April 2nd – The Easter Monday bank holiday was foul – it rained, was cold, windy and overcast and so I busied myself with some technical website stuff, and doing bike maintenance. I slipped out late in the rainy evening for a quiet, reflective circuit of Brownhills, and tried my hand with Morris and the Canon camera again. The street lights are problematic and I just can’t get the image I want at the moment.
Ah well, another evening, perhaps.
April 29th – I’d been out for a ride late in the afternoon and returned when night had fallen. On a frankly uninspiring photographic day, I spotted Morris, the Brownhills Miner as I came back through town.
I never liked the mix of white and blue lights they chose to illuminate this remarkable sculpture with, but now some of them have burnt out, the lighting looks a lot better: less operating theatre harsh and more industrial darkness, as if Morris was being lit by the ghost light of the welds that created him.
Still love every single stainless steel segment of him (and there are hundreds – just look!)
September 22nd – Also coming out better than expected was Morris, the Brownhills Miner. I often have people grumbling I don’t feature him here often enough, but it’s hard to know what to do with him; Morris has been photographed so often and so well by others, my photos would jut be noise.
I’m very fond of Morris – as a technical achievement, he’s stunning and a wonderful demonstration of Finite Element boundary analysis as a method of solving complex shape resolution. But he’s also that rarity – a civic artwork with soul.
Morris has done very little for Brownhiills. He hasn’t ‘put is on the map’ – we never left it; he hasn’t created jobs or sparked a regeneration.
But what Morris has done is made lots of people smile, and wonder about the history he represents.
Which is worth an awful lot in my book.
December 6th – Morris had a little Vegas in his soul.
We should all have Vegas in our souls. Rock on, Morris!
November 15th – A long day and a late spin around Brownhills. The town was quiet, and there was no sign of the Christmas I’d seen in Birmingham the previous Friday. It was windy, but not too bad. Stood on a quiet traffic island, Morris Miner was still stood silent, metallic sentry.
Sometimes the most changeless things are best.