I Have No Mouth & I Must Scream
Updated: May 3, 2020
Caught up in the process of a photographer, contextualising discernments on contemporary nowadays, within that context; how a picture is able to bear a moral resemblance to a picture that dictates the conscience of "modern" now, apprehended by the thought it became clear, in these quarters, with poverty, strung out on a public bench, directly outside a church alludes to a rhetoric failing to hold onto Utopian ideals.
With rolling coverage and social media, perpetually persistent, popular consensus is not amiss as to why the premise appears to state that any given character, may have to be part ratchet, and part sanctified to survive in the manic catastrophe of contemporary now, and the growing number of homeless people points to a question a contemporary consciousness seems only duty-bound to ask, and in the spirit of necessary negotiation, whilst thesis’s, opinions, attitudes, ballads of love and early-morning digresses all speak of, according to the cultural backdrop, contemporary times demonstrate an environment to reconnoitre.
Contextualising ‘ what is emotively involved innately wants to weave a narrative, one that will evoke the compelling nature of the assault on internally struggling to survive, with dignity,’ whether the picture is tweeted, or croaked, or posted or left undelivered, or remains the sight of him caught by walk-on-by, consciously aware reaffirms the detail of a naked imbalance across cities in the UK, and no doubt live, edited, captioned, followed by the most brutal consequence of the "State", played out and standing for captured imagination to see.
And it was the sleeping in the picture which apprehended my attention, you have to imagine the setting: it was mid-afternoon, in front of a church in a bustling town centre, shoppers amounted to their droves and gridlock traffic deafened the sound of congestion, it was "all of this space", whilst the stillness of poverty can remarkably reside in the same place.
The picture communicated that London is pervaded by a sense of congestion, and it is unlikely that anyone aquatinted with London, seriously assumes that the presence of one more "urban" playground more or less has any profound effect upon the psychology of the citizens’ here, hence the scenic grapple with reality, and the sanity required not to understand it, but simply sincerely comprehend it.
Photography is like a mood for me- how an image talks, what it says, how does the narrative make me feel- needless to say this one literally took my breath, because of the setting, because it seemed to be acquainted to the mood of "nowadays", and contemplating the little or no spare time, outside a church, where they no doubt sing and preach a gospel, this man in his silence, discoursing a harlequin speech of suicide, was the nicely refined tortured experience of having been defeated by some circumstance, essentially the picture communicating that part of the societal ideal is about ruined and beaten, and robbed of mind, all bled of brilliance in the dear, dear light of a concrete zoo.
It is in this context of the touches, strokes and embraces of personal oaths where the imagery comes alive, it explains the pacifist eyes, the passing out of incomprehensible leaflets preaching love God while the sirens of the London Metropolis warrant the disbelieve, and not in any way sugar-coating the bitter brutality of the best of generations suffer and die again- "this" shit appears finally f**ked- through images juxtaposed it's those incarnate gaps in troubled times, and there imagery of which are a lot more than a bit of snapshot hallucination.