Every now and again the universe throws you situations and circumstances that reveal their true intentions later on. Hindsight really is the most accurate art. Over the last week or so I have had an insurgence of such energy. I was made to realise or rather be reminded that being a creative person is not something that we try to be but something we have honed and thus become. Although to an extent I do agree with Mataraso’s definition of an artist which is not someone any different or special from anyone else but rather a person who makes and creates art. In that sense, we are all artists and can be artists, never really born artists and I do believe that. 

However, I do think that when you have been a certain way for so long there is no other way to be. Art or rather the creation and appreciation of it is merely creativity. I  believe we all have a creative gene within us the same way we all have a pragmatic gene, a scientific gene, and a clumsy gene. Along the way, our circumstances and personal biases guided us to develop one gene more than the other. Being creative has always just been a way of thinking and seeing and thus being, becomes one with the act of creation. What is strange is when that bubble is broken by an individual who sees this world and theirs as different. But in fact, all

This blog post is an excerpt from my research recces, part of my process of scouting for locations, mapping Derby and having a psychogeographic approach to how my narrative is formed. There were 18 points in all and the recce took 1hr 26mins

Recce A

(A Very Planned Scouting Walk On Paper)

Wednesday 16/10/2019 Temp: 13°C, Sunny Start Time: 03:43pm Start Point: Albert Street (Green Point)

[A0] East Street : The middle of town was sunny. So sunny it was like walking in white light that makes you feel like you could be walking in the darkness because either way, you’re still blind. I am hesitant because I don’t know if I’m going left or right yet and I’m just having one of those days as well. Turns out the way was just straight ahead.

[A1] Post Office: Maybe it was the light but I completely passed it. I think the post office was inside the shopping center and one dare not go in there for fear of not actually surviving the masses.

[A2] Green Ln: Again, completely missed it. Not for the sheer panic of navigating wrongly nor overthinking but because the road naturally leads you forwards when you are on foot and my lost spirit seems more in tune with being efficient than when I try to navigate purposefully.

[A3] Macklin Ln (part 1): Walkers, the abandoned theatre or

Someone said to me this week ; 

"A home is merely a transient space where the people you love come and go." 

Oftentimes many mistake houses for homes. A house is four walls, a floor, and a roof. Logically, there is nothing special about a structure that provides shelter but everyone remembers the house or houses they grew up in. They remember it because in some form or the other this is where they were first loved and this is where they learned how to love.

The philosophy of phenomenology, which inquires and investigates the meaning of pre-reflective and lived experiences, when applied to the object, the house or architectural spaces has an instantaneous tendency to re-create or find the familiar. Our unconscious mind finds a home everywhere we go and yet our conscious mind rejects this as it isn’t exactly the same.

Somewhere along the line we forget what it looked like and focus on what it felt like. You fill your home with your futures, tomorrows and dreams.

A dream is a thought From an idea that sought To make us think Of all the things We've never done. "But it could be fun," Whispers the Dream in our ear.

So we start With sleepless nights And endless lists Just searching for the things That can be done. And as we break Our backs and bones We build the walls Made of bricks

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On The Streets (Commercial Street, Bangalore/India)

It is hard to describe just how different places can be. Some lands are like warring giants and some are as calm as ice, only the wind tells you stories. Sometimes I forget that I come from a land of Chaos. England can do that to you. The grey, rainy landscape of Order for months on end can make you forget that life on the streets of your homeland was filled with colour, adventure and unexpected happenings. India taught me how to watch and observe, and often times the best way to watch was when you were stuck in a traffic jam as long as it probably takes you to go to your nearest corner shop.

Patiently (another quality taught from a young age by the land) I would usually be sitting in an auto-rickshaw, often in comfortable silence with the auto driver having already exchanged life stories early on in the journey home. We were like ants, waiting for colours to change from red to green, all small and insignificant but together there were millions of us trying to scurry forward. In the mean time, we would look out and see what new enterprise was taking place in the streets. We were never disappointed.

I remember sitting in an auto one day and looking out at a bright pink towel hanging on a washing line caught my eye.

Traveling between Leeds, a city I have come to know fairly well, and Derby, a slightly smaller city full of hidden treasures waiting to be explored, reminded me a lot of traveling between England and India...