Humans

Surfacing – Tues 10th March

I’ve been searching the beach for interesting stones for a few months now, and I’m surprised that the glass pebble pictured in today’s contact sheet is the first I’ve come across. You used to be able to find these quite often, not only clear glass, but amber and green too, sometimes even blue. I suppose that since we now use so much plastic for bottles, the dwindling of this man-made shoreline phenomenon is inevitable though, given the number of bars and clubs along the sea front, this still surprises me.

I remember the last big open air Fatboy Slim gig on the shore, the one when the beach was so packed with people they themselves seemed like pebbles. And indeed, because no one had considered what would happen if you held an event on the beach that started at low tide, a quarter of a million party people moved like pebbles too, driven up the beach by the rising waters as the evening drew on.

I also remember that the next morning the beach was so strewn with broken bottles it glittered, bejewelled, as if some profligate sultan had abandoned all his riches to the sea. It took a long time before the beach was safe to walk on barefoot and many of the splinters, rather than being collected during the clean up operation, would have settled below the stones where they probably still are, some by now ground down to sand but maybe not all. Now I think about it, I’m even more surprised this is the first piece of glass I’ve found. Perhaps it’s a fragment of vodka bottle whose contents were downed on that infamous night?

But leaving aside these memories, only now surfacing as I write, finding this one has made me ponder further. It’s glass, and it’s definitely a pebble, because it’s been worn smooth and rounded through the continual grinding of the waves on the shore. That’s what pebbles are aren’t they – things rounded smooth by the sea? But it isn’t a stone is it? Stones are formed purely as a result of geological processes. And this is why I’m not photographing it in the usual manner like the others I’ve found, because it isn’t a stone, is it? But now I’m wondering, if the definition of pebble is something worn smooth by the action of the sea, can you have wooden pebbles? Plastic ones? Larger pieces of seashell seem to qualify if rounded enough, as do the occasional fragments of brick or concrete.

This is now really bothering me.

Fatboy Slim big beach boutique 2002

Howler – Sun 1st March

“Dogs are not like cats, who amusingly tolerate humans only until someone comes up with a tin opener that can be operated with a paw. Men made dogs, they took wolves and gave them human things–unnecessary intelligence, names, a desire to belong, and a twitching inferiority complex. All dogs dream wolf dreams, and know they’re dreaming of biting their Maker. Every dog knows, deep in his heart, that he is a Bad Dog…”

‘Men at Arms’ Terry Pratchett

Mass observation – Mon 2nd Feb

Yesterdays contact sheet felt incomplete (hence I’m writing a day late). Nevertheless I wanted to get something out because I was so pleased with the sparrow shot, but none of the other photos seemed to work together; they needed something else. I ended up running out of time before quiz night (oh yes!) and decided I’d sort it once I got home or just post the sparrow on its own. This turned out to be lucky because within minutes of arriving at the pub, I get a text from Tony saying, rather gnomically, ‘look at the moon’. If you get a message from someone saying something like that, you just have to obey, so, end of round one, off I trot outside and my god, he’s right: the most fantastic frost halo. Huge too.

So I then drag everyone else in my team out into the street, some less willing than others, but all agree it’s breathtaking. Liz takes a pic on her phone where you can just see it. Even the smartass team on the next table go out and have a look (I’m delighted that one of their number comes back inside a few minutes later and asks me what he was supposed to be looking at – ha! – one question you haven’t got the answer for eh?). So when the quiz and drinks are finished (we were only three points off winning this week. Team smartass won again, dammit…) on the way home I’m having a longer look at the moon and realise that it’s the last image I need for the contact sheet. Its bloody freezing out and I’m really struggling with the idea of staying in to have a cup of tea before venturing forth again but I know the moon is on the move and will disappear round the corner if I don’t do something now, so, find the tripod and the really wide angle lens, and head back downstairs.

Of course, this being Brighton, I open the front door only to trip over someone else, literally on my doorstep, with a camera and tripod. His friend has just facebooked the news and it’s a bit of a challenge for him now, especially after the lightning last summer. We chat a bit more and he heads off for the beach because he thinks he can get a better shot. Apparently his girlfriend is in the shower; this piece of information is somehow significant. I stay put because I reckon I can make the trees work for the image. I’m also wondering how long his girlfriend showers for. It’ll take him at least half an hour to get to the beach and back, probably a lot longer once he’s set up the camera and taken the pictures. Does he often just disappear while she’s having a wash?

.sparrow flight 2-2-15 (click for a bigger image)

Bored room – Sat 31st Jan

I seem to have been put on someone’s mail list as a manager, and regularly get emails inviting me to different corporate training weekends, focus groups, sandpit sessions, conferences, consultations, and other events larded with the latest jargon. All of these go straight into the trash file. Well, all except this one, which I append for your delight:

As every dog owner knows, it takes a lot of time and patience to train a dog–whether she’s a puppy or an adult dog learning new behaviors. 1000 Best Dog Training Secrets is packed full of useful training tips for new and seasoned dog owners from two experts in the field.

The easy-to-follow advice covers everything from basic skills to socialization, obedience training, manners, tricks and more. ‘X’ and ‘Y’, owners and operators of ‘Z’ Training and Education school in N.E. offer insight into handling dogs at all stages of development from brand new puppy to geriatric, so it’s never too late to get started.

You will learn about:

  • Establishing leadership
  • Socialization–learning from human leaders
  • Obedience training
  • Developing life skills
  • Teaching manners
  • Dog etiquette
  • Behavior problem prevention and solutions
  • Toys, games and leisure activities

Given that the above content is so similar to all the other emails I receive, I suspect that ‘dog’ is the latest euphemism for employee.

(names removed out of courtesy to the owners)

Orientalism – Sat 10th Jan

Gaétan Henri Alfred Edouard Léon Marie Gatian de Clérambault was a French psychiatrist who, while perhaps less widely known than other practitioners working in the earlier part of the 20th century, was not without influence. He ‘introduced the term ‘psychological (mental) automatism’ and suggested that the mechanism of ‘mental automatism’ might be responsible for ‘hallucination experiences’’(1). He also defined the condition which became known as De Clérambault’s syndrome (aka erotomania) in which sufferers come to believe they are the object of desire for a person, usually famous or high-status, who they have usually had little or no contact with. ‘During an erotomanic episode, the patient believes that a secret admirer is declaring their affection to the patient, often by special glances, signals, telepathy, or messages through the media. Usually the patient then returns the perceived affection by means of letters, phone calls, gifts, and visits to the unwitting recipient. Even though these advances are unexpected and often unwanted, any denial of affection by the object of this delusional love is dismissed by the patient as a ploy to conceal the forbidden love from the rest of the world'(2). Jacques Lacan regarded de Clérambault as his ‘only master in psychiatry.’

In addition to his work as a psychiatrist, de Clérambault was also an accomplished artist – for a while teaching classes on the art of the draped costume at the École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts in Paris – and an obsessive photographer. Between 1914 and 1918 he produced over 30,000 photographs, some of which formed part of a research project on the symptoms of hysteria, but also a sizeable body of work portraying Moroccan women under the veil. In these photographs, all of the female subjects are so elaborately and completely concealed from head to toe by swags of cloth, that it is difficult to tell that there is a human being, let alone a woman, under these garments. Yet at the same time these enigmatic and spectral figures seem to possess a quality that is both predatory and erotic.

All artists project their desires onto their surroundings. Perhaps the same is true of psychiatrists, or indeed anyone seeking to further our own (or maybe just their) abilities to make sense of the world. What interests me most about de Clérambault is the conjunction between his psychiatric practice and his private compulsion to record this singular subject.

(1) Vladimir Lerner, British Journal of Psychiatry http://bjp.rcpsych.org/content/197/5/371.short
(2) Anderson CA, Camp J, Filley CM (1998). “Erotomania after aneurysmal subarachnoid hemorrhage: case report and literature review”. J Neuropsychiatry Clin Neurosci 10 (3): 330–7

Ûm¶Û

Bird Man – Weds 7th Jan

I first noticed it a couple of months ago. There would be the usual gulls, pigeons and crows hanging around the café, and then there was this one starling. Given its diminutive size in relation to the other birds I had to admire its tenacity in staking out the place as it’s territory. Indeed I was also curious: Do starlings actually have territories? Aren’t they flock birds? This one clearly hangs out alone and I am still wondering why: Fiercely independent innovator? Lazy opportunist? Anti social? Or just a runt who, fed up with being at the bottom of the pecking order, decided to clear out? At the end of the summer while the café was still busy and the weather mild enough for the scraps bin to be left outside, it’d dart in and out of it like a humming bird while the less agile pigeons looked on in jealous bemusement. Now in the middle of winter, and punters (and therefore scraps) are thin on the ground, it just perches on top of the wind break waiting patiently for plates too clean for the other birds to bother with, but still yielding enough for its tiny needs. Sometimes it’ll wait so patiently by a diner yet to finish their plate of chips that they can’t resist pushing a few crumbs across the table.

A few weeks ago it flew down and perched on the back of the chair next to mine while I was drinking some tea. It could see there wasn’t any food, but since no one else was around it just stayed there. After a while it began to sing. Starlings have the most extraordinary song, something like a cross between a budgie and radio static, full of pops, whistles and slow descending whoops. I was entranced. In a break in its song, I tried, badly, to imitate it, but it seemed close enough for the bird to recognise the effort. It whistled 2 peeps, one high, one low, and looked at me. I managed to mimic this as a response and after a pause it did it again. So, so did I… This went on for a while, until another customer turned up with a plate of food and it was off.

Yesterday I had some chips at the café. I whistled the two peeps and the starling turned up on queue (to be honest, I think I ordered the chips in the hope it would). So I broke one chip up into tiny pieces and placed these on the opposite side of the table to me. It darted across the table, its claws skittering on the plastic surface, retrieved the crumbs one at a time, skidding and flying back to its perch while finishing each beak-full. Once the chip pieces had gone it sang again. Once again I was entranced.

Today I made it a packed lunch out of a thin slice of salami chopped into bits the size of small garden worms, plus some crumbs from a seeded loaf of bread, and dropped the bits into an old plastic film pot. The wind hit me as soon as I neared the sea front and I could hear the waves booming in the distance. I wondered if it was going to be just too wild, but nevertheless I peeped twice and there it was again. The breadcrumbs were ignored but the salami went down singing hymns (and it bloody well should, my favourite saussison sec avec herbes de provence).

Why does this make me so happy? I don’t know, I don’t really care.

Ozymandias – Sat 3rd Jan

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter’d visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp’d on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock’d them and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

P. B. Shelley