Between months of isolation, mental health battles and unemployment, I began to wonder when it was that I had last actually left London. Ten square metres of familiarity was all that I had come to know, for so long that all sense of self had been eroded within repetition and mundanity. I began to think more about the sea; how lovely it would be to be by the coast and what such a visit would represent. The more I thought about this, the more it represented itself as my only means of taking control over my life; its almost mythical existence, one that I felt compelled to seek out, even if just for a few hours.
After months of contemplating, I made the journey, commuting from Neasden to Chalkwell, documenting my entire journey on what was one of the very first days of Autumn, channelling the pensiveness and rumination that had consumed me for so long, as well exploring a sense of adventure, freedom and escape from the constraints within the semi-suburban familiarities of my everyday life. When I finally reached my destination, I walked the coast, taking in the dregs of summer sun and the sea breeze. I made friendly small-talk with an old man, sharing my bench. I met a french bulldog puppy of two months old, so excited to see me. I watched the boats sail in their dozens across the sea, racing amongst one another, listening to black metal on my headphones as the tide slowly and gradually drifted back towards the channel, before eventually, making my way back home.
I cried when I saw the sea exists as a personal reclamation of purpose, a pursuit for normality and escape, and an immortalisation of a time steeped largely in contemplation, despair and solitude.
Press release can be seen by clicking here.
Back.