It felt like a must to get out and Photograph Blackpool, my home yesterday. People mentioned they thought it might be quiet. I felt otherwise - I ventured out late afternoon, swerving the queue for Central Pier. I had wanted to catch up with The Darts Stall Holder to chat about the image I had taken in December.
I am a sucker for my hometown and its uniqueness. Always trying to find its jovial qualities but so aware of its shortcomings and being fed back statements like “lack of opportunity”, the worst place to live as a woman, depravity - that’s a fearful and popular one.
Blackpool is a great backdrop to tell stories of no hope. How strange then that the town holds in its very heart: colour, feelings of festivities, and hidden culture not always owned by the community but often sold back to us. The camera makes a good exploration buddy - treading paths of least resistance and challenging the everyday assumptions around a place such as Blackpool.
Ever feel like you are in a fishbowl?
The sudden change of ambiance in a street within the space of a few meters; the evident division of a city into zones of distinct psychic atmospheres; the path of least resistance that is automatically followed in aimless strolls (and which has no relation to the physical contour of the terrain); the appealing or repelling character of certain places—these phenomena all seem to be neglected. In any case they are never envisaged as depending on causes that can be uncovered by careful analysis and turned to account.
— Guy Debord, Introduction to a Critique of Urban Geography[5]