it was approaching the end of the day. I saw a sign for Elvis Presley's birthplace! So I went for it although something inside tried to stop me… My instinct. But I ignored it, even google maps didn’t want me to cycle there, it kept glitching. Instantly I regretted the decision because I ended up on a shitty hard shoulder on a fucking highway! I got so stressed but powered through. I came to the town of Tupelo, seems uninteresting. Went to Elvis‘s birthplace. It was a very small house that his dad built. Kind of amazing. The spectre of a dead Elvis, a legend long gone master of his craft, pioneer musician.

    I made for the camping signs and found a park but there was no campsite to be found! I remember seeing it on the map and thinking it looked far. I randomly came across a fire station in the park and a kind fireman asked if he could help. I explained I was looking for this campsite only a couple of miles up the road, he invited me inside to cool down and refill my water. What a gent we had a chat and then I decided I should get going on since it would be getting dark soon. I made for the campground and instantly felt bad. Passing nice houses I went past hicksville again, dogs barking, keep out signs and bad feelings. Google maps started freaking out again but I found the grounds, after awkwardly getting lost and backtracking. It looked beautiful despite all the trees snapped in half by Tornado damage of past years. I jumped in the water which wasn’t the best, kind of Gungy. Dogs just kept barking in the distance I felt like I shouldn’t be there. I remember walking up to where I left my bike and seeing a car driving away. Then the worst, everything around me was surrounded with ants, everything. Incredible relentless little critters keep getting on me somehow and biting me, they got into absolutely everything, including my food. Painful little bites too, it was awful. So I’m frantically picking up my shit and moving somewhere else. Away from the ants but the nest is huge. Its large like a city and spans several tens of meters. I see over the hill big old rain clouds approaching so I took the hint I made for a bit of cover. There was a kind of concrete construction nearby, with no ants and rain protection. I don’t even care if spiders are there, these ants are fucking me up and I don’t need more rain. I moved all my things shaking off the ants. No spiders! I was on a mini peninsula surrounded by water with trees half submerged. A car pulled up right by me. The guy seemed to look in where I was but couldn’t have seen me. Turned around and moved away, I was afraid of him, with all the trespassing signs around people's houses. I just didn’t feel welcome, even on a camp site. However he was probably just making sure I was safe or something. Instantly the rain came crashing down. Like a tropical storm. The wind was powerful and the rain actually was coming into half of where I was I camping but not into the tent, I sat watching the storm, furious wind, rain and lightning. But I was dry, safe and not being bitten. The lightning bolts were fantastic to watch as was the rain, somehow the wind didn’t pick up so much where I was but I could feel that my weight was the only thing keeping the tent from blowing away.

    I laid down and realised that the sound of this rain, thunder, the howling wind, and when it finally started passing over the occasional bird call was almost identical to the sleeping tracks I listen to at home. When Brooklyn is too loud for me, it always puts me to sleep. It was a strange sensation to be hearing the recording for real. To be hearing it made me feel at home and yet exposed and simultaneously safe. It was kind of perfect. I can’t imagine listening to those recordings again.

    This feeling sums up the whole trip, comfort in danger.

    Aug 17

    I woke up quickly having beat the rain and made my way out of Tupello back onto the trace. I instantly felt safer when on my bike and moving. On the way I saw an old guy riding his bike one of the funny shape laydown things looking a bit silly. I asked him if it was comfy. He said it’s great but going uphill is harder. So then he says did you hear that those saddles make you impotent? At first I was worried and then I wasn’t surprised. But probably it’s just one of these things like everything gives you cancer. I hope not, just in case I am in a position to wanna get my future lady preggers.

    Can’t quite remember how we got onto this but he told me that his son died from being shot in the head this year! He was in a gang in Chicago! 16 years old!

    “How do you deal with that?” I asked him. He says.

    “If you’re black and living in Chicago then you have to expect this to happen.”

    He seemed all good and headstrong. I suppose you have to carry on. Fuck. This is racism still the aftershocks of the racist era in this country. Scary, sad, I suppose they’re still racially divided. One day it will be ancient history. I wish I could help somehow. I think just by being aware and loving one can help.

    I put my foot down and cycled. I got to a quick stop off called witches dance and it kind of freaked me out. Because of the history around these parts, witches, slaves, Indians, murder and war. Why do we concentrate on these things? Oppression? What good comes from that? Let’s not go down that path.

    I see the map and find that next campsite is 40 miles away. Not sure if I can be bothered to cycle so much today but I get up and go… something takes me up. I cycle like crazy! Before I know it it's been an hour and I’m halfway there so I decide to push on. I have the wind in my sales so I keep pushing. I would rather sleep in a designated camping spot with washrooms. Then the cruise turns critical, I see dark clouds on the horizon I still have around 15 miles to go I’m starting to tire. I enter around 10 miles of forest which has been torn apart by tornado destruction. Its as though a giant with arms the size of a town swept the whole forest clean, so I have no choice, it’s open with nowhere to take shelter. If the storm comes I’m going to get wet, and if the storm comes there is usually lightning along with it. I will be risking being struck by lightning if I don’t get to the campsite soon. The rain starts, firstly it spits starting and stopping then it slowey starts getting heavy and cools off again. Maybe I missed it? I hear the rumbling of thunder. It’s hard to tell where I am in comparison to the storm. The clouds are to my right, left, and pretty well over head. I just keep cycling as fast as I can, adrenaline is pushing me. 10 miles, seven, five.. three, rain is coming and going. I started counting in my head, the minutes it takes to do a mile is maybe three or so. Counting helps me somehow. Then I see salvation, a sign post, 2 miles to the campsite, I start counting aloud. One mile and at that moment the real downpour comes. I might as well had been plunged into a lake. I start shouting the seconds and minutes, the rain drastically slows me down, petrified of being struck by the lightning which now started crashing down around me, I see actual bolts hitting close by, so close that the thunder is on top of me. The rain is slowing me down more, I push harder, shouting the minutes. About three minutes after the downpour and I make it to a small building of public toilets, with a sloped roof covering. I am drenched from head to toe but I’m alive. Lightning strikes all around me. I can feel the electricity in the air the sound is deafening. It makes me feel so lucky not being struck, but also to be witnessing this beauty.

    I go into the camp and meet a proper hillbilly, Mike he’s really nice but nuts, hes overweight, glasses bearded ugly fuck but so nice. The things he told me, when he was a kid he used to tie thread around a fly amazing, fucking incredible. HAHA he was a very friendly guy. I met a German couple in a crazy contraption of a vehicle they travelled all around the world in this thing. The guy was like a big kid he was funny. The thing he liked talking to me most about was not nearly every country in the world and all the adventures and experience and home and the world and culture and humanity etc no it was that there is some strange vehicle licensing agreement where German cars are not allowed in Japan or Korea. Seriously you travel the world and that’s what you tell me. I imagine that there are people in the world who have done about as much travelling as myself and they have seen more. I thought of my dad and H. How they travel and that the stories they had were so funny, what about myself? Anyway I’d adopted a nice little family for the night with the Germans and the hillbilly. I was wet as fuck but felt good to be around these people.

    Aug 18

    Woke up feeling pretty fresh this morning despite most things still being wet from yesterday‘s drama. I was eager to dry my things so wanted to get out of this place in the forest it was still pretty humid and amazingly the trees were still dripping from the night before so it was almost like a light rain. I met Mike hillbillies girlfriend. She seemed very friendly. Kind of quiet and in a strange way very sweet. Amazing that Mike can get a girl, he is like bebop and rocksteady from the turtles that’s harsh, she is like a Dwarf girl from Lord of the Rings. The German couple said their goodbyes. I had a feeling I might see them further down the road since they were heading south also.

    I cycled a few miles got to a pitstop to chill and dry out and then cycled a few more miles. I had 30 miles till the next stop I was very worried about rain and it was forecast to be so. I was so happy to get to the campsite before the rain which was only an hour or so later. I saw that this place had water, I really wanted to swim. I asked a local if it was safe or not. He said you can swim now but not at night, the gators rule at night! I thought I would just give the whole swimming thing a miss. Although I really wanted to see one and cautiously sneaked the banks but couldn’t see anything people were in boats fishing and on bloody jet-skis, I would be worried about falling in. As the Sun came down I looked across the water and saw a Gator maybe around 5 feet long not a giant but I wouldn’t wanna mess. It looked like a larger adolescent, what a beautiful animal, prehistoric. It must have been about 50 feet away and looked like a black log floating on the water but moving at a steady pace and occasionally skipping to the left or right.

    I wonder if it was safe to come here. I guess it was but still I had trouble sleeping, I kept seeing scales, teeth, and large Jurassic like tails in my dreams. I would wake up and hear large splashing sounds coming from the water and birds making strange calls through the night again like large dinosaurs might’ve squawk. I heard something thrashing around in the water at one point. Strange coincidence but in my book Carlito, Carlos who is so eager to “see” or become awakened. Smokes from Don ones pipe and sees the guardian (a monster) of another world who wants to attack Carlos. Carlos escapes strange because he describes the monster as an alligator type creature. Maybe this trip is something bigger for me too. I mean I wanna be able to see rather than just look... but I don’t know. For sure I will have grown somewhat from this. Not to mention the experience of camping alone for a month in various places and cycling so many bloody miles. I already feel like I’ve achieved something I have always wanted to.

    Understanding distance Earth is a big place, nature, getting out of the city – comfort – changing myself. On a physical, spiritual and psychological challenge... no shower, no bed!

    Aug 19

    Woke up feeling like I didn’t sleep well, but somewhat relieved that I’d gotten away with camping next to an alligator infested lake, it was until leaving that I noticed the signage saying “No camping, danger, alligators”. It was my dad‘s birthday so I sent him a birthday picture message. I started a drawing of a pinecone and didn’t feel it. So I scrunched it up and got going. Today was a very hard cycle. For the first time I truly felt tired. I had rests with Eve‘s family, with doug and with Kristen but this time I was tired in a different way. My legs were saying we can’t cycle any more, I needed a rest. I felt like the whole day was uphill and I think to some extent it was but not as much as previous days. I had an imaginary head wind making it yet harder to pedal. It’s funny because at the start of the day I just wanted a chill ride with only about 20 miles to the next campsite. Course I got caught in the bloody rain again! This doesn’t help I ran into the forest and managed to escape the worst of it. Still pretty wet, as long as the insides of my bags had stayed dry. I would find out later that was not the case. Standing in the forest waiting for the rain to stop was strangely relaxing. Got to the point of giving in, I leant against a tree, closed my eyes and followed my breathing. Waiting for the rain to pass with thankfully no lightning I actually managed to doze off against that tree it was warm and since the previous night I hadn’t slept well I probably was exhausted which would be the reason behind my lack of pedal power. I followed my breath and the sound of the storm, after 20 minutes the rain stopped. Strangely I felt better on the bike after that. Sleep is amazing. I went for it and finally got to the campsite and who did I find, my German friends sitting in their underwear.

    I was glad to see them, we spoke for a bit. I set up camp and the rain started coming down again. They offered me a stool to sit on under their canopy. I felt bad because I didn’t think too good things about them like the conversation was kind of boring I realise that he is very chilled and yes very childlike. He is content and happy also I think his English is not the best which doesn’t help. What about her? Tall glasses the same personality as him, they were one in the same person, he did most of the talking, she was tall and lanky like a cartoon character. I managed to get some better stories out of them. He said he nearly started a forest fire in Sudan by throwing petrol on a fire and then throwing away the cup as it caught, the fire was so large and spread so quickly that many people from the village they were in had to run out with water and put out the fire. He said he felt immensely guilty. Especially because water in that part of the world is scarce. I found it very funny. They had a dangerous moment in India, had to use pepper spray on some drunk guys. Other than that, this car and the world was their home and I was invited to their living room. They are an old retired couple, armchair/drivers seat with the world as their TV! It’s amazing.

    I decided that fire was a very great idea to liven my wet spirit. But I really couldn’t get it going with everything being so wet, I had nothing dry around me. The Germans decided to chip in. He came up with fuel from the car I was worried because of my tent and of his previous story. We used small cups of fuel and loaded the wet fire pit until it dried out. Every time he did it the cup would catch on fire and he would throw away behind him causing lots of little fires everywhere! So funny. This is how you start a fucking forest fire. Good there’s just been torrential rain, we were essentially in a bog. But we got it going they gave me a cup of wine to drink with my dinner and I sat next to the fire for a while the inside of my tent had somehow managed to get wet although it wasn’t too bad it was annoying when I found my damp my pillow. Thankfully some sleeping stuff was dry. I decided that it’s been too long since being with my dad for his birthday. Camping out here in the wet tent on a mud filled pit. Next year I will try and be with him.

    P.S. Raccoons are more annoying than London foxes. Had to use the pepper spray for the first time. Better on pescy Racoons than on dangerous humans.

    Aug 20

    Same as the last few days I wanted to get going soon so I could find somewhere to dry out. My front tire was flat which I had to fix and again I said goodbye to my German friends, you helped me out immensely.

    Today I was aiming for only 40 miles down to the end of the trace. There is a campsite just 10 miles before the Parkway finishes which I thought would be a good place to rest up and recharge before hitting Natchez tomorrow. Where I also planned on resting for a long bunch of hours.

    In previous days 40 miles have been easy for me but like yesterday I had real trouble cycling. My legs just didn’t wanna pedal. But I trudged on and on. Eventually making it to the campsite where I dried out and found a shower! This was one of the best showers I ever had. I decided to wash out all my clothes. So good. Just as I was finishing my food the rain came down again I realised that just before nightfall is the worst time for rain because the sun doesn’t have a chance to dry everything out.

    Suddenly I’m reminded of the beauty around me. The sound of the rain the insects and birds. Easy to forget it when one is constantly being rained on and wet. Saying that I am looking forward to the end now. When I arrive at Natchez, only another 300 miles till Houston! Then I get the Rothko chapel it will be an amazing feeling that I will treasure. To see the chapel and the work inside. But this trip was all about the inbetween, seeing the chapel was really an added bonus. Rothko’s work, this trip what does this mean to me? To my own work? I often thought that the recent paintings I did need a space similar to the chapel but I will see. As for the reason I made this journey, I’ve gone over it so many times but… Who knows? There are many reasons. Physically challenging myself maybe it’s the idea, metaphor for being as successful as Rothko. It’s a hard journey but enjoyable. Up-and-down life is like this giant bike ride. If I can succeed in this trip then I can succeed in being a successful artist.

    Also called mum she was very proud of me, it was quite touching actually. I never heard her voice like that before. But amazing, she still just managers to blabber on about her life and how lonely she is and to somehow get a jibe in at my Dad. I wish I could help her more. I don’t know how to though. Apart from one day being able help her out with money. I wish I could make her healthy and happy. I guess that’s down to her though. Maybe she’s actually ok with it? Its what shes used to and shes comfortable in it.

    Aug 21

    Woke up! Jumped in the shower, saw a cute frog, left the National Park. It took me around an hour to get to Natchez. Had a very good feeling of fine accomplishment as I finished 444 miles, six days of cycling. What a delightful section of the trip. Probably the best part actually, especially in terms of cycling. I felt like I got especially close to nature here too.

    I wanted was a rest day. Actually I needed a rest day my legs felt hollow even just to walk on. But I felt good I was near the end. I’ve come so far already. The 444 miles of the trace is only part of around sixteen hundred that I would have completed by the end. And 21 days on the road. It’s been great but I miss being inside, four walls and roof over my head, fuck I miss comfort and safety. Truly.

    Natchez is a really nice town, I really liked it. Maybe the symbolic significance it had for the trip helped. It felt very green, calm, there were some beautiful old buildings, mansions and although small natchez felt cosmopolitan. I think I was actually truly now in the south, the charming south I’d heard about.

    I found a cafe and saw young people working on laptops, relaxing, funny haircuts, families and students. It felt like a small NYC café. I called up dad and spoke with him, Gma, Gdad and H for around an hour on the phone. He thought I was doing a great thing and was very impressed. H was encouraging me to take it easy and treat it as a holiday. I just wanted to get to Houston by now, see the museum and not cycle! Although I was tired at this point. It was very nice talking to Grandma and Grandad as usual. I thought it would feed my homesickness but I actually helped. I am looking forward to seeing them all very soon but I was not missing them like I was missing them in the beginning of the trip.

    I absolutely stuffed my face in the café. French toast, an omlette a brownie and two hot chocolates. I sat down there for a good two hours, they were starting to close after I’d finished a drawing so got up to leave. I stood outside the café for a while and noticed that there was a storm on the way. That’s crap, what shall I do? I need to rest more but didn’t really know where to go. I kind of hovered and these two ladies got talking to me. Dee and Helene, both brunette, white skin, Helene taller than Dee, quite pretty and well to do in their 50s maybe? Helene had a very interesting face. I would like to draw very deep-set eyes. A true southerner born and bred in Natchez, very proud. Has a son living in DC she was conservative intelligent and open-minded. I thought Dee was a woman of the world. Something of a lone wolf but she seemed to have sadness about her. She wants to be a mother. I didn’t ask but I feel like she doesn’t have any children and maybe missed that. Although she said she has many adopted children now including me. She’s from California and has travelled a fair bit.

    After explaining the trip to them, they expressed how impressed they were. I asked them some questions about Natchez and the weather specifically. I said I wanted to buy a tarps and groceries. Dee out of the kindness of her heart offered to drive me to a store! Which was incredible timing because not more than a minute after loading my bike onto her car bike rack and getting in, the down poor came. I was overcome by their kindness. Helen followed us in her car on loud speaker, giving me a tour of Natchez. Took me to the natchez cultural center and then decided they should take me out for dinner. It was a pleasure spending time with them and I think they enjoyed my pleasure back equally. The weather was pretty damn bad. As dinner came to a close I was feeling probably visibly sad at the prospect of having to go and find somewhere to camp in the rain. They wouldn’t let that happen. They were apologizing because they couldn’t house me in their homes but decided to take me to a cheap motel instead. They insisted on paying and making sure I was comfortable in the room.

    I still can’t get over just how lucky I am. I truly needed a rest. I surely would have been fine going at it alone but these two utter angels came out of nowhere and saved me. We’re still in touch today.

    The motel they put me up in was only $40 per night and the room was quite nice, it was one of the stereotype moteIs you see in the movies of people travelling in the states. Rundown cheap and dangerous. But this was very pleasant. I gave both Helene and Dee a drawing each and we said our goodbyes. Amazing human beings. Relaxing in the room was special. I switched on the TV, found some crappy cartoons to keep me company (Adventure Time). Eve and Lauren texted me we spoke on the phone for a bit I missed them Lauren is trying to set me up with a place to stay in Houston, fingers crossed it was really nice chatting to them but they were drunk at Eves new place and I was tired so I said good night.

    I read a little and passed out, I slept a lot but woke up a few times in the night for various reasons. Very scattered dreams of old friends drinking in London bars with me and meeting girls I like, fighting guys with my fists. It was good to be in large comfy bed though.

    Aug 22

    It was Monday. I felt really good riding today after the nights rest and good food. I was aiming for Alexandria LA. Around about 70 miles. I caned it. The roads were long and pretty poor but I didn’t care. I knew the end was in sight. I should arrive in Houston by Friday. I am truly excited to finish this journey, however part of me could continue cycling, which is a crazy thought. I want to see deserts for some reason. But the Bayou has been interesting. A giant swamp. It’s wild that’s for sure. What else is to come? I still have several days. Then the inevitable happens… I was afraid of it but had hoped it would hold up until the end. The back tire had a tiny tear in it which I’d noticed back at Doug’s which slowly got worse. Anyway, I gambled and at that moment the tire exploded! I was about 30 miles in between towns. Had my luck ran out? I hope that the new inner tube would last. It was so hot there by the roadside. Every time I stopped cycling the heat would take hold of me. Unbearable heat overwhelming heat I could hardly breath. I needed to fix the bike quick and get going again. Cycling was the safest thing to do because the wind cooled me down so much. I felt like stopping was death it would get hotter and hotter and hotter, dustier, dustier, dry, dry, bugs, buzzing, biting around me. Downing and pouring water on me. If the rain was annoying at least it stopped me from being cooked.

    Duct tape is great!

    I fixed the tire with the repair kit and duct tape. I swore that if it got me to Alexandria I would go to a shop and not be a cheapskate!

    Then my mood was quite different, I became very worried about getting another flat tire, and another and another et cetera until I don’t know what. I would have to hitchhike I would have to hitch a lift with some random… Anyway I didn’t happen, the road was good. The rain was coming, I got to the outskirts of Alexandria in time to jump underneath some cover and allow the rain to pass over me. The tire was looking great, rubber peeling out of it and duct tape all around. Alexandra was quite a nice place in bits anyway. Some of it was very sketchy ghetto, Hillbilly heaven. But there was Louisiana College, the campus was very nice. I hung around there for a while and felt like I blended in with the students. The scruffier ones anyway. I guessed the football team was a big thing around here… Anyway it seems like “Water Boy”, one of my favourite movies when I was a kid may have been based on this location. I cycled around and found a kind of good place to camp but it was in a bad neighbourhood and managed to find a mosquito nesting ground or something, I was quickly attacked by numerous mozzies so fled that spot… Something told me to go back to the college. There is a common area where I could sit and relax in the cafeteria which sold $4 dollar veggie burgers so stayed there and did some drawing for a bit. I remembered seeing a potential camping spot earlier and thought that when it was dark I could check it out. It seemed okay… Kind of open, I might have to wake up early though since my tent would be visible in the light. But I looked around and found the perfect spot, the secret garden of Alexandria! Literally had found a room made of trees and bushes. It was absolutely perfect in between this amazing old southern building with large columns at the entrance to a carpark and behind a train track. I was sure no one would come by, I had a pretty good night sleep.

    It was a very strange feeling camping in this hidden garden in the middle of the town where people have rooms and houses, apartments, beds. I felt like a true traveller homeless person even a weirdo… I felt like a weirdo. I didn’t want anybody to see me yet I like telling people about it.

    In the meantime Dee was texting me saying that she had arranged for me to stay in another motel the following day! So cool, so nice.

    Aug 23

    I woke up in this lovely green room to a treat, surprise, and potential disaster. I stepped out the tent, fucked around for a bit, started packing up and look down on my porch on all my things, right next to the entrance to my tent to see a little black widow spider. Crawling slowly past my shoes towards my bag, I go to grab my phone for a photo and think, no, I don't wanna lose sight of this. I don't want to find it in my bag or something later. Or in my top as I put it on etc… If I get bitten I have to go to hospital. This was stupid, I had no fear of one of the most poisonous spiders in the world. Only because it was so small. I felt very focused and calm watching her tip toe around my stuff and off into the grass. It was a quiet respectful beauty, everything fell silent. I ate breakfast, alert and packed up cautiously. I felt like I had been in the presence of something divine. I went back to the college where I could wash my face and hands before setting off.

    I promised that I would go to the local bike shop and replace my tire. I was very lucky I found a shop and very good one at that. The owner had a bunch of spare tires and gave me a choice. He said I didn’t need to pay! So I got a new tire for the back. It seemed sturdy enough at the time, fitted well and although was second hand it looked like it would see me through. (Cheapskate)

    So all fixed up I was headed for Leesville where Dee had a room waiting for me in the Days in Motel. I was eager to get there. Plus it included breakfast, yummy. This day was a very pleasant cycle. Very relaxing and productive. I went through lots of proper bayou land, swamp and hillbilly land. Got chased by dogs but it was cool I liked seeing this landscape. It was mysterious, scary and beautiful at the same time. What lay in the swamp forest? I think I would die if I went swimming/wading in today I didn’t see any but I know there were many snakes. Of course gaters, spiders and that’s enough for me not to mention the other things I don’t know about… Mosquitoes! After the swamp I moved out and into coniferous forest. Where it was dry. But this was a deep forest that went on for a while. I went along dirt tracks on the bike with no cars for miles.

    Leesville. It was quite nice actually. I stopped off to take some photos of a strange but brilliant site. A staircase in the middle of nothing. It had dropped from the sky. This was the ARC. I was always into the idea of a staircase in my work and here I found one in reality. About 3 ft wide solid concrete only about 5 steps high but utter perfection. What did this symbolise for me? Transcendence, contradiction, heaven it goes nowhere. It’s everything and nothing. Definitely a future project.

    I was quite tired as I’d been on these rough roads plus the last 20 miles was basically highway, no where particularly to stop, tough peddling. I was tired in general. Looking forward to a shower too.

    The Days In was very pleasant. The room was really nice I am so lucky. Dee is amazing I got into the room, jumped in the shower and switched on Cartoon Network! Heaven having my feet off the ground with no weight on them, they tingled with relief and delight. Annoyingly… I noticed that my front tire was flat this was an omen for the day ahead. I slowly and casually fixed the flat to Adventure Time. I felt kind of ashamed that I was flaking so much but I was tired and think I deserve a little flake, still I wanted to do something, I read for a bit… Passed out and had a very deep sleep.

    Carlos had written a first hand experience of travelling to Mexico and studying shamanism under his teacher Don Juan. He teaches him how to find, grow and prep hallucinogenic plants. He is in search of becoming a “man of knowledge” unravelling the secrets of power. Or in other words awakening, enlightenment, nirvana, heaven. Don Juan says all paths lead to nowhere, but a path with heart means a joyful journey. One must have an ally, that would be the drug I imagine psilocybin. Which allows or helps open up a person to truth or the way to truth at least. Don Juan claims that the smoke from the mushroom will set you free. There certainly are parallels with this book and my own story, its inspiring me to keep cycling and keep thinking, or maybe to let go of the thinking a little?

    My studio mate Pedro recommended this book to me, I haven't known him for long but I feel like we could be kindred spirits somehow. I respect him immensely in his work and philosophy. Maybe because I see a little of me in him or maybe I want to be more like him? He has a very kind of rare intelligents about him. Intuitive. Anyway it was a great recommendation which I am very thankful for. I feel like this book saw me through my journey. It echoed my own thoughts and feelings at times. I was on a spiritual journey. I was alone, I kept thinking of my childhood, my life, where I have been and where I am going. My art, love. I have no conclusion but did at least finally start being able to understand what Wade told me. I must allow Abstraction, Representation and Conceptualism to be one in my work. It will come when it’s ready. I know that now. Follow your gut, listen to your instinct. Just keep going and keep cycling.

    Aug 24

    Today was a crazy/ insane/ head fuck of a day… I had 200 miles left to go, two and a half days left of cycling. And just enough time to see Houston and Rothko.

    I started the day by absolutely stuffing my face with as much breakfast as possible there was a free buffet so I took advantage. Of course I watched cartoon network with it. Probably wasn’t a good way to start the day, getting as much in me as humanly possible and watching cartoons in bed, actually it was exactly the best way to start the day. Eventually I mustered up the energy to get back on the road. I was feeling good as usual, getting ever closer to Houston. Today I should hit the Texas border.

    I get a flat tire after about an hour riding. The road was very stony and had all sorts of debris which didn’t help matters. Man that’s the third time in two days! So bad. I fixed it and the other wheel then went down I couldn’t believe it! I literally found a thumb tack in the tire. So annoying so I fixed that, after less than a mile it went down again! What the fuck? I Pulled up in the shade next to a tree. It was too hot for stopping. Cars were spinning past fast. I was technically in someone’s front garden here. I saw a dog in a cage standing up to look at me but no bark which was nice for a change. He was quite far away maybe 40 yards. She could sense I wasn’t a threat and was in a pickle. I was officially out of tubes and had only one more patch left I had the other patches but they are the ones with no glue which don’t work but I had to try. The front seemed okay with the new tire but not the back. I swapped them back over because I was worried the new tire was too big and was causing some punchers I checked it but obviously not well enough because the other tire was/or must have been out. I was done. I walked the bike down the road. It was a two hour walk to de ridder, the next town. Really? I couldn't possibly, it was too hot. I hitchhiked. It didn’t take long but I managed to find a guy to give me a ride in his pickup truck to DeRidder.

    I saw something that looked like a cycle shop I could go to. The guy took me as far as 2 miles away from it. I decided to go there from the Walmart he dropped me at which I didn’t realise actually had the right tubes. But I didn’t know. Also the guy was a good old fashioned redneck/ the trump voting kind. He was grim looking, loud and weird. His skin was actually red, shining and glistening from sweat his hair was thin and Slick back he was telling me that he used to live in New Orleans but left because the “dem illegals took ma joob” his “jooob” fucking hell I can’t believe I had heard it finally racism in my face small mindedness in my face what could I do but silently nod my head in disapproval and sadness. I didn’t wanna argue with this guy he’d saved me and I was in his mercy.

    Eventually I got to the cycle shop… Which was a motorcycle shop! I was so upset. I wanted to scream shout and cry, so angry. Thankfully the Klerk was an incredible human being, more luck. He must have seen the anguish on my face and invited me in to drink some cold water and said he would drive me up to the Walmart to get the tubes! Unbelievable niceness, his name is Jimmy we went back to the Walmart and back to the shop I fixed the bike ate some food said my goodbyes to Jimmy and got on my way. I got about 30 miles down the road and BANG! Again I was furious, I could feel the steel of the rim hit the concrete and shudder up into my body! I checked everything, so angry I was in hillbilly neighbourhood as well. Barking dogs around numerous kids toys strewn across front yards. It was a place to be cautious but I couldn’t be, I was cursing loudly probably nobody would want to come near me and would fear me more than the other way around. I went into an open basketball court with litter everywhere all over the ground, overgrown and broken glass. These tiny little spiky balls I later learned were called Texas stars were getting stuck all over me and they spiked, they annoyed me so much. I fixed the tire got back on the bike and with one turn of the pedal before I could finish my sentence a loud saying;

    “Whats the fucking point, its just going to...”

    BANG, instantly the tire exploded. That was it I snapped! The last time I lost it like this was as a kid of divorced parents destroying my room, it was insanity, I had an out of body experience. I threw the bike down and kicked it, kicked it again and kicked it in as hard as I could my mind was gone, I jumped up and down on the bike like a kid, shouting abuse at the pieces of metal which had taken me over 1600 miles across this great country. The wheel was bent and done! That was it. It was over!

    I was stuck in the middle of nowhere. This fantastic machine had become apart of me and I had viscerally shead it from myself in pure hatred and anger. I felt so ashamed. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know anyone nearby. There was no public transport around and the sun was setting. I had Jimmy‘s card from the shop I didn’t want to call him but I had no other choice. He’s amazing, like Dee and Helene, I am so lucky. I feel humbled. He drove and picked me up. He didn’t only pick me up, he picked me up and drove me down to Lake Charles (an hour south) where I can get a bus to Houston. The eyes of Jimmy were so pure and innocent. His wife was at home with cancer and here he was driving me an hour down the road, helping out a total stranger. What an incredible man, I just felt so defeated and yet so happy that I met this man who was helping me out, so blessed. We spoke in the car about God, death and religion. He was a man of faith. Yet he told me that he carried a gun on him. I asked why, he said that two times he’d had a man point a gun at him. He wanted to make sure that he could point a gun back next time, he could defend himself and his loved ones. I’m not sure.

    We drove into Lake Charles, I paid for us to eat dinner, which was the very least I could do. He dropped me off at a Greyhound station around 10 PM, I gave him a drawing. Saying goodbye to Jimmy was very emotional. After he left I still felt defeated. 200 miles away! So close… But I lost it. I should’ve known that it was a bad tire. If only I’d taken another new tire from the cycle shop in Alexandria. I felt so small next Jimmy, I was a little boy throwing a tantrum like a spoilt brat. I hated myself.

    The bus stop was very Sketchy. There were two guys begging that were hanging around and seem to have their eyes on me, they were like wild dogs, not a threat but not be be taken lightly. I tried looking crazy and scummy, they asked me if I could help them with their broken down car around a dark alleyway! I laughed with pity and said “no” I took off the bike wheel to see if there was any way of repairing. No way, was I going to be so lucky to be able to take it on the bus like back in Christiansburg? Then what was I going to do with it in Houston? Selling it was my plan from the beginning but walking it was now ridiculous because the back wheel was buckled so much that it was jammed in the frame. I contemplated what to do and went over the day in my head. Jim, punctures how I lost it and how lucky I was to have found jimmy. What about these two boys. Was I going to get mugged and robbed or worse? I had a few hours before the bus was to arrive. And man, I wasn’t going to be cycling into Houston. I was thinking that I’d failed. I felt like that anyway.

    More unbelievable luck! Out of the blue, this guy comes up to me laughing and says

    “I just gotta know what happened to you, ha ha ha”.

    I laughed and immediately felt safe with this guy, I explained everything. He said

    “Well I’m driving my truck through Houston tonight, be a shame to waste that bus ticket of yours though wouldn’t it!”

    Unbelievable. I looked at the guy… He had kind blue eyes and long hippie hair kind of weird looking. I looked at the truck and it was one of those proper American massive monsters. It was that or waiting with the two crackheads and a shitty greyhound, to arrive. I still had hours wait. I was at a greyhound truckstop it sucked it was hot… do it. I jumped in the truck with Peter so for now I am not getting murdered and this is cool. I’m in a big old American truck and being driven into Houston! Say yes and go with it. I’d already booked my spot in the hostel. Peter was going only a few blocks away. A truck driving heavier sized guy, a good guy. From Chicago liberal long hair, family man. Still I made sure my knife and pepper spray were within reach. Then he says to me as we’re off onto an unlight dark road…

    “You know if you’re gonna take a ride with me its on one condition!”

    Oh shit. I reach down slowly for my pepper spray expecting demands for a blow job or something and he pulls out a little pipe to smoke weed with.

    “You’re gonna have to smoke the best goddamn weed you’ve ever smoked in your life!”

    Fucking Luuuuuuushhh luuuuuuuck thank you. We spark up and chat shit. Not only that but he is into bikes and offered to buy my bike off me. I said $50 he agreed. We listened to smooth jazz and rolled through the night.

    “You get a ride to Houston and managed to sell your bike in one foul swoop.”

    He said. He really was a good guy, kind of crazy but good. We chatted bullshit all the way through I was ecstatic to be in Texas! And coming through in style. The landscape despite being night time was very interesting. The horizon was glowing, literally from the oil fields it looks very cool. Like a hope was laying in front of me. Waiting. Like a Lonesome candle on the horizon waiting for me. Peter and I exchange details and he dropped me off talking with him and learning about trucking made me think otherwise about a profession I knew nothing about. He lives in the centre of Chicago with his wife. Putting his kids through college et cetera. He may have saved my skin.

    Anyway it turns out that he actually dropped me off at the wrong address so I decided to walk to the hostel, it felt odd being bikeless. My previous feelings of failure had moved into gratitude. Thanks to Peter I did feel like I’d triumphed somehow. It was in the AM sometime on a friday night and peaceful… Till I was greeted by night of the living dead, literally the first person to come up to me was an old zombie lady in a dressing gown moaning and mumbling at me with her hands up outstretched, asking for directions they were everywhere more than you can imagine. I’ve seen homelessness in New York and it’s nothing in comparison it’s actually worse than what I saw in places like New Dehli, India. It was something of an anti climax arriving in Houston. There are lots of homeless people here. Houston I was kind of shocked, still stoned, and somehow still running on adrenaline through the tiredness, what a crazy day! I was in Houston Texas I’ve made it. I decided it was too much and too dodgy to walk the hour or so journey so I called a cab to get to the hostel, I had to wait around 45 minutes for it to arrive so I slumped into a corner and blended in with the rest of them so as not to attract any attention.

    I’d made it what a way to end the trip still I had six days left hanging around Houston and the Rothko chapel.

    Aug 25

    I woke up at 11am in the hostel. I’m not surprised. I was up till around three and with the day I had yesterday. Being in the dorm reminded me of the vipassana meditation it was nice being back there for a bit. I was waiting for the gong to ring out, signaling meditation time. That was an internal bike ride, I need to do that again.

    Waking up here was different. It wasn’t a very clean place. It reminded me of tegs old house in Thatcham or places i’d Cyprus but worse at least tegs and cyprus were homely. Part of me liked that but another part of me is tired of it, the more I move away from adolescents the more I crave stability and comfort in my life.

    I guess because I didn’t cycle into Houston I was missing a something that I hoped for that would be relief or pearly gates perhaps? But who knows what it would have been like. This was good. I was home (home?) and I could relax. Was I home? No I was in a place in which one can sleep safely. I showered and washed my clothes. As I waited for them to dry the rain was coming down outside. I was really desperate to get into Houston and go to the chapel. Talking to a guy in the hostel made me anxious to leave. He was a real negative Nancy travelling across the US also (From somewhere in Eastern Europe). But he was saying he didn’t like it here and wanted to go back to Europe and moned, constantly. Fair enough if you don’t like it but I don’t wanna hear it. I just listened as I do… Everything that came out of his mouth was negative I feel bad for those people. He was still travelling and was trying to stay here despite wanting to go back. I can’t handle people like that. Saying that one of my best friends is the epitome of negative but I can’t turn my back on this person because it’s been too many years. I feel like I have to be there for him. The world is against him and he against the world.

    Anyway my clothes were done and the rain slowed up. So I made a dash for the chapel. It was only a 30 minute walk. The city is very beautiful. This is the museum district. They seem to have the choice of plenty of museums and galleries. I would have plenty to do here… I was thinking of going to Austin but maybe I wouldn’t have the time, on the way to the chapel the houses were getting nicer and nicer. Great little finds, architectural gems mainly art deco and lots of lizards on the sidewalk. They kept skipping into the bushes as I walked by, like magnetic metal shavings which reppeld against my opposing force. I love this, reminds me of Cyprus, kind of mediterranean. I eventually get to the chapel, after I detour around the cute neighborhoods. I suppose Peter dropped me off on the “wrong side of the tracks”. Round the corner from some arching tree is an almost modernist redbrick brutalist structure. I was in awe although it kind of looks crappy ha ha but great. Almost like a tiny version of Battersea power station. Unfortunately Barnett Newman’s sculpture “Broken Obelisk” was not there as it was being refurbished. This was a great shame to me as its part of the chapel.

    I walked up to the front doors which were large heavy iron blocks, I was nervous , excited and scared at the same time. I pulled the door and as I walked up to the nice girl on reception I said

    “Hi”

    My voice kind of crackled into a whisper, I pulled out my wallet.

    “it’s free”

    She whispered course it is I thought, smiling silently. Either side of her, high ceilinged were two doorways, I walked to the left and through the set of doors, it was silent. A slim knee high shelf showed a row of books the Bible, the Bhagavad Gita, the Torah, the Koran, Zen Buddhism and various other spiritual and religious books which I wasn’t familiar with. Along with some art books on Rothko and minimalism. Just writing this is bringing tears to my eyes. 24 days ago I left my apartment in Brooklyn and rode my bike through America to get here, 1600 miles or so, plus a bus, truck and car ride. All the people I met, that helped me with kindness and love. All the miles I cycled all the tough moments, the good moments, stuff I’ve learned stuff I hadn’t learned all led up to this. I stepped in, it was quiet I was thoughtless, breathless. The ceilings are high, they feel almost endless the paintings are big, painterly. The room is made of eight walls in an octagonal shape, with each wall being covered by the dark, sombre and peaceful blue and red greys of the paintings. It’s about space. The paintings work so well because of the room they are in.

    “Enjoy the space.”

    I remembered my Dads words. There was a calmness in the air, long wooden stools were arranged in a triangle in the centre of the room. In front of two corners were meditation cushions I circled the room inspecting the paintings, I delicately put my bag down next to one of the cushions, walked around and looked at the room from different vantage points, thoughtless and empty, entranced or engulfed by a vacuum. From every angel the room looks identical. This is a great piece of art, a few people come in and out but everyone has the same reaction. Staring around them as if lost or waiting for something which is not meant to come. Perhaps ok with that, content in that state. It’s relaxing that’s for sure. I sat down and began to meditate I could see all the space of America around me as I sat down. Moving past me at cycling speed. Then I fall into a deep sleep. I awoke with energy and began drawing the room. I really felt good about these drawings. Thinking that I would make them part of my thesis. I sat there for nearly 3 hours. Feeling emotional wanting to laugh and cry with happiness and some kind of nostalgia. This was a trip of a lifetime. Because of this trip it has motivated me to push on with my art and with my career. Which is originally why I came to New York. Improve my art and start building a career out of it. I wanna make a living. Find a girl and start settling down. I was excited for the future, optimistic. If I come out of this with sincerity and love, the same way people helped me on my travels here and with the purpose and energy I had to pull through this trip I can achieve my artistic goals with luck and perseverance it’s all down to me now.

    Improve my art and start building a career out of it. Payback all the people that have supported me through the years and contribute something meaningful to the world. ARC get that down!

    I left the chapel and became hungry. I felt like a chapter in my life had come to an end. I thought about the little boy that popped over the fence those weeks ago. Saying bye to his Dad. Not sure why. I was simultaneously sad and happy, maybe I am wanting to say goodbye to myself and hello to myself. Bye to the person who is a young boy, adolescent and young man and hello to the adult. 30 year old, potentially a third of the way through my life. Shakespeare's 7 ages of man were infant, school boy, lover, soldier, justice, pantalone and old age. So maybe thats a nice way of seeing this, I am at lover, moving into soldier. Potentially.

    I found a Mexican place for food and got talking to a couple of lads. They get me a beer and we talked about life. I told them about my trip I got on well with one guy in particular Joe probably because he was an Arsenal fan. After the beer he offered to drive me back to the hostel, showed me a little part of town (giant mansions) and we arranged to meet on Saturday morning. To watch the Arsenal game.

    It was strange my cycling trip had ended, now I was just on holiday in Houston for a few days. Random place to come on holiday. But it’s all about the chapel. I would be going back there again before I left for sure.

    Aug 26 and the remaining days until the flight home

    BED BUGS! I went camping for 26th days in random places across America and encountered a lot of nature. With all its beauty and wander, nature does not give a fuck about you. It will kill you and it will bite if you get in its way. I certainly encountered a lot of being bitten by plenty of bugs, thankfully nothing poisonous. There was a snake at one point, I didn’t recognize whether or not it was a killer but I decided best to stay clear. The ants were pretty damn bad and these small flies which were almost invisible would bite and itch worse than mosquitoes. However the worst of it came from this fucking hostel in the fourth largest city in the US. From a built up area! I woke up to bed bug bites, hundreds of them all over my body. The itching was insatiable, I’ve never felt anything like it before. It almost burnt and lasted up until I left. It made the remaining days not as pleasant as i’d hoped they’d be. Naturally I left the hostel and SOS’d my friend Naomi who set me up with a place to stay. With this quite crazy woman called Jen. Crazy but super adorable and friendly. She took me in and saved my skin. Giving me all sorts of ointments and creams which did help subside the itching but only so much. She also had a very cute dog which I spent the time cuddling. I truly flaked in her apartment. Ate food, watched tv and relaxed my face off. I really needed this recharge before going back to New York.

    The bed bugs were a strange thing, a rude welcome back to the city. But acted as a reminded of the world we live in. Humans seem to dominate the world but only so much. The earth is wild and is an organism in itself as the bed bugs attacked me and I essentially killed them by washing everything a million times over, the earth is doing the same to us. We must live in harmony with the earth before it wipes us clean off the face of it.

    In the last few days I went to see the Cy Twombly gallery, the James Turrell installations and the famous Menil collection that Houston is home to. They have a modern art museum and a classical art museum. Along with I’m sure many mini galleries I wasn’t aware of. I was pleasantly surprised. But I was itching to get home to NYC.

    Jen was an erratic and eccentric woman, but very friendly. She just wouldn’t stop talking at me about everything. At some points it got quite annoying but I couldn’t be annoyed as she was so very endearing. She was a high earner from one of the oil companies in houston. She took me on trips to the beach and to the original NASA launch site and we swam in the Gulf of Mexico. All stuff which is right up my street. I met up with Joe to watch arsenal play and waited for the flight back. I honestly was fried from the last month of riding that beautiful machine from NYC.

    Jen drove me to the airport, it was nice not having so many things on me. Because of the bed bugs I’d pretty well cathartically trashed everything. I couldn’t quite believe it was over. Jen and I said goodbye and I made my way through the airport, clinical and white light. Mundane and romantic. My words to describe the airport. I was on the last few pages of Carlos Casteneda waiting for my plane and was so sucked in by it that the plane left without me. Fortunately they just put me on the next plane to New York which had seats available.

    Being on the plane home was sad it took less than four hours to fly home! 4 fucking hours! It took me a month to get to Houston and flying back is taking me four hours. I saw long stretches of forested road which I may well have ridden through, from a birds eye view. The people, the animals. Every turn of my wheels, every peddle, cycle of my bike.

    Nyc was the same as I’d left it. Being on the subway was very surreal. I felt sad still, but all was a dream. Nothing happened. I had the worst and the best time. I was craving for it to be over from the beginning and yet I wanted so badly to continue down to Mexico and into the desert. I got back late and found my housemates brother Leo in our place. We hugged, he was quite thrilled to see me as I was him, it was a nice welcome home. I went to my room and saw my bed, left in exactly the way I’d left it, I layed down. And started thinking about the next trip I would take. I hope I can do it with someone, that would be nice.

    I’ll end on this quote from Don Juan;

    “Anything is one of a million paths. Therefore you must always keep in mind that a path is only a path; if you feel you should not follow it, you must not stay with it under any conditions. To have such clarity you must lead a disciplined life. Only then will you know that any path is only a path and there is no affront, to oneself or to others, in dropping it if that is what your heart tells you to do. But your decision to keep on the path or to leave it must be free of fear or ambition. I warn you. Look at every path closely and deliberately. Try it as many times as you think necessary.

    This question is one that only a very old man asks. Does this path have a heart? All paths are the same: they lead nowhere. They are paths going through the bush, or into the bush. In my own life I could say I have traversed long long paths, but I am not anywhere. Does this path have a heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn't, it is of no use. Both paths lead nowhere; but one has a heart, the other doesn't. One makes for a joyful journey; as long as you follow it, you are one with it. The other will make you curse your life. One makes you strong; the other weakens you.

    Before you embark on any path ask the question: Does this path have a heart? If the answer is no, you will know it, and then you must choose another path. The trouble is nobody asks the question; and when a man finally realizes that he has taken a path without a heart, the path is ready to kill him. At that point very few men can stop to deliberate, and leave the path. A path without a heart is never enjoyable. You have to work hard even to take it. On the other hand, a path with heart is easy; it does not make you work at liking it.”

  • _____________________________________________________________

    Museum Fever:

    A narrative and interior monologue of Museum Fever....

    ____________________________________________________________

    “This museological ‘past’ is thus an instrument for the imaginative production and sustenance of the present; of modernity as such. This ritual performance of commemoration is realised through disciplined individual and collective use of the museum, which, at the most basic and generic level, constitutes a choreographic or spatiokinetic complement or analogue to the labour of reading a novel or newspaper, or attending a theatre or show.

    2. The elements of museography, including art history, are highly coded rhetorical tropes or linguistic devices that actively ‘read’, compose, and allegorise the past. In this regard, our fascination with the institution of the museum- our being drawn to it and being held in thrall to it- is akin to our fascination with the novel, and in particular the ‘mystery’ novel or story. Both museums and mysteries teach us how to solve things; how to think; and how to put two and two together. Both teach us that things are not always as they seem at first glance. They demonstrate that the world needs to be coherently pieced together (literally, re-membered) in a fashion that may be perceived as rational and orderly: a manner that, in reviewing its steps, seems by hindsight to be natural or inevitable. In this respect, the present of the museum (within the parameters of which is also positioned out identity) may be staged as the inevitable and logical outcome of a particular past (that is our heritage and origins), thereby extending identity and cultural patrimony back into a historical or mythical past, which is thereby recuperated and preserved, without appearing to lose its mystery.

    In essence, both novel and museum evoke and enact a desire for panoptic points of view from which it may be seen that all things may indeed fit together in a true, natural, real, or proper order. Both modes of magic realism labour at convincing us that each of us could ‘really’ occupy privileged synoptic positions, despite all the evidence to the contrary in daily life, and in the face of domination and power.”[ Donald Preziosi, Museology and Museography in The Art of Art History: A critical Anthology, ed. Donald Preziosi, Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 1998. p 511]

    Museum Fever

    It hit us both at pretty much the same time, as we were walking up the staircase looking for the glass collection for my step mother in the Victoria and Albert museum. We climbed all the way to the top floor then Helen said,

    “We have to go down a floor, oh nope, sorry, it is up there” she said…

    We turned our quickly aging bodies sinking into the melting away marble green staircase and waded our way up the damn thing again. The museum was sucking us in, I feel like there will be no escape from this place. My Dad, Helen and I then came to the glass collection. There were some interesting objects; some stuff did not look like it had been made of glass even. The museum fever seemed to where off or at least just failed to grab the fullest of my attention, but that is the museum feeding you with its treasures, but it over feeds you and you cannot stop eating until you get to the point of visual obesity and bursting. We try to fight it. I wondered slightly to the right giving each object a moments glance. Only one piece I gave a mere 30 seconds to. But then I saw the most amazing thing the museum had to offer me at that point, a bench and one with cushions. But I could not sit there until I saw my Dad sit down, so I dragged myself around the collection scanning the items on display with a slight negligence about me, just thinking about how and when I could say, lets go sit down and eat some food. I looked around for Helen who as usual was full of time for the museum treasures, I wish I could have her enthusiasm and energy for these things, she seems to be immune to the museum fever. I guess I do but only for a certain amount of time. Well at least I am not alone. I see Dad sigh and then look at me, as he stumbled over towards me, I point to the bench. We drag our aching bodies over there slowly and not in the usual way that museum goer walks slowly and quietly as though in a place of worship, but lethargically, hunch backed, dragging our aching feet, arms dangling at our sides, blurred vision and dry mouthed. Then as we sat down I felt the pain of my feet easing off as though dipping them into a pool of hot mud, sitting admiring the collection as a whole and analysing people’s behaviour was far more appealing to me than walking around. There was a father playing a game with three little girls between the ages of four and eight maybe, in which one of them would look at an object and describe it, whoever chooses the right one wins. The only problem with sitting here now is that the museum temps you further to stay and not to ever leave, the seat is comfortable though, maybe too comfortable, I feel glued to it, fever subsides slightly with the comfortable chair but then I fall into a deeper trap and start leaning against the wall behind me. I could fall asleep but I fear I will never wake up or if I do it will be in a state of museum preservation, stuffed and not able to move a muscle but still conscious. I feel as though the museum is trying to tempt me, to trap me.

    Dad breaks the misty silence by saying they had to get their train home soon. ‘Yes, I thought, we will be leaving in a matter of minutes.’ A museum tour group enters the room from another entrance that I failed to notice before, lead by a skinny middle aged woman with big glasses and what looks like spider webs for hair, I wonder when the last time she saw the outside world was? The majority of the people in the group are foreign and I wonder if they can understand what she is saying for she has a wacky accent herself. Dad says

    “How can she not get bored with doing this every day?”

    That made me think; maybe she wants to be part of the museum? Or possible she is just showing off the incredible knowledge of what the museum has to offer us, she is the museum, the voice or the person of the museum; a victim of the museum fever.

    We discuss the museum fever. The first two and half hours maybe are fine in the museum, there is no shortage of things to see but after that something comes over ones being, it hits you like a ghost train but only in a museum this happens, all one wants to do is sit down, rest and eat; one is visually bombarded, ones brain is overloaded. The museum café is a possible solution to the problem, but they are so expensive and always over crowded more like a school cafeteria with the trays and depressed dinner ladies, and there is always without fail a crying baby, who in their right mind would take a baby to a museum. Maybe the museum never wants people to leave; she is constantly looking for more treasures to be stored away in the deep depths of the museum archives.

    After one has sat down and eaten food for maybe an hour one does feel refuelled and can easily get up to see another exhibit. But always after maybe one more hour of looking around one quickly develops the museum fever again. Another possible solution to the museum fever is the placement of more seating in the museums. But this comes with problems too. Firstly is there space for seating? Secondly when one is sat down, one can easily sit and ponder over a piece in the collection, often wanting to look at it constantly but cannot do this due to the mass amount of people that either want to have their photograph taken with the piece or insist on standing right up close and in front to stop anybody behind from seeing anything at all. The worst thing is when a large tour group comes, then about twenty people stand in your way. But maybe this is just a selfish thought; everyone has the right to see the works.

    After about ten minutes we feel a little rested and find the motivation to get up and check the date on a small piece of finely detailed glass, then we dodge around a tour group and grab Helen, Dad explains that we are hungry and cannot miss the train. With the knowledge of food being in our belly’s and that we are leaving the museum we somehow find the power to leave. Thankfully Helen knows that way out, we almost float towards the exit. Through the museum fever our brains seem to have shut down all conscious thought and we silently manage to drift towards the exit and back into the real world. Still in a trance like state we must be careful of the busy street. We cross the road safely and I turn to look back the V & A museum, it is simply sublime in size, a building devoted to human history. And that is just one of them too and by far not the largest, there are 100’s more out there larger and smaller. I wonder if there is much difference between them all? The worlds museums like the V & A, the Hermitage museum in St Petersburg, the Louvre, the Smithsonian, the Glyptothek, the Prado in Madrid ect… they all have there fair share of masterpieces or ancient artworks such as Egyptian sculpture. There are no clear differences between them. The museum is the centre of archiving all of human history; in order to shape the future we must possess the past. One is able to learn about all civilizations whether they are in the East or the West of the world. It is natural human progression. We are slowly evolving to be the perfect race.

    Interior monologue and narrative analysis of the British museum

    The first thing that comes to mind when approaching the main entrance of the British museum is the large number of people, though that is to be expected as for one it is the Easter holidays and two it is a beautiful sunny day, many people are basking in the sun on the grass. This is one of the main museums in the world so it is to be expected that plenty of tourists will migrate to the British museum; another thing that one notices is that a large number of the people walking around me are speaking a variety of different languages and upon looking around at the people I see all sorts of different ethnic groups. So why for example would a person from China go to see the British museum other than that they want to see the British museum. Maybe they are interested in seeing how the Chinese galley is portrayed. One would think that the reason they would come to Britain is to see Britain and its history not a collection of treasures from other cultures. Most people have access to these institutes in there own countries. Though maybe the museum is also an important tool for globalization as it is an institute in which one can freely learn about other cultures whether the culture or civilization is dead or alive.

    Before I enter the museum I find a place to perch myself and ponder on what I see and think before entering the museum. When I think of the name, ‘the British Museum’ I think… A museum of Britain, everything I want to know about British history will be in this magnificently large institute. But I know that inside there is a whole lot more than artefacts and artworks from Britain, but treasures from all across the world and from a range of different times. But then I suppose this is part of British history, especially the colonization of other nations and the acquisition of the treasures that were found, going to Africa for example and finding certain exotic new treasures from ancient civilizations that people did not know about, then bringing them back for the British people to admire and learn about. Other great museum centres are the same, the Louvre or the Vatican museums. In the colonial era one feels that the great European colonial nations such as Britain, France, Portugal, Spain, Germany, Denmark, the Netherlands, Russian, Sweden, Turkey, Italy and more were in a sort of colonial race to capture the most territories and enslave the most people. The museums that these great nations constructed (all around the same period of time), were used to store and display the treasures found in the new colonies. They were and to an extent still are today, colonial trophy cabinets. [ “Napoleon confiscated art objects by conquest and devised a grand plan for a unified French museum system as well as subsidiary museums elsewhere. The scheme collapsed with his defeat, but his conception of a museum as an instrument of national glory continued to stir the imagination of Europeans.” ][ Alexander Porter Edward and Alexander, Mary. Museums in Motion: An introduction to the History and Functions of the Museum, 2nd ed, 1907, p. 6.

    ] There have been many arguments that have been raging on for years for the colonial super powers to give the stolen treasures back to their rightful homes. The Greeks feel that the British should return their famous ancient sculptures from the Parthenon. But maybe it is time that these nations just let the water flow under the bridge, maybe they should get over the whole thing, who can say that the Greeks own them. They have been in London for 200 years now, not to say that the British own them because nobody really owns them, or everyone owns them. Museums should be far less politically charged, we must not forget the atrocities that have been caused in the past and we must learn from them. Although if one thinks about it like this; a stranger from a far comes to your home, kills 100 of your brothers, steels your possessions and then takes them to his far away home to present them for his brothers to see as trophies, then one can see why the people of the Benin bronzes would like there artworks to be returned home. Cases all vary from different stories and events, we must take them all into account and make wise decisions for the sake of the future.

    But today museums are widely seen as a cultural history lesson in one building. With that, people are able to go to any national museum or smaller ones that are not found in world capitals and not only learn about the nation in which the museum stands but more prominently about other nations and long lost civilizations. The idea of the museum as an educational institute is an amazing thing which we have in our society, we are so lucky. This enables us as humankind to learn and progress. Why do we have history lessons in our schools? The ultimate answer is to learn from and take advantage of past successes and to make sure that we do not make the same mistakes of previous kingdoms and nations.

    This is what springs to mind before even entering the museum, just by standing outside, looking and thinking about the whole museum discourse. Of course one must note here that although exclaiming the opposite above, there are a wide a variety of randomly themed museums on the planet for example the museum of toilettes, the chocolate museum or the paper museum. For nearly everything that man has invented, achieved or lived; everything in our world, we have a museum on. As mentioned above we have institutions in which we can learn and document, everything in our world, slowly we can progress and the invention of the museum is an essential institute for mankind to be able to do this. This is another meaning for museum fever the need to obsessively put everything in the museum, or the need to order everything around us in the most compulsive way possible. One common human instinct is the fear of the unknown, we must know everything. So we organise all we know and place it in an institute, the museum, the museum fever is also a natural way of ordering the world in order to know it, rule it and not to fear it.

    Another interesting point that one notices is the amount of people taking photographs; I assume many people will take photographs of the treasures inside the museum. But many people are photographing the outside of the museum. It is a beautiful building and it is a tourist hot spot. People are here to see the British museum as well as if not more so than the treasures inside. Photography is a museum in itself, the logging of moments caught in time. I wonder how many photographs will be used in the exhibits, does that even count though? A photograph of something is not enough, as it is not the something. We want to be able to see the actual treasure that we might have come to see. Especially today it is not enough as we are able to see everything through photography through the internet. So if photography is a museum then so is the internet. But is it really? As we are looking at a piece of photographic paper or a computer screen; so with that in mind this means that we do not only go to the museum institute to learn but also for our visual aesthetic pleasure, we want to see the craftsmanship put into the ancient devices that people with out our technology were able to create.

    As I walk up to the entrance I take a second to sit under the gigantic pillars 30 to 40 metres high, one feels dwarfed by human history and civilization, intimidated almost. What is my part in history? Will I even have a part in this story? Or will I be lost in the ether of seven billion other people. Maybe just by existing and living I’m in the story. One day a pen that I once used; or a phone will be in a museum cabinet as documentation of 2010. Going back to photography, maybe that is a sub-conscious reason as to why we take photographs, one day long after our death they will be found. A young man studying museums in the future will be writing about the primitive television that I once watched. Although we do already have documentation of recent times in museums today, the science museum in London for example has a timeline going from the beginning to the end of the 20th century. It is quite an odd feeling to see a generic item that you once owned on display in a museum cabinet, the museum of childhood has a Playstation games console which so many people quite recently had in their front rooms, now only ten years after its invention it is nearly obsolete and archived on display in the museum.

    Please donate to the museum, I am asked. Entry is free but the first thing the museum asks of me is to give it some money. Inside one of many donation boxes one can see there is a fair amount of money, but hardly enough to pay for a handful of the staff working here. I sit beside the box for a while to see how many people will give money and in that instant a man drops a ten pound note. Then a group of about six adolescents start dropping their spare change in the box. The museum asks for American Dollars, Euros, or English pounds. Considering how many people are entering the museum not too many are giving money, although I think the museum makes more than enough money through private donations and other such funds like the national lottery. I decide that is time to move on, I have no idea which way I should go so my legs take me where my eyes are looking which is straight ahead, though there were corridors to my left and right I see a book shop and what looks like a Japanese gallery room. I am already starting to feel slightly overwhelmed by the hugeness of the museum, I fear the museum fever will overtake me at some point and I have not even seen an exhibit yet.

    I enter into the great court, and it is great. A massive glass ceiling circles the reading room which is a massive turret with a large stair case maybe three metres across climbing up the huge turret of the reading room. The glass ceiling is quite close to the shape of a black hole, I wonder if the architect Lord Foster did this on purpose. One could imagine that the whole of the museum discourse is like a black hole. The museum eventually and gradually sucks all and everything into it, only for everything to be lost forever in the strange world of the museum. Nobody really knows what is on the other side of the black hole or even if there is another side, but what we are quite sure of is that whatever goes inside it will be destroyed and sent into oblivion. When something is found and then placed into the black hole of the museum its meaning is destroyed along with its primary function, (apart from the majority of visual functions, which is objects that were built purely for being looked at). Yes it is lost in the glass cabinets along side other curiosities. But it is interesting to know that these things that people once used are still today being used, only that the designs and materials are slightly different; the original functions are still the same for example an ancient Athenian coin.

    Sitting here in the great court is very pleasant, listening to the distant echoes of peoples voices, even the sound of screaming children is somehow harmonized by this wonderful room. But this is the common trap of the museum, it relaxes one and then before one knows it the museum fever is closer than one thought. I want to get up to see something but feel myself procrastinating; this is an early symptom of the museum fever. I see a map of the museum on a large plinth. Looking at that puts me off getting up even more as I know that I will not fully understand the directions the she is attempting to give me. Until I remember the best way to do these large museums. Something Valery once said and something I have already done; the best time I ever had in one of these large museums was in the national portrait gallery a month or so ago when on entering I decided that I would choose four or five of paintings only and sit in front of them for as long as I wanted. This worked very well apart from people walking in my way, but there is nothing one can do about this problem. This is the best way to do a museum visit. But not everyone has that privilege, if they are visiting the museum from a far away land then they only really have the opportunity to see the site that once and they are primarily here to see the museum more than what is inside the museum. Off the top of my head I think of what I would like to see, something that I know they will have in mass abundance, Greek and Roman art would be nice today and I will try and pick just a few objects to concentrate on. But right now I must confront this map. To my delight I find what I am looking for in an instant, but now to realise where I have to go. Number six, green, ok so where is that? I find number six but it is in purple, ancient Egypt. Look again at the key, maybe it is numbers 69- 73 on the upper and lower floors it tells me, but this map is titled for the ground floor, museum fever is near, I can feel it I will have to guess.

    I head off to what I hope will be the Greek and Roman art. I walk around and quickly find what I seek, although I ignorantly walk through the ancient Egypt gallery with barely a moment’s appreciation. Nevertheless I am here to see Greece and Rome, I am lucky enough to be able to come back here another day for Egypt. Before even noticing the beauty of the sculptures I firstly notice that the museum is telling me not to touch the treasures. I suppose if everyone who came here touched the work then eventually the sculptures would be worn away by the sweat and grit of London from people’s hands. But I am selfish and arrogant enough to know that one touch of Meleger’s face will not hurt him. Wait for the moment when the museum guards turn their backs away… The marble face is so smooth, my heart skips a beat and I feel a connection of some sort, like I am absorbing the sculpture through my fingers. Who was Meleger anyway? I read the short statement in which to some up the long historical story of this fine piece of craftsmanship. He was a Roman hero who took part in a bear hunt. I feel robbed for some reason, I feel like they are missing a huge part of which this man was, one understands that they have to keep the blurbs short for practical reasons but surly they could add a little something. Although short blurbs are part of the causes of the museum fever, reading every single piece of dwindled down information is enough to force a persons head to implode.

    This room is quite small and the number of sculptures in here are small too which is a good thing, but they are large sculptures, to add more here would surpass even the most arrogant of curators the who tend to turn the usually large amount of beautiful treasures into clutter. The care and detail in which these sculptures were crafted never ceases to amaze me. I move on to look at an imposing sculpture of Dionysos, the God of whine, although he his rather sober looking his right arm is missing. It looks like the arm was probably raised up towards the sky. For some reason the damage to these sculptures add something to their beauty. Maybe it is a reminder of their mortality, although they are in a virtually immortal place now, one day probably long after humans are gone, they too will disappear. Maybe it is to remind us of the far superior age of the ancient works of art. They were born long before I was and they will die long after I am gone. But also in looking at the open womb one can see the flesh of the exposed rock, this reminds me that this work is part of the earth, like I am so in that sense maybe that is why I felt the connection when touching Meleger.

    Time to move on, I want to go into the room ahead of me but I see ancient Syria and Turkey instead, this is quite confusing, I quickly walk in and see signs to my left and right for Rome and Greece. This seems randomly placed in the middle of the Greek and Roman sections, but I suppose the Romans were greatly influenced by Greek art and the Greeks were greatly influenced by Syrian, Turkish and Egyptian art too. Also it is interesting to think that when the Greeks were learning and admiring the Egyptian art objects, they were as far away from the Egyptians as we are from the Greeks today. Cautiously, I walk back into the original room and think of where to find more of what I want to see, I see a sign saying that the Greek and Roman art continues downstairs, so I head in that direction. Great the galley is closed. Well at least that makes my choice easier. Some say that the way in which museum routes are laid out are too formal and too restricting, actually the museums where one can walk where ever one pleases do not work as well. Ok there is more sense of freedom, but there does not seem to be any structure. The way the Natural history museum is formatted in London is how it should be one wing represents one thing and one another thing. So you know exactly what you are looking for and where to find it. When walking around places like the Tate modern for example one gets lost, confused and this is another great way for the museum fever to get you. If you spend the whole time trying to decipher where to go then why bother at all? The museum was built for documentation and educational purposes. For that reason I am finding the British museum quite frustrating at the moment.

    I walk past Dionysos and Meleger again and head up about six steps into the world of Alexander. Apollo is standing in front of me, I do like the way that he is placed at the top of the stairway so he is peering down on all looking at him. Now to my left is cabinets of hundreds of terracotta sculptures. This is my worst nightmare, I have no idea which one to concentrate on there is far too many objects here. I can understand why they have so many on display, but I think they should have less and have a common rotation of all that relates to this chapter in the story of Greece. Anyway I will attempt to find one piece and focus on it for a minute or so, which is all I can stand, the other pieces will be looked at by many others. Maybe that is why so much is on view so many different people can see a few different items each and enjoy them for themselves. I see a small figure of an elderly looking man maybe nine inches high, he is gazing up at the sky in a noble fashion with his right arm raised. He is exquisite in detail, very well crafted. He looks plump, slightly over weight but somehow muscular at the same time. The blurb says that he is made of terracotta perhaps made in Boeotia which is in central Greece about 230-200 BC.

    “The realistic modelling of the body and strong characterization of the face have led to suggestions that the figure represents Socrates,” The great philosophers of ancient Greece are almost as important as the Gods. One could say that they were more important as they have had such an important impact on the way we live our lives today.

    Well my eyes quickly scan the room of the other treasures and I soon think it is time again to move on. Until I see a man drawing some of the terracotta works, I sneak a look at the drawing it is not too good, maybe he is just taking down a quick documentation for something later, it is accurate enough but is not finished in any way. Drawing something is the best way to get to know what something really looks like, especially if one spends a large amount of time on the drawing. As a keen draftsman I can say for sure that to get to know and appreciate an object at its fullest potential one must sit down and draw it, until one has accurately portrayed through the act of looking and putting pen to paper the object. One will never see the same objet again in the same way, there are always details that one will notice more so than others. Once upon a time a Greek man sat down and drew a plan of the sculpture, maybe this man is recreating the work, or maybe just finding inspiration for his own original work.

    I move into the next room, the Mausoleum of Halikarnassos. This room is very nice, a large open hall, surrounded by wall carvings for the kings hopes of the afterlife. One imagines that the original tomb was much larger than this room but it is interesting how the curators have layed out this room, it is almost like they were intending to recreate the mausoleum. At the back are three colossal awe inspiring sculptures a large horse, which originally stood on the roof of the 40 metre high mausoleum. In front of the horse is a man and a women about six metres high, towering imposingly over anyone who sits on the benches beside which I am on. I sit down and find piece again in the museum, admiring the beauty of these ancient works of art, the large room has quietened down and I feel like I am in my element. One could sit down here until the muscles in my backside go dead. I see another young man in front of me appreciating the same moments in time. But the piece is shattered once again, by the museum. I feel like she is teasing and taunting me, I almost want her to just give me the fever now so I can give up my journey, go home and rest myself. She has shoved a bumbling group of around 30 elderly tourists all speaking Japanese and not quietly. One sits right next to me almost in a passive attempt to shove me off the bench. I slide up to allow a bit of space but now I am surrounded by them. The leader of the group is holding a red flower of some kind up the air I guess in order to keep his flock following him. I can see that he loves the power and attention, his little black moustache flicking up and down like a dog wagging its tail erratically. I sit there refusing to give up my spot and wait for them to leave, they should not be more than five minutes. Thanks to the size of the sculptures I can still see the top quarters of them both, they do not look happy here.

    I have the museum fever, but am trying my best to overcome it for the sake of this interior monologue. I walk through a history of Athens, pottery and Greek metal works without paying much attention to anything, I have all the usual symptoms, my feet are aching, back and my eyes. I have been here for a good four hours now, I’ve run out of the supplies I brought with me and lost two pens due to ink loss. I’ve drank all the water I have, but sweated out more than the intake. My throat is so dry that I feel as if I was to eat anything I would not have the saliva to swallow and could possibly choke to death. But I keep moving, there must be more here that will captivate me before I attempt to leave.

    Where am I now, Cyprus? I am officially lost, how will I get out of here I wonder. Could always retrace my steps, hopefully I wont be ushered deeper into the museum by a stampede of Japanese tourists. I stumble through a corridor with nothing on the walls and nothing to display. They are coloured black or dark blue and up a gentle slope I find myself back into the room with the ancient Syrian and Turkish monuments and realize myself, I gather my sense of direction and look towards where the exit is, I look into the other direction two large doors take me even deeper into the abyss, I am an explorer just like everybody else here, (though not the best one, I have the museum fever or vertigo). I push the large heavy doors open and see an elderly lady approaching me, she must have been trapped in here for years, I feel like showering her where the exit is but instead I hold the door open for her but fail miserably, it hits the side of her gently as I am putting the last of my strength into stopping the door, it could crush us both. Thankfully the man with her also grabs the door. He seems to easily be able to hold it open, although he used both hands then with one hand on the door he uses the other to usher me through. I timidly, embarrassingly smile at him and walk through. I need to get out of here, but I am through the doors now. To my right and left are two more corridors. I look down to my right and then to my left but decide to move straight ahead.

    It is magnificent… the Parthenon, I had forgotten about this. I walk in wide eyed and lean against the back wall, I have reached the top of Everest. It is beautiful utterly beautiful. The way the curators have successfully installed the works here is near perfection, one can imagine the room itself as almost a modern version of the Parthenon, this is a place of worship and people come here to worship these sculptures. At this point I had the word muse in my head, the Parthenon was originally built as a place of worship for Athena the Goddess of wisdom, now the sculptures are in a museum. The museum is civilizations muse, we worship her, we adore her, love her, constantly give to her and learn from her. This is a heavenly part of the museum almost un-earthly. The work is placed around shoulder height which means that we are looking up at the works and we should look up to them. The number of works here are perfect. Should they be returned to Greece? No, they have found a timeless home here in the museum, millions of people can come and appreciate them for free and they are not for the Greeks, they are for everyone.

    I feel quite satisfied with that, although I am on a museum fever hangover, it is a trek back home and I cannot wait to get there, I give a small donation on my way out.

    Museum Fever (myōō-zē'əm fē'vər) n. 1. being in the mental or physical state of having museum fever. 2. experiencing abnormally irritating head aches, back, and foot aches, hunger, thirst and tiredness, which is also accompanied by a faster than normal pulse rate, the overwhelming urge to rest due to the museum day trip, especially with large museums. 3. intense excitement in favour of the museum day trip. 4. the museum fever of a nation, cities and towns building numbers of new museums and constantly expanding the sizes of collections and the size of the museum.

    Bibliography

    Adorno, Theodor. ‘Letter to Benjamin,’ in Art in Theory 1900-2000 An Anthology of Changing Ideas, ed. Charles Harrison & Paul Wood, Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2003.

    Alexander Porter, Edward and Alexander, Mary. Museums in Motion: An introduction to the History and Functions of the Museum, 2nd ed, Plymouth: AltaMira Press, 1907.

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  • ___________________

    The Evolution of Seeing:

    New Media, Aura & the Uncanny, Photographic Technology & the Future

    ___________________

    The Evolution of Seeing:

    The Uncanny Love Affair, Between Painting, Photography and technology

    New media

    The invention of photography has proved to be one of the most significant in our short history. This machine has changed our perceptions of the world in a variety of ways, for good and for bad and surely will continue to have an effect on things to come as the technology of seeing evolves. It has changed our visual perceptions of the world but has certainly had the most astounding impact on the art world. Since the invention of the camera one of the main challenges for the artist must have been to imagine new ways of seeing the world and in realizing this, new ways of creating their artworks.

    “Francis Bacon…. So many things have happened since Velasquez that the situation has become much more involved and much more difficult, for very many reasons. And one of them, of course, which has never actually been worked out, is why photography has altered completely this whole thing of figurative painting, and totally altered it….

    David Sylvester: In a positive as well as a negative way?

    FB: I think in a very positive way. I think that Velasquez believed that he was recording the court at that time and recording certain people at that time; but a really good artist today would be forced to make a game of the same situation….”[ Francis Bacon (1910-1992) Interview with david Sylvester in Art in Theory 1900-2000: An Anthology of Changing Ideas, ed. Charles Harrison & Paul Wood, Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2003. p 638]

    Although in Les Meninas Velasquez did in fact make a game of the painting by reversing the traditional format of portrait painting. For the first time, instead of seeing the portrait of the commissioners, (at least in full view) we see what one would imagine is going on behind the traditional portrait scene; the family, the painter working and other various narratives being drawn. Velasquez has painted a scene, which is looking at a scene in which itself is a scene. The paradox is joyful to look at and fun to discover.

    Before photography was invented[ Or at least before photography was a widely spread invention in the hands of many people.] painters mainly were concerned with depicting the world around them (or a as Francis Bacon put it “recording”). Portraits, landscapes and the depictions of religious or mythological stories were the main focus of attention. But when photography was invented, suddenly the painter’s position was under threat (or seemed to be under threat)[ Important to note here that a camera also has the capacity to produce the religious or mythological scene; just look at movies like “The Passion of the Christ” or photographs like “Sermon on the Mount” by Elisabeth Ohlson Wallin]. So painters started experimenting in new ways and thus, after time, impressionism was born. This was the first real step towards non figurative and modern painting. Although it was not as clear cut as that, there were a few exceptions to this idea. El Greco, Goya and later on Turner painted in highly original ways. Honorè Daumier was another and he was one of the main influences to impressionism and like many of the impressionists his work was not fully appreciated in his life time. Mainly because what they were doing was trying to capture the impression of a landscape or a portrait. This was new and all through history people question the new[ Later on we will touch more on the subject of the new, with advances in technology and think about new medias, whether or not they can be defined as art, where do we draw the line? Do we need to draw a line?], this is how we progress as humans there are good and bas ideas. One imagines that painting would have moved away from merely recording images at some point, photography simply accelerated that transition by being more efficient than a painter.

    Artists made a game. They started to look for new ways of seeing things; this was partly a subconscious decision, painting evolved and progressively photography helped painters to become far more expressionistic and experimental with their ideas. After impressionism other great movements came about, Cubism, Surrealism, Abstract Expressionist, plenty of different artistic movements were born. Today many artists use photography not only as a way of creating artwork but as a tool, taking photographs and using them as reference points or juxtaposing photographs with paint or other medias, as we see with artist works like Richard Hamilton’s collages. But did it work the other way round? Did painting help photography? Of course it did. As Susan Sontag explains in her book “On Photography, Susan Sontag” [ Sontag, Susan. ‘Susan Sontag On Photography’: ‘Melancholy Objects’, 1979, London, Penguin Books, p94-95]

    “The other important aspect of the relationship between painting and photography immediately started expanding, as some photographers refused to be confined to turning out those ultra- realistic triumphs with which painters could not compete. Thus, of the two famous inventors of photography, Daguerre never conceived of going beyond the naturalist painter’s range of representation, while Fox Talbot immediately grasped the camera’s ability to isolate forms which normally escape the naked eye and which painting had never recorded. Gradually photographers joined in the pursuit of more abstract images….”

    Abstract photography, is essentially reality abstracted. Edward Weston’s Cabbage Leaf of 1931 is a prime example which Sontag also uses. It is a quite beautifully abstracted photograph one might not know what the image was, only after a certain amount of observation one would realise, or once one has read the title. Another is Man Rays Rayographs, these are quite surreal images. Almost ex-ray views of what seems like everyday objects. Stripping away the outside of the items to reveal a fragile exposed ghostly skeletal inside. Photography can conceive of images which are just not possible for the human eye to produce, and in a quite different way to painting. With a painting one can recognise the paint on the canvas, all it really is, is a series of shapes and colours which make up an image. With a photograph one must be aware that the image has gone through a mechanical/chemical process. Images could be imagined in a darkened room, twilight sky or in our dreams for example. This is what the human imagination can naturally perceive. A camera’s eye can mechanically alter what we see through our natural eye by enlarging, zooming, lightening, darkening, fast forwarding, slowing down, widening. Today, with cameras we can see in the dark with night vision or see as a snake might do with infra red vision. Photography is merely another media for the artist to work with. What is so different about abstract photography is that the photographer is taking a photograph of something which is existing, and placing it in a window which is also like a time capsule and manipulating what we know as the real. But photography has always had trouble in terms of, is it an art form? Well in today’s world most things are and photography (especially black and white analogue) is seen as not only an art form but a rather traditional art form. But this was only formally accepted as a true form of creating artwork when photography was accepted into galleries as artwork in its own right. Originally photography was suppose to document what the camera sees. But the images produced were visually appealing and gradually became more appreciated as images in their own right, to be aesthetically admired.

    In 1924 Osip Brik, in his dogmatic essay, “Photography versus Painting”; explains that when photography has evolved into producing colour images it will push painting aside completely. But strangely when colour photography did come about, yes it was a revolutionary invention but as an art form many photographers still preferred monochrome. It is the same for the new digital era of photographic art. Computers have managed to make the process even quicker, even more efficient and even cheaper than it already was. We have the ability to manipulate an image or a moving image by computer, there is really no limit to what one can create. So why do photographers still mostly opt for the dark room? “…prefer to submit themselves to a cruder, less high-powered machine being thought to give more interesting or expressive results, to leave more room for the creative accident. Not using fancy equipment has been a point of honor for many photographers…”[ Sontag, Susan. ‘Susan Sontag On Photography’: ‘Photographic Evangels’, 1979, London, Penguin Books, p124] If we can create magical images by means of modern technology why do we still paint too? There is something quite special about watching a piece of photographic paper being transformed in a tray of developer, the image (if the correct exposure time has been allowed) will slowly and systematically appear on the paper, one can smell the chemicals and get ones hands wet there is still that sense of the fingerprint in analogue photography and the same in a painting, this is such an important part of the creative process, one must have that sense of the craftsmanship in the work, it is in this that we feel the human input in art, as viewers we can see and appreciate that someone has made this image. In a Giacometti sculpture we can see the sculpting and the struggle in which the artist went through in order to create his works, in Turner’s paintings we can see where he has used his fingernails to illustrate certain lines, unintentionally Turner left fingerprints in the pools of paint. The sense of disappointment one gets when admiring and analysing an image and then coming to discover that the artist did not actually paint the image is startling, for example in Jeff Koon’s Popeye series there are a number of paintings in a collage like style, painted in a photorealistic way, these are quite beautiful images but when one comes to learn that they were not painted by the artist, that sense of appreciation disappears. The same goes for the computer, an image may have been perceived, imagined by the artist but not executed by the artist. The machine had a cold and mechanical element about it, essentially inhuman. But then it could be argued that the machine was built by humans.

    Aura & the Uncanny

    One of the main arguments against the machine or new media is the lack of truth. A painting is a person’s impression and feelings of the times shown, there is a sense of honesty because it has the artist’s fingerprint, craftsmanship, originality or an aura. Today we are bombarded with photographically manipulated images mostly in advertisements, with computer programs like Photoshop, companies have the ability to make an image look, supposedly perfect. For example when they airbrush a model’s face for an anti-bacterial cream. These images are not natural and therefore not real. Although a surreal painting is the opposite of real that is the point of this movement, whereas these airbrushed advertisements are essentially forging the truth. In the art world digital artists and even photographic traditionalists lack a certain degree of recognition because although some images are visually pleasing they all seem to lack something that a painting does not, the personal touch and with that comes aura.

    “Even with the most perfect reproduction, one thing stands out: the here and now of the work of art- its unique existence in the place where it is at this moment. But it is on that unique existence and on nothing else that the history has been played out to which during the course of its being it has been subject. That includes not only the changes it has undergone in its physical structure over the course of time; it also includes the fluctuating conditions of ownership through which it may have passed. The trace of the former will be brought to light only by chemical or physical analysis that cannot be carried out on a reproduction; that of the latter forms the object of a tradition, pursuit of which has to begin from the location of the original.

    The here and now of the original constitutes the abstract idea of its genuineness… Through photography, for instance, it is able to bring out aspects of the original that can be accessed only by the lens (adjustable and selecting its viewpoint arbitrarily) and not by the human eye, or it is able to employ such techniques as enlargement or slow motion to capture images that are quite simply beyond natural optics….”[ Benjamin, Walter. ‘The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction’’: 2008, London, Penguin Books, p5-6],[ One must point out that although the main focus of this quote is on the photographic reproduction of a painting we must focus our attention to the way that Benjamin talks about the lack of authorship in the reproduction as this is linked to photography as an art form and not just as a tool of wide spread reproduction. It is clear at this stage that the photographic reproduced image of a painting is in no way comparable to the original. ]

    ‘Beyond natural optics’. This is highlighted because of the uncanny feeling that one gets when one is being photographed. Is it un-natural to be able to see beyond natural optics? First of all we will discuss the uncanny surrounding the camera. Roland Barthes explains that when he is about to be photographed he must pose. Everyone has this feeling, if a photographer is prowling the streets and one feels the camera’s mechanical eye over one’s being, a person will exaggerate their stance and pretend not to notice, attempting to move naturally into a pose. Some people cannot stand being photographed, maybe because they know the camera does not lie and want to be looking their absolute best or maybe it is something deeper than that? Balzac according to Félix Nadar in Susan Sontag on photography had a strange and uncanny but interesting idea. “everybody in its natural state was made up of a series of ghostly images superimposed in layers to infinity, wrapped in infinitesimal films…. Man never having been able to create, that is to make something material from an apparition, from something impalpable, or to make from nothing, an object- each Daguerreian operation was therefore going to lay hold of, detach, and use up one of the layers of the body on which it focused.” [ Sontag, Susan. ‘Susan Sontag On Photography’: ‘The Image World’, 1979, London, Penguin Books, p158]

    This metaphor may seem very superstitious but it relates back to the idea of the uncanny, some questions cannot be answered. Sometimes we are capable of getting the answer to how but not the answer to why. There is certainly something uncanny about what a photograph does, it is a moment that once took place, and is now frozen in time, it is an image of a real thing but at the same time (like a painting) it is not, it is paint on a canvas or chemicals on light sensitive paper, it is a wonderful paradox. As mentioned above if one ever gets to experience a photograph being developed in a tray of developer in the dark room, it is quite a magical experience; the image will slowly fade in. So do we have the same feelings when being painted as we do when we are being photographed? If one discovers that an artist is drawing you without your knowledge in the underground or at a beach for example then one would have to say yes, in some ways it is even more intrusive, as the artist is analysing and scrutinising every part of the body over a period of time whereas the camera just clicks in an instant. Though the thing to note here is that the drawing or painting is the artist’s impression or feeling whereas the camera is simply capturing one moment in time. The artist is using his skills and his tools; the photographer is using his machine to take your picture, and to take a piece of you.

    There are always explanations for the uncanny. Why do people get that self conscious feeling when being looked at? When someone takes a photograph of us there is a distinct sense of an invasion of privacy, when we make eye contact on the street we tend to look away uncontrollably, but with a photograph we have the security of looking at someone without them knowing about it and without any risk of being caught. When a person has had a photograph taken of them unwillingly they can immediately feel violated, like their personal space has been invaded. When one looks at another person, all he or she knows is what one sees and thinks, this is quite a normal feeling though, everyday we make eye contact with strangers, but when a person has a camera and takes your photograph they have a piece of you and they have stolen that piece. Usually when someone is photographing they ask permission or one knows the person as a friend or family member.[ Broadly speaking when one is being photographed we tend to feel ok about it, but at the moment of the camera clicking and after the photograph has been taken, we always want to see the picture. People tend to look at themselves and think “I look horrible” or “take it again I blinked.” This is part of the uncanny. ] One would willingly give them permission to photograph. The fact that some photographers do ask for a person’s permission to take their picture says a lot in itself. One is basically asking “can I look at you?” or “can I document you visually in order to study you later?” Though one imagines that if by being honest and asking those questions one would not get many photographs. But it was like an unwritten law that we should ask permission to photograph people. Today there are certain laws against photography. For instance photographers have been challenged when photographing certain things like a police officer or any other sort of security officer. But generally in Britain we are free to photograph whoever we want where ever we want.

    The phrase “don’t judge a book by its cover” is there because we often do judge books by their covers, it is how we view the world, we see and we think. Jean- Paul Satre’s perception of viewing, seeing things, is always external. The opposite to Descartes who came up with the idea “Cogito ergo sum, (I think, therefore I am)”, this can be seen as a being in the head, (we are our brains our bodies are our outer shells) separated from all outside, echoing how the camera obscura works. Satre takes the being out of the head and places it into the world; everything is everything it is the here and now. We’re never alone inside our heads. Hence expressions like “my ears are burning”, a sudden feeling that someone is talking about oneself, for no apparent reason. Or the amount of times that one may randomly turn to look somewhere and out of the blue discover another’s eyes meeting your own. Someone is watching me, but in today’s modern world that someone could be in another country across a sea and a continent on your Facebook.com webpage. Satre has taken the camera obscura out of the head and replaced it on the outside with a camera. A famous movie star for example who has their photographs all over the place, must at no point be alone, someone somewhere is always looking at a photograph of them. This is expanding to people everywhere now with the global networking websites such as “Facebook.com” or “Myspace.com”. It can be seen as a yearning for attention or 15 minutes of fame as Andy Warhol put it. So Satre has turned seeing, from the camera obscura to the camera. Today we are in the world but we are surrounded by billions of images of the world. Essentially one can see anything just by clicking a button on the internet. But then we have the problem, what are we actually seeing? A picture of the pyramids for example or are we looking at someone’s photograph of the Pyramids on a computer screen or a piece of paper with ink. When one sees an image of something and then actually goes to see that something it is quite a different experience. Satre talks about seeing as being in the world, seeing is being, when we see the pyramids we can touch them, feel the heat of Egypt, hear the wind and smell the smell. This is why painting and analogue photography has that advantage over the digital new media. Through this way of seeing we get the palpable sense of the aura around seeing things. The artists fingerprint, we can see texture or see mistakes, smell the paint or the chemicals, one can feel the process of craftsmanship.

    This idea of looking through the key hole that Satre brings up in his essay on phenomenological ontology called “the Look” has strong connotations to looking through the lens of a camera. In Alfred Hitchcock’s 1954 movie “Rear Window”, the main character, a photographer named Jeff has a broken leg and is confined to his wheelchair in his apartment, he spends all of his time watching over the neighbourhood and getting to know the people around simply by watching. When one day he sees something that leads him to suspects one of the neighbours has committed murder. He uses a camera to spy on the suspect in order to build evidence and capture him. There is one moment half way through when his assistant, Stella (Thelma Ritter) says to Jeff “Mind if I use that portable key hole?” referring to the camera. The idea that when one is looking through the key hole, one is able to look with out being looked at, for Satre this could be seen (in some instances) as jealousy. But there are more reasons for this, curiosity, or boredom perhaps. Why would one want to look through a key hole in the first place? It could be for a rather seedy reason, attempting to spy on a loved one or a lusted one. When one is taking photographs of people without their consent it is quite a similar scenario. ‘Snap’, and one will look later on without that person’s consent. As mentioned before Satre also says that we see with other parts of us like our ears. “But all of a sudden I hear footsteps in the hall. Someone is looking at me!”[ Satre, Jean Paul. ‘Being and Nothingness’: ‘The Look’: ‘An Essay on Phenomenological ontology: 1943, London, Routledge, 1991, p260] If one hears a mechanical click or sees a flash one immediately becomes aware almost paranoid, did someone just photograph me? Now we see with the aid of machines too. What if the person being photographed looks down the lens of the camera, they look directly into your eyes through the lens, but there is no door to hide behind and you have heard the footsteps, “I see myself because somebody sees me…”[ Satre, Jean Paul. ‘Being and Nothingness’: ‘The Look’: ‘An Essay on Phenomenological ontology: 1943, London, Routledge, 1991, p260] Satre exclaims. This can be an easy answer to the self consciousness of human psyche. But if we think about it in a primordial way, humans are attracted to potential mates (first of all by sight) hence the phrase “love at first sight”, obviously after that one discovers more about the potential mate by talking and then works out whether or not he or she is suitable to bear children with, (in the most romantic way possible.) So that is why we may feel self-conscious or self-aware, not only most of the time but especially when we are looked at. That person looking may also be of some kind of a threat to our safety, this is also primordial. In a more philosophical way the camera has connotations as a weapon, especially the gun. In looking at the language surrounding the camera we say ‘aim’, ‘shoot’ and we stand there waiting ‘to be shot’ like we are standing in front of a firing squad. Also if we want to photograph something we would conventionally say, take a picture. We are taking the picture not making or creating. So when the photographer has taken your picture he has taken something from you. Our eyes are view points, a scope for a gun, or the lens of a camera.

    Page 123 in “Susan Sontag On Photography”; “…is that it implicitly denies that picture-taking is in anyway an aggressive act. That it can be so described makes most professionals extremely defensive. Cartier-Bresson and Avedon are among the very few to have talked honestly (if ruefully) about the exploitative aspects of the photographer’s activities. Usually the photographers feel obliged to protest photography’s innocence, claiming that the predatory attitude is incompatible with a good picture, and hoping that a more affirmative vocabulary will put over their point.”[ Sontag, Susan. ‘Susan Sontag On Photography’: ‘Photographic Evangels’, 1979, London, Penguin Books, p123]

    In some sense one must agree with the idea of predatory attitude being incompatible with a good picture. Just look at the photographs taken by Diane Arbus, Arbus made friends with many of the people she photographed and did not want her work to be known as the freak show, although it has on occasions been labelled as that. However some great photographs have been taken through history with the predatory attitude or by looking through the key hole. Walker Evans New York subway portraits were photographs taken from inside his coat with a shutter release running down his sleeve. These are a documentation of life on the inside of a carriage in a train in the subway from the perspective, not of the photographer but of another passenger. What is key to note here is that as the camera was concealed the people being photographed are completely oblivious to that fact, one imagines they would not even hear the loud mechanical clicking of the camera as the noise of the New York subway would have concealed that. There are photographs of people sleeping, people in a day dream, even one of a couple who appear to be staring straight at the camera. These people would certainly have acted completely differently if Evans were to take the camera out and photograph them. This is a very predatory and almost creepy, seedy, stalker like mentality, even more so than the snap shots of most photographers. But one must wonder why this predatory attitude is even related to photography. Robert Doisneau’s photographs of the Parisian Café taken in 1969 shows a man attempting to talk to a pretty young woman who is clearly not interested, the man looks rather seedy in the way he is seated next to the women. These two people do not know each other. Doisneau in the predatory photographers way takes out his camera and snaps this moment in time, both people are un aware. This photograph essentially is showing a lie, people would read into it thinking one thing but it actually means another. The man in the photograph actually took Doisneau to court and the women joined him. They both said that the photograph is not an accurate portrayal of them; this was a false identification of who they are. The man is a normal respectable guy but is shown to be a rather crude character, the women is a school teacher and was also offended by her part in the photograph. This is another argument for the lack of truth in photography. Through history there must have been paintings with the same sort of scenario being played out, but there is a big difference between a photograph and a painting. People would look at the painting and feel the representation of the artist’s mood, whereas with the photograph this is suppose to be a documentation of life created in an artistic manner.

    Doisneau’s court case can also be linked to Balzac’s more superstitious views on photography. What Doisneau has created in this and many other photographs is created a false outer layer that Balzac speaks of. He has created an untrue narrative of the people depicted as have many photographers through history; the Diane Arbus’s works are commonly known as freak photographs. Although this was not her intentions, but that is the effect of the camera. Her intentions were to make the viewer feel a sense of sympathy for the people being photographed, but she has failed to do this.

    Photographic technology and the future

    With advancements in technology the camera is able to see things that the human eye could never dream of. Moholy-Nagy says “a psychological transformation of our eyesight” and as previously discussed above. Benjamin said, “it is beyond natural optics” referring to the camera. Today this has excelled even further. At the dawn of the digital revolution we now have high definition television, this is a truly strange phenomenon and now one is able to see too much detail. Colours and details are exaggerated to the point of being almost overwhelming to the viewer. Watching a HD television makes one feel that they are observing the hyper real. Through the HD camera we can make out every pore in a face, every bead of sweat and every strand of hair. Technology is advancing quicker and quicker, what could the next step be? So called three dimensional movies have been released and although crude looking now, they will no doubt improve in quality. Soon enough every house hold will have high definition three dimensional televisions. The next step will be virtual reality and what then? People might rather live in the virtual world rather than the real world. It has already begun in games over the internet where people create a simulation of themselves or a fictional character and can live their virtual life. This goes back to Freud’s wish fulfilment theory of dreams. We are all attempting to fulfil our wishes through a simulated game. This is dangerous as these games are addictive; people spend more time simulating their wishes than attempting to fulfil them in reality. Peoples perceptions of what is real or not will diminish, if they are happier in the game then why not vicariously live through their fictional gaming character.[ This is what pans out in the movie eXistenZ by David Cronenberg. A new virtual gaming system has been invented and people end up playing the game and living through the game more so than in real life. It spins out of control and finally they cannot discriminate between reality and fantasy.] Technology is improving our eyesight and not only by means of the camera but through wearing spectacles or contact lenses, people are now starting to have laser surgery and yet another step has been taken. Scientists are developing a microchip to be inserted into the retina which enables blind people to see again. This may be un ethical in some peoples eyes but there is nothing wrong with having glasses on so why not a micro chip in the retina? If this is acceptable then is it a good thing that HD television enables viewers to see more detail on television screens and in highly detailed photographs? Well going back to the question of the real, what we see through technology is in vision, it is all there our brains may not be capable of processing and perceiving the image in the same way that the camera will capture an image. Therefore cameras can benefit us in allowing us to see more as it enables us to know more about the world we live in. But in the same way as the camera enables that heightened sense of vision we are capable of achieving this without modern technology, just in a different way. Any artist knows that when drawing or painting, for example, a brick wall, that after a period of time observing the wall and really seeing it the wall will never be perceived in the same way again. All this technology is good in some ways but the main concern is that humans will learn to rely too much on technology. The machine enables us to do and see things which we could not easily access before. If the humans made the machine surely that is a naturally occurring instance, just as a monkey uses sticks to fish out ants from the ground we use different tools for eating and now different tools for seeing. It is in human nature to improve and mature so maybe in some ways technology is a very natural very human thing.

    With advances in technology, come advances in new media all available for artists to use as they see fit. But through history new media has always had problems in determining its existence in the art world. Why is this? Not simply that people are afraid of the new, but maybe afraid of the old being replaced. But this has not happened and will never happen. One of the main problems with new media (including when photography first came about) is that they all consist of the machine constructing the art work. Now we return to the question of authorship, the artist’s fingerprint and the aura of the artwork arises.

    But it is in Benjamin’s account of the reproduction of an image that we can relate this to photography and any other new media as an art form. It is an art form but it will never have that same aura as a painting it will never have that sense of the artist’s fingerprint in a work of art. This is not necessarily true. First of all some might argue that the reproduction of an image (especially the mass reproduction) can enlarge the aura of the original. For example the Mona Lisa is maybe one of the most famous artworks of all time. Thinking of the mass scale of the image being transcribed by other artists and mechanically reproduced, means that millions of people all over the world have been able to see the image of the Mona Lisa. The majority of visitors to the Louvre go straight to the Mona Lisa, stand there for a few minutes and then leave the museum. In this sense the aura of the Mona Lisa has surely been heightened by the reproduction of the image. And although photographs do not have that sense of the original they can still have that aura. Susan Sontag gives us the example of Eugene Atget, as his photographs were printed on now unobtainable photographic paper. But this aura could only exist with people that have been educated in this specific field, even people who know nothing about art still know of the Mona Lisa and could probably name the artist who painted it. One could think of a small number of famous photographs, “Migrant Mother” by Dorothea Lange, “Boy with a Toy Hand Grenade” by Diane Arbus, but even these are not well known outside of the art world, thinking of famously commercial photographs one might say the photo of man on the moon or the Hiroshima nuclear explosion. But they do not possess the same status as some famous paintings. But when one sees these photographs even without the previous knowledge of their existence there is still a sense of aura surrounding them. But only with old black and white photographs. The reason for this is that they are a glimpse into the past. They are moments caught in time. The camera could be seen as a time machine. It is also important to add that in a physical sense the photograph can have the upper hand when it comes to the aura. When a painting ages through time it will slowly decompose, this tends to bring the aesthetic value of the painting down. A photograph will last longer and actually when it begins to fade away causes a look like no painting after decomposing. The image slowly becomes misty and has the physical look of having a sort of aura around the image.

    Photography has completely changed the way we see the world and it continues to do so. The art world however has the ability to consume what we develop. It is in every human to create an image whether one is a practicing artist, in infancy we create in our school lessons, even when one is not aware of creating, for example when one is on the phone, with a pen and paper one may subconsciously be doodling. The old ways of creating artwork will always be around as they are a more human way of creating, liable to make mistakes and portray styles, ideas, opinions, the fingerprint in the artwork will always be in the more traditional way of making. We use tools such as a paint brush, a pen, or a printer. Is the camera a tool? Well in some ways the older analogue camera can be seen as a tool for creating as the machine still requires a certain amount of human intervention, especially with the chemical process of being in the darkroom. Whereas the modern day cameras are completely automatic in that all one needs to do is push a button. With computers and digital art, yes one could say that there is an element of aesthetic quality and skill in manipulating the image but it will always be via the restrictions of the machine. But it is in human nature to progress via what we create, and we are creating machines. The new advanced technologies we have around us are a form of new media and a new way of making art. Today they may be lacking that sense of authorship and the artist’s fingerprint. But tomorrow these machines will be traditional. We are moving towards an age where we one day would be able to speak into a microphone and describe the artwork one requires and a machine will automatically construct our ideas. Portraying and recording what we see has been in human nature since the dawn of man, from cave paintings to CCTV cameras. But with new, more accurate, faster and efficient ways of seeing the world, we must hold on to the older more traditional ways of making. This is our culture and this is how we know that we are human. We learn and we evolve. To let machines see the world for us would be a crime against what it is to be human.

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