Tag: sculpture

January 8th – Again, handheld shots. This camera is amazing for this – and I’m noticing the daylight shots are pretty good too. Sorry, I’ll stop prattling about cameras soon, I promise. but it’s a long time since a piece of tech has had this much of an impact on me.

It was an absolutely evil commute home – the suck this season seems to be still petering out and there was some absolutely awful driving going on, and a constant drizzly mist that I believe it’s fashionable to call ‘mizzle’. It searched out every not quite done up zip and pocket. I was soaked, cold and unhappy.

As I came through Walsall Wood the lights and mist interacting with each other fascinated me. I’m not a huge fan of the Walsall Wood pithead sculpture, as is fairly well known, but in the mist and football training floodlights, it looked eerily impressive this evening. 

As to the footballers, their dedication was impressive. It must have been horrid out in shorts.

January 2nd – I’ll start this with a note about time, and the passing thereof; long time readers will know I started this journal on 1st April 2011after being egged on to do 30daysofbiking by ace cyclist and top Dutchperson Renee Van Baar. Sadly, I was very ill with food poisoning the following New Year,  so never rode a bike on 31st December 2011, and 1st January 2012. But I carried on, and I never missed a day since. Every day from 2nd January 2012 I have got on a bike and ridden somewhere. From 100 mile plus rides in one day, to trundles to the shop, I have recorded my daily life as a cyclist, in all it’s ups and downs. That’s 6 years, or 2192 successive days (including 2 leap years), and about 55,000 miles.

I love keeping this journal, I love writing it, and finding the photos.

I welcome feedback. If you have something to say – that I should stop, continue or do something differently, please get in touch by commenting or mailing me – BrownhillsBob at Googlemail dot com.

I’ve done this to show that it’s possible to be normal, and on a bike. That a podgy, middle aged man who’s not a lycra fiend can ride to work, shops, for fun, to explore, keep healthy, be happy, enthusiastic, jaded, sad or depressed, and continue rolling down the road.

In the six years, I’ve had at least 10 different cameras to use, maybe more, actually. Some I’ve adored, some I hated. The Canon GX 7 Mark II I’m using at the moment is like Jekyl and Hyde. It was really good in the night shots of the last couple of journeys, but tonight’s attempt – a simple shot of Morris – it seemed to fudge a bit.

On the camera, the jury is still out.

I’ll need to ride and use it a bit more to find out…

December 24th – The workboat I noted in the ice last weekend has been engaged in the process of cutting back trees on the far canal banks locally, clearing overhang from the waterway. I noted as I passed over Catshill Junction that once more, the sculpture here was now visible, if looking a bit sad and jaded. The trees that shade light from the new flats also seem too have been thinned.

I always feel sad about the Cycle of Life sculpture here: In utterly the wrong place, even when not overgrown (as it is every summer) it’s impossible to see in detail from and point publicly accessible on the towpaths around the junction and is therefore overlooked and wasted.

I hope one day someone realises and moves it somewhere a little more suitable nearby.

December 22nd – Often if I’ve had a long day away, I come to see Morris, the Brownhills Colossus, as his creator John McKenna called him. I have mixed feelings that are well known about the origins and personal politics surrounding Morris, the Brownhills Miner but I do love him to bits. Seeing this 30 foot demonstration of finite element modelling always makes me feel at home now.

Just wish they’d fix the spotlights.

I love how, at Christmas, the lights on the trees give the sculpture a little bit of a ‘Last performance at Vegas feel.

We’ve all got a bit of Vegas in us. Especially Morris. 

Rock on my metal mate. Rock on.

November 9th – In my opinion few war memorials, if any, can match that in Darlaston for sheer beauty and reverence. I’ve never seen such a loving, respectful and intimate civic sculpture and garden as this.

It needs the paths resurfacing, but it’s a peaceful spot that’s well tended and tidy, even in the midst of the autumn leaf deluge, and will see on Sunday people come from far and wide to remember the fallen and pay their respects.

I love the poppy bench and the garden for the blind with the braille and active plant labels.

We shall remember them.

April 30th – Heading back to Brownhills I crossed Catshill Junction and noted that whilst it was hello spring and green leaves for me, the emergence of foliage meant goodbye daylight for the unfortunate residents of the new flats where Bailey House used to stand.

The failure of the landlords – Walsall Housing Group – and the Canal and River Trust to at least agree a management plan for this scrub is baffling to me. It must adversely affect the residents, and destroys what would be a decent view for them.

Meanwhile, the sculpture placed at Catshill Junction when the towpaths were refurbished in the same scrub is being enveloped once more.

I find it baffling that no plan for this, or better placement of the sculpture, wasn’t worked out by the developers. It’s a genuine and real failure.

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!)

February 25th – An unusual Saturday morning that saw me at work in Darlaston, and the commute there had been very hard, as it had been solidly against the wind. I left around lunchtime for a run into Birmingham on the canal, hoping to stop off for some Caribbean food at my favourite cafe on the way through.The plan was to have the wind behind me back up the canal through Hamstead.

The cafe was rammed, so I got back on the canal, and went to the Soho Road, where it has to be said, excellent curry and breads were devoured; but whilst eating, the rains came and winds got up, much against the forecast.

Whilst on the Soho Loop I spotted this curious, brutalist sculpture in a really odd, forgotten spot by Asylum Bridge. It seems to have been revealed by scrub clearance work, and I have no idea what it is, or why it’s there. Does anyone out there know, please?

I don’t mind the rain and I’ll tolerate the wind, but the two together are evil. So I popped to see a mate in Aston and got the train back to Blake Street. 

A sort of lost day, really.

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.

September 1st – Another evening working late, I managed to pass through Walsall Wood just as the sun was setting behind the pithead sculpture. It’s not a thing I’ve ever been fond of, as many people know, but it does make for an interesting view over the old rail line.

It was a beautiful sky and a lovely evening, but I was far too tired to appreciate it.