Jarrow (pronounced 'Jarra')
It's a poor, pissed-upon, depressing, embittered kind of a place. I can say that, because I 'belong Jarra'. God help you if you don't and say a word against it. Ellen Wilkinson rightly called it the Town That Was Murdered, and that was seventy odd years ago: the victim's corpse has been a long time decomposing; you couldn't say it's ever been resurrected.
It's ugly and sullen but it's beloved. The people are the toughest and the finest and the funniest and the kindest in the whole wide world. This town gave Christianity one of its greatest scholars ever, a bright lamp in what were once called the Dark Ages. Palmer's shipyard built an astonishing number of ships, for a navy that once ruled the world. And when capitalism destroyed that we marched in protest and that Crusade is still a Socialist icon.
A new Flickr group was set up today for photos of the town. But recording it is easier said than done. As I go about the place with my camera in my pocket, I'm constantly reminded of how unphotogenic much of the town's become: not because of urban decay, but because of the blandness and uniformity of post-industrial structures. And you've to go careful taking pictures of the people.
But that's the great thing with photography, giving new eyes, a new view, a new angle.
It's ugly and sullen but it's beloved. The people are the toughest and the finest and the funniest and the kindest in the whole wide world. This town gave Christianity one of its greatest scholars ever, a bright lamp in what were once called the Dark Ages. Palmer's shipyard built an astonishing number of ships, for a navy that once ruled the world. And when capitalism destroyed that we marched in protest and that Crusade is still a Socialist icon.
A new Flickr group was set up today for photos of the town. But recording it is easier said than done. As I go about the place with my camera in my pocket, I'm constantly reminded of how unphotogenic much of the town's become: not because of urban decay, but because of the blandness and uniformity of post-industrial structures. And you've to go careful taking pictures of the people.
But that's the great thing with photography, giving new eyes, a new view, a new angle.
My dad's dad marched. There were several protest marches, but he only went once, as far as York or so, because his chest was bad and he was blind in one eye from a spark off a lamp. But he worked at the face at Brancepeth, so even joining was a good way to walk.
ReplyDeleteI think taking pictures is easier if you are come from out of a place, as I do. But better pictures are taken as you come to belong.
If you have always seen somewhere, you become inured to the beauty of the landscape, the skies I love those Dawdon backyard gates, although they are very intimate pictures. And everyone knows whose they are. Except you. :)
It's like portraiture, in a way.
It's interesting you should refer to backyard gates: that one you blogged about six weeks ago: http://www.flickr.com/photos/brendadada/24876009/
ReplyDeletewas a right eye-opener to me. Years ago, I was able to get up close to a Canelleto, a Venetian scene, and I was impressed by the way I could feel the heat coming off the building from this centuries old Italian summer. And then I got the same effect with your 'Red' photo, but that was from an utterly familiar scene, a backyard gate.
See what you've done?
Thing is, I do see. Absolutely, and it's quite deliberate.
ReplyDeleteThose backyard gates are utterly familiar to thee and me, but to everyone else [*] they might just as well be Venice. Importantly, as well as the heat, you can feel the love, can't you?
[*] for some values of 'everyone', obviously.