Over the weekend I've been writing short descriptions of different landscapes (around Devon as that's where I'm based) as a writing exercise. Landscapes in one form or another, seems to come in to our works and I thought it would be an interesting experiment. I've spent 5-10 mins on each piece writing about the image in some.
Dartmoor is a dark, bleak and forgotten landscape. It hasn’t been touched in years. Rocks are scattered around the floor like bricks on a building site, like the rubble left by an explosion. The sky is sucking the remaining life from the area. Drip by drip. It is almost black and white. The cold and uncomforting blue haze that lights the moors highlights the snow. This is a cold uncaring place. Soon it will be night time. The landscape will come alive at night, it is slowly counting down the hours until it night when anyone left on its belly, will surely be eaten. This is a sleeping giant, an unforgiving monster, lying dormant but always aware. It is conscious and ready to strike. You need to have your wits about you if you want to be on the moors.
Woolacombe North Devon Beach
Red, blue, yellow and green, we stand strong together. Hold the line! Hold the line! A hundred, sheds strong. It’s calm now but these veterans know that when she comes she is powerful, unstoppable and relentless. Let her come, we with wood and paint and in our masses, will stand strong against her. We protect those sheltering in our bellies and our reflections show more than we are – to intimidate the sea into submission. Rock that has been corroded down to make this soft sand, a victim to her power. Only we beach huts stand between the sea and fresh rock behind. Ripples of water drain away, rejoining their parent body. A severed finger, a lost leg, all body parts from our previous battles. Red, blue, yellow and green, we stand strong together.
Plymouth Outdoor Swimming Pool
The single divide between a cold and hot afternoon is a powerful block of cement. It chops through the water like a knife to butter, still, we know that If the sea was angry enough, it could tear it down. Until then, it surrounds the people like a protective shell. Babies, lovers, families and tourists surround the pool, all in good spirits. Jumping into the water below with a attitude. From above, the people look like ants at a picnic as the edges of the pool are covered with black dots. People taking photos, watching on as relatives make waves and spotting the naval fleet out to sea. The building is a cold one. Built in the 50’s, its function only and tot kind. This building is like a totalled tower block in aesthetic, with pieces of brick and metal support railing poking out all across the surface. The swimmers dart around in bare feet, running quickly over the unforgiving grey cemented floor. They all soon jump back in the water, before the cold takes a hold.