Artist, writer, filmmaker, flaneur.
The sky is bright, the air looks cold outside. I'm getting used to being contained in my concrete tenement now. Dense housing makes me think of photographs of the walled city at Kowloon, Hong Kong, a lawless makeshift township built vertically. It is gone now, demolished, replaced by a park, which apparently serves as a … Continue reading 80. Tuesday, mid morning.
I’m listening to The Archers, about a month behind. The current episodes were recorded before it all went wrong in the world, and so have an artificially bright and happy feel, even with a well constructed DISASTER storyline to keep us all GRIPPED. It seems like a distant time from the past now, in spite … Continue reading 24. Sunday.
Roughly a week later, in the same places but the world has changed. The disease is hitting hard, panic is setting in. It is strange to think that something as automatic and as simple as proximity to other people can be dangerous. Several countries have closed borders, schools and universities. People have been told to … Continue reading 13.
On a train to Hastings, on the diverted route down the Hayes line. That’s the only reason really. Alongside Lower Sydenham there’s an apartment building called Dylon Works, presumably named after Dylon, the fabric dye company. If I lived there I’d call in Dylan works, after the folk musician poet of the people. We’re on … Continue reading 39. Thursday afternoon.
It’s just started raining. I might go out in it later. Yesterday and today have felt different. On Wednesday I collected the bike, and rode part of the way back. I didn’t feel tired, proof that exercise creates energy. Yesterday I was motivated to do things. Mentally stimulated, until mid-afternoon when I had to sleep … Continue reading 23. Friday.
I’m nervous, anxious, tired, dizzy. Enjoying cycling. Need to get away from here. Uncertain, unconfident, nervous of everything. Later the same day, or the following day, I’ve just briefly imagined myself on the morning train passing through Lewisham. I just about miss it, that daily routine, a feel of being a part of something. Something … Continue reading 22
That time between Christmas and New Year. It is different yet the same. I’m doing normal everyday activities, work, home, laundry, potato cooking. Yet the world feels different, provocative, pensive, slow, quiet, introspective. In the morning on the way to work streets, shops, trains are quiet, spacious, comfortable. Now, in early evening, the streets are … Continue reading 1: Monday.
I've been keeping a journal since mid-2018, in a small Rymans notebook. Mostly entries are written after a time of activity and interaction, and initially were a result of a winding-down-of-the-brain process. Now I suspect they form a part of that process. It is autumn 2020, and we know what has happened this year. Those … Continue reading 0: An introduction.
(December 2019) I've taken the day off. I've been restless, unsettled, indecisive. I went to collect an ASOS parcel from the shop over the other side of the railway line. I was nervous, I don't normally go over there, or in shops like that. It was fine though. I might do it again. Everything fits … Continue reading Going places; Psychogeography and Agoraphobia.
(December 2019) I used to make lots of video art pieces. I did a degree in Fine Art but was put off painting there. I think for a while I was in love with the idea of being an artist, in a studio, wearing clothes covered in paint, and generally being "alternative" and "radical", without … Continue reading Making film. Writing. Justifying being creative. Or not justifying, just being.
Andrew Stevenson 