A black rabbit
shape has been dropped in the nine yard box. Empty and destroyed plastic
thrown with varying degrees of talent from the road. Dead orchid by steel
railings
Generic Gardens' bus stop, grass verge. Cars pass, the bright blue sky pivots
on white poles. Clouds and aeroplanes rush east overhead. Suburbia coated
in different shades of grey stubble. Closed lives and doors. A taxi waits.
Walled gardens block out 7% sky and light. Bastard daisies rampage across
the public patches. Hot tar steams dark purple.
The artist evolves his painting according to the fluctuating blues and yellows
on the tower. This uncelebrated structure articulates some of his visual
ideas. Having painted from photographs of motorway mundacity, he favours
psychedelic colours, exaggerating and abstracting down to a more graphic
language. The utilisation of anonymous vinyl cutouts appeals. The traces
of previous people presence are the marks he means to record instead.
Arrogant but charismatic domination of landscape by BT tower. Off-white
drums tacked onto central column like scouts badges on a jumper. Fighting
to listen to your most awkward conversations, and find out the real reason
you didn't go to work today.
Ascend up stuttering ladders and rusted rings. Cut out rectangles for doors,
bright, cool, open onto 360 degree omniscience. Uniquely, everything apart
from the tower can be seen. Remnants of birds' bowels are curiously crunchy.
Dubious gaps in floor and enthusiastic use of black insulation tape. Redundant
satellites reserved in case of role in corporate brainwash or similar. New
and old drums await birth and death on the ground below, incomprehensibly
big and small.
Surveying the free and bound space from above, the clouds have stopped running
and cars slide through loops. Arbitrary angles of walls and hedges collude
with staggered heights of buildings to create the naivity of a low-fi CAD
drawing. Would sir like his custom-made Yorkshire vista in autumnal mahogany
or midsummer ochre?
The tower is manned by an ex-Butlins blue coat who fell in love and ever
since maintained the structure; envy of the town in summer, and butt of
jokes in winter. His boss, Reg, parades the ground level control room of
time machine buttons, dials and Safety At Work laminations, content in this
vacuum and his faded gameshow host charm.
Behind is a water tower, it's cool grey languid concrete hidden by an unnecessary
amount of fencing and Scots Pine. Doctor Who architecture. Is it a dual
purpose spaceship? Or a tardis of undefined territory, landed in this alien
area of pocketed lives and the determinedly lost and found? |
