I’m overwhelmed by the underpass, where the passage of time is both slowed and hurried.
A feeling of unease will hasten your pace, a strange sense of transcendence allows you to linger longer.
There’s a world going on underground.
Rattle big black bones in the danger zone There’s a rumblin’ groan down below There’s a big dark town, it’s a place I’ve found There’s a world going on underground
The history of the building which today houses Scarborough Art Gallery began in 1828, when local solicitor and Town Clerk, John Uppleby, in partnership with local builders John Barry and his brother William, bought the land on which The Crescent would be built from the wealthy local banker and shipowner, John Tindall. In 1830, the York architect Richard Hey Sharp and his brother Samuel were commissioned to draw up plans for the site.
Crescent Villa was the last of the villas to be built, erected in 1845 as a home for John Uppleby and his family. After John’s death in 1856, his wife and family continued to live in the house until her death in 1881, at which time it was bought by Edward Chivers Bower, father of the sculptor Lady Ethel Alice Chivers Harris and the great grandfather of Katharine, Duchess of Kent.
Bower renamed the house ‘Broxholme’ after his family seat near Doncaster.
Following Henry Donner’s death, the house was purchased by Scarborough Corporation in 1942 for £3000 and for five years was used as a welfare clinic and children’s nursery. The clinic moved out in February 1947 and the Corporation decided to turn the building into a public art gallery.
The permanent collection includes paintings donated by famous hotelier Tom Laughton, the brother of the film star and actor Charles Laughton.
Detail from a 1931 map of Scarborough by Edward Bawden – Scarborough Museums Trust collection
Both Eric Ravilious and Edward Bawden, who were close friends, became acquainted with Tom Laughton, who acted as a patron, particularly to Bawden and commissioned pieces from him to adorn his hotels.
I visit Scarborough at least once a year – travelling by train from my home in Stockport and one occasion cycling from Hull.
Whilst visiting, a visit to the gallery is almost de rigueur.
This year I had a particular interest in the gallery’s photographic exhibition Squaring The Circles
The works on show demonstrate radical and experimental investigations into the process of making photographs. From cyanotypes and daguerreotypes to pinhole and cameraless imagery, the exhibition blurs the boundaries between art and photography, resulting in an expressive, otherworldly, and inspiring display.
Single storey, square-plan pyramidal church with halls adjoining to SW.
Category B Listed
St Mungo’s Parish Church is a striking landmark in the centre of Cumbernauld. Prominently sited on the top of a small hill, the bold copper pyramidal roof is an important landmark. Alan Reiach designed two churches in Cumbernauld, both of which can accommodate 800, Kildrum Church – the earlier of the two. Alan Reiach 1910-1992, who was apprenticed to Sir Robert Lorimer 1864-1929, was primarily involved in the design of public buildings, including churches, schools, universities and hospitals. Noteworthy features of St Mungo’s Parish Church include the bold pyramidal roof, with apex of which forms a roof light lighting the nave of the church, and above this is a pyramidal belfry. The impressive Baltic redwood-lined interior gains natural light from the large central rooflight and clerestory windows.
One of the great glories of cinema is that it has the power to take the mundane and make it magical. To most of us, car parks signify a world of pain, where fearsome red-and-white crash barriers dictate our fate and where finding a space is often like finding meaning in the collective works of Martin Lawrence. To others, they meant lost Saturday afternoons spent waiting for your mum to finally come out of Woolworths so you could rush home to catch Terrahawks.
Either way, car parks are grey and dull. In the movies, however, they are fantastic places, filled with high-level espionage, and high-octane chases.
I beg to differ, the cinema and TV has helped to define our perception and misconception of the car park.
The modern day pedestrian may reclaim, redefine and realise, that far from mundane each actual exemplar is different, in so many ways. The time of day, weather, light, usage, abusage, condition, personal demeanour and mood all shape our experience of this particular, modern urban space.
To walk the wide open spaces of the upper tier, almost touching the sky.
Is a far cry from the constrained space of the lower levels.
To walk the ramps with a degree of trepidation, visceral and fun.
This is an inversion of the car-centric culture, walking the concrete kingdom with a carbon-free footprint.
I was inspired by a recent viewing of All The Presidents Men to revisit my local multi-storey on Heaton Lane Stockport.
Cinematographer Gordon Hugh Willis Jr constructs a shadow world where informer and informed meet to exchange deep secrets, ever watchful, moving in and out of artificial light, tense and alert.
Look over your shoulder- there’s nobody there, and they’re watching you.
But they have been here.
To party.
To tag.
To live.
Pay here, your time is time limited, your presence measured.
Let’s explore this demimonde together, wet underfoot, lit laterally by limited daylight, walking through the interspersed pools of glacial artificial glow.
Time’s up, check out and move on – tomorrow is another day, another car park; in a different town.
Cinema and car parks wedded forever in the collective popular cultural unconscious.
Tony Holloway’s work also illuminates the windows of Manchester Cathedral.
As well as the panels of the Faraday Tower, just the other side of UMIST.
The wall is listed, fenced and obscured by the gradual incursion of assorted greenery.
It’s beginning to attract moss, amongst other things – just not like a rolling stone.
Like nearly everything else, it looks different each time you pass by, more or less light, new tags and signs – so here it is as of Saturday 13th June 2020.
All that is solid melts into air as Marx and Marshall Berman told us.
Though remnants remain – this is a short journey through a hole in fence, down into the warren of power station offices past.
They have been stripped of their former use and meaning, transformed into a transitory art performance space, paint and plaster now peeling, appealing to the passing painter, partially reclaimed by nature.
Obviously, stating the obvious in Comic Sans on a shocking pink ground may ease the pain of industrial decline and its attendant social and economic ills.
Sheffield along with the majority of  British manufacturing towns and cities, has seen the wealth created by over a century of hard labour spirited elsewhere, and the means by which that wealth was created shipped overseas or overwritten by new technologies.
This has not been an accident or unfortunate consequence of global trends, it has been government policy.
It has not been government policy to regenerate these towns and cities.
So Sheffield has taken the initiative to become –Â The fastest growing British city outside London.
Though that may do little to redress the structural economic divides within the city.
So I walked the avenues and alleyways of the Lower Don Valley, early on an October Sunday morning, mourning the passing of the clang and clamour that once fuelled the city and the nation.
An aroma of engine oil and the sound of metal on metal still permeates the area, and the low autumnal sun warms the long straight streets.
modernmooch.com 