The Old One Comes to claim his own …

cthulu
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An impromptu, innocent and gentle crepus­cular walk in the grounds of Trelissick turns into an unexpected action movie plot point: a monstrous kraken hauls itself from the mire and lumbers, clicking and creaking and groaning, fingers its way across the sward … and we run … and I tip my camera over my shoulder in the hope of … and we are free … well, derrr …

And then today I was wandering across the apoca­lytic wastes around Geevor and was reminded of the obsess­ively claustral, sepulchral aesthetic of the geolo­gical vampires of our recent past.

door to the underworld
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Friends who’ve come here say: it’s not pretty — no; it’s so fright­en­ingly, danger­ously hard — yes; it doesn’t let you forget, does it — no; but it still slips its mineral veins deep into your soul like brittle mycelium — oh yes.

And wherever you go, the Bucca are watching …

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You can fly to the furthest reaches of the globe and fuck the future of our world, and ignore the politics and the ecology and the economics and … and gawp at the natural wonders of the world and tick off your bucket list scores or you can look around yourself, here and now, orient yourself and choose to belong and see the beauty and the depth and the magic of the place where you stand … and …

geevor
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cobble together a collage of 6 photos and try to say something about us, people, and the earth, and about the sea and history and hardship and pain and about home.

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Redux

Gaza Sphinx
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Because the premise is a lie … was always. Because family feuds are worse, civil wars not and because antisemitism is not exclusive when it comes to who the semites are … because Trump is, Netanyahu is … not …

And so people die. And live without hope … and now less … if that’s possible.

And not to aesthetisise anyone else’s pain, and not to ignore the ancient greek’s misogyny … why is this shit still going on … I’m not naive, just sad and angry.

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A Wet (and very White) Weekend in Whitby

devils
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The Doomstone, York Minster.

spire
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Whitby Abbey.

shadows
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sheer drop
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No shit …

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18th century three-decker pulpit in St Mary’s.

Stopped off at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park on the way home.

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Tony Cragg’s pieces from A Rare Category of Objects are almost designed to be photo­graphed rather than engaged with.

cragg 2
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See what I mean?

burger 2
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A pair of burgers from Matthew Day Jackson’s eerily abject Magni­ficent Desol­ation.

burger
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A crowd of graphite ware figures, all look the same to me, don’t shoot …

don't shoot
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… part of Zak Ové’s 80 strong crowd — Black and Blue: The Invisible Men and the Masque of Blackness.

door
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And on the way out through Jaume Plensa’s Wonderland — on the threshold of nowhere.

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On the Rocks

wreck
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Asleep at the helm … a not-so-subtle Brexit reference … the wreck of the RMS Mulheim which ran aground in Gamper Bay near Lands’ End in 2003, when the chief officer tripped, fell, banged his head and passed out. She was eventually broken up and thrust into Castle Zawn where she remains.

scillies
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A partic­u­larly dull photo­graph of the Long Ships Light­house on Carn Bras off Land’s End. That is … until you look at it full size and see the Scillies on the horizon. A full 28 miles away but clear as day … never had such visib­ility here.

gull rock
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Enys Dodnan … home of the handsome, fearsome black-backed gulls.

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Slit arch at Nanjizal Cove.

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Beautiful, filthy waterfall on to the beach.

sloes
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On the inland route back to Sennen we foraged for deliciously ripe sloes, filling our empty lunch box with future christmas cheer. The fennel vodka is already maturing … nom nom nom.

corn flowers
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Incredibly intense cornflower blue … cornflowers at the side of the path, Centaurea cyanus.
And eventually, safe back in harbour … long before sunset for once.

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