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Journal
Delia’s ninth
Another eclectic Delia happening last night. Things kicked off with songs from Pete Hollingsworth, followed by captivating piano improv from Alucidnation. After the break, I really enjoyed Memotone’s loops and textures. His set rewarded patience, with the seemingly formless middle leading us to beautiful renditions of Catherine on Fire and Time Is Away Theme.
I took the opportunity to test my new iPhone 18 Pro. I’ve struggled with a deteriorating iPhone 13 for five years, so this new phone feels like a miracle. These photos aren’t great, but consider that I took them from the back of a very dark room, with the screen brightness turned down by 90% out of respect for others, and then cropped in. Of course, a little Aphera magic helps.
Lost Memories
I’ve just received a lovely gift all the way from San Francisco, sent by my old friend and Polaroid aficionado Scott Boms. I’ve long been a fan of Scott’s personal site and his dedication to a creative, hands-on process, including his love of riso printing.
He recently launched Matter Editions, which he describes as “an independent publisher specialising in handmade, limited edition books, zines, objects and printed ephemera about culture, technology, and design”.
Scott recently bought some of Geri’s prints and benefited from my Japan tips during his recent trip. Even so, it’s generous of him to send us a copy of his Lost Memories zine, a meditation on loss through failed Polaroids.
He knew I was interested because I’d told him so. My music is built around personal and collective memory and loss, and a friend once said that one of my songs sounds like a Polaroid—and no review could ever make me happier. My album cover will feature a photo shot on 35mm film in 1991, and I’m playing with Polaroids again with the inner artwork and other material in mind.
And, by the way, Scott, I just looked through some early Instagrams and found this pic I took of you and your 1974 Polaroid SX-70 Model 1 Land Camera at SXSW fifteen years ago. I remember really liking your little hat.
53
Nothing’s easy for anyone, but I make sure I’ve plenty to look forward to and always appreciate the simple pleasures. Today that meant celebrating my birthday up on Longstone Edge, testing some new kit for next year’s big walk (more on that nearer the time) and enjoying a stunning birthday bento made by Geri. Later, I visited my Mam and Dad’s resting place and updated them on various things. Back home, I cried, as I always do, watching Interstellar. A lovely day.
Across the Downs to West Sussex
A long weekend down South, starting with a night at Mollie’s near Oxford, before a drive across the rolling chalk hills to Goodwood Art Foundation, Chichester and Bognor Regis.
Tarkovsky
I visited Broadway Cinema twice this weekend to see restorations of The Sacrifice and Nostalghia, two films by my favourite director, Andrei Tarkovsky.
The desire for something real
Back in 2018, I was writing articles and speaking to tech crowds about an Internet of Natural Things, trying to convince them that there was an increasing desire to use our devices to connect with nature, a more authentic beauty, and “something real”—but there was little interest. In fact, I was mocked to my face (and behind my back, I learned), and it was healthier for me to move on.
But here we are, with all sorts of evidence of that shift. I’m just happy to see young people using their phones to enjoy blue tits and bird calls.
As long as it takes
A few people have asked, so…
Yep, there will be new music from Site Nonsite next year. For almost four years now, I’ve been working on an album of personal stories, set within landscapes shaped by politics, society, memory and loss. It sits at the heart of a wider project that connects a lifetime of interests, and I can’t wait to share more.
Some songs are completely finished, others need a little longer. I’m not rushing, because this project means more to me than anything I’ve ever made.
The Odyssey
I watched Interstellar at the cinema and left feeling utterly exhilarated, and I’ve made a point of catching new Christopher Nolan films on the big screen ever since. I didn’t rate Oppenheimer that highly, but I went into The Odyssey cautiously excited.
I won’t attempt a lengthy review, partly because I never studied Greek mythology or read the classics, and partly because I need to sit with this film a bit longer (and rewatch it). I also don’t want to go overboard: it’s a solid 4/5 for me, but a few performances, modern turns of phrase, and elements of story structure didn’t quite sit right. Still, there are several things I want to note and celebrate:
I’ve gradually become more attuned to the subliminal visual techniques that underpin great films, and this one leans on them throughout: the supernatural rendered as elemental forces (weather, tides, pressure); the coded use of light and fire (everything is lit with such intent); and the emphasis on ritual and rules (hinting at ancient technology). I love how land and sea become doorways into and out of each chapter, and how the camera so often lingers on the landscapes, allowing moments of reflection (or dread).
More immediately thrilling are the big set pieces—Troy, the Cyclops, the Sirens—where it feels as though nothing at all was held back.
Several performances really stand out. Regular readers will already know how much I appreciate Nottingham-born Samantha Morton, and her Circe (the witch on the island of Aeaea) is incredible, balancing homeliness with horror. Nolan said, “The film lived or died over that character. She was the fulcrum. After one of her takes, the crew gave her a great round of applause… the last time that had happened was with Heath Ledger on The Dark Knight.”
Another highlight was Elliot Page’s portrayal of the soldier Sinon, who helps carry out the Trojan Horse deception. Sinon returns in death, spitting fury at Odysseus through the black grit of an Icelandic beach and it’s possibly the film’s best scene.
I also liked how some of the things I’m familiar with were twisted by Nolan for today’s world. This comment from a Guardian reader summed it up well: “I liked the reframing of the Trojan Horse as a war crime rather than an amazing tactical gambit. There was a thread running throughout that all of Odysseus' clever ideas have horrible consequences because as clever as he is, he cannot fully know the world he is operating in. He is oblivious to the possibility that his knowledge has limits, and that results in tragedy for his men again and again. The leap of faith where he has to stop trying to control everything pays that off nicely, but also the realization that his extreme violation of agreed codes-of-conduct has set in motion a larger collapse gives his final victory a bitter aftertaste. I thought all that was a surprising and interesting interpretation of the story.”
Oh—and a note about Ludwig Göransson’s score, built from ancient Greek instruments and scrap metal. It’s dense, uncomfortable, and propulsive. This is a LOUD film; my seat was rumbling during the big scenes. The soundtrack worked perfectly, but I can’t imagine enjoying it in isolation.
I’ll write more about film next month. Two of my favourite Tarkovsky films—The Sacrifice and Nostalghia—are being shown at Broadway in mid August, and it’s about time I pooled my thoughts on those masterpieces.
Kingdom Come, Kingdom Go
There are some beautiful moments on Michael Cloud Duguay’s Kingdom Come, Kingdom Go album—a document of place, people, and old church organs. I’m married to a Newfoundlander, so I know places like Cupids, Brigus, and Bonavista pretty well, and can really feel them here. There’s a good piece about the project in The Quietus today, and this recent Guardian article is especially good at contextualising the music.
The long after
At the weekend, we walked under the shade of Sherwood Forest and paid our respects to the Major Oak, in the kind of weather that’s hastened its demise. I expected to feel sad, but something about its skeletal knottiness felt no less majestic.
For context, here’s last month’s post about our tree being declared dead.
I’m available for new projects
For over a decade I’ve traded as Obvious Things, a name that’s only appeared on paperwork. Later this year I’ll finally be launching OT properly as a focused art + design practice, which I’m really excited about.
In the meantime, I’ve got space for new projects. I help people look at problems from fresh angles through playful exploration and a wide mix of inputs and cultural context, then turn that into meticulous, detail-oriented direction.
I had the pleasure of working with Simon in recent years, and he did some of the best work I’d seen, and I was so happy to be able to get on a call and just plod along in a design file at the many, many variations and options. It was a designer’s bounty.
If that sounds useful, please email me.
Paris and Épernay
Photos from a few days in Paris and a short stay in Épernay: great food and fine fizz, record shop cats, showcase sumo, la Coupe du monde on the TV, and stifling heat.
The Major Oak is dead
Last summer, in response to this press release about the Major Oak’s concerning condition (which we’d just seen first-hand) I felt the need to alert others, and posted on Bluesky and Mastodon:
The Major Oak means a lot to us in Notts, and it was upsetting to see such poor leaf coverage (due largely to extreme heat and drought) earlier this month. Huge gratitude to the people working hard to relieve its stress and protect what’s left of Sherwood Forest.
Unfortunately, and as feared, our tree has been declared dead after 1,000 years. Old age, yes—but too many hot, dry summers accelerated its demise, despite huge efforts by many good people. As a kid in the 70s and 80s, that direct link to Robin Hood was so exciting. I always loved the Major Oak.
It’s good to see notices in The Guardian and BBC News, but it’s a little sad to feel that too few people seem to care.
David Hockney
David Hockney died last week. We were away, and I’m finally catching up with the tributes. I learned so much from him over the years, most notably about colour, scale, landscape, ways of seeing, identity and attitude.
I connected with his paintings at an early age, and discovered the true breadth of his work while at art school. I never missed a TV programme about him, and I especially love David Hockney on Photography and Other Matters—a BBC film that’s currently on YouTube. I was lucky to see several exhibitions, including the show that launched Nottingham Contemporary, and a more recent display of his playful iPad stuff at the RA. I also recall unexpectedly seeing his A Closer Grand Canyon at the Louisiana, and losing ourselves in all eight metres of it.
Above all, he was a Brit to be proud of: a sensational artist, a fashion icon, proudly gay when it was still illegal, and refreshingly blunt in the way Yorkshire folk seem to relish.
People would mock my accent. I’d look at their artworks and I’d think, well, if I drew like that, I’d keep my mouth shut.
Kraftwerk
The Man-Machine delivers a captivating audio-visual, retro-futurist ode to a connected Europe. Deep techno, joyous melodies, and a touching tribute to Ryuichi Sakamoto.
You retreat in time and space
Heaven and hell. Prophecy and revelation. Longing and love. If you’ve ever found comfort in the uneasy warmth of a Boards of Canada record, you’ll be hypnotised by this dizzying transmission.
Promoted
A rare moment of joy for us long-suffering Notts County supporters: outplaying the Beckham-owned Salford City FC at Wembley yesterday to earn promotion to League One. I just braved the heatwave to enjoy the celebrations. You Pies!
It’s always been culture
Culture is the moat. It’s not craft and it’s not aesthetic. It’s always been culture — lived, relational, contextual. The ability to decode what’s happening right now, to encapsulate it, to communicate it through deep experience. Culture can give birth to something that hasn’t been seen, hasn’t been appropriated, hasn’t been followed to death.
This perfect paragraph from Craft Is Not Culture, by Naz, stopped me in my tracks.
Early swifts
Three soaring above at 7pm today, 30th April—much earlier than usual. Previously: 2025, 9th May (but I’d been away for the preceding week); 2024, 7th; 2023, 7th; 2022, 11th; 2021, 16th; 2020, 5th; 2019, 9th; 2018, 7th; 2017, 11th.
A week on the moors
I’ve just spent a week in a beautiful converted barn on the edge of Saddleworth. Nothing restores my positivity quite like being alone on the wild Pennine moors.
