Andy Marshall's Genius Loci Digest: 13 September 2024

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PHOTO-HOARD

Staircase to organ loft, Hexham Abbey.

WORDS

"And I’ll show you a sunset if you’ll stay with me till dawn."

Judi Tzuke

OBSERVATIONS

Here Is Our Poetry.

I always get anxious at this time of year, and for these last few days, I’ve been mentally preparing for autumn. But, when I think about it, there’s so much to look forward to. I’ve been imagining the darker nights: the constellation of lights glowing from within, not without; the sheen along wet paving stones; and the shadows behind the lighted windows.

Ezra Pound’s words on New York at night come to mind:

“ I have looked down across the city from high windows. It is then that the great buildings lose reality and take on their magical powers. They are immaterial; that is to say, one sees but the lighted windows. Squares after squares of flame, set and cut into the Aether.

Here is our poetry, for we have pulled down the stars to our will.”

Even though we have the darker nights, this is the time of year when sunrise and sunset bless our waking hours. There are days in winter when I photographed a sunset, and it stayed imprinted upon my mind and imbibed my dreams, until dawn.

On some autumnal days, I’ve witnessed the sun’s antics whilst in motion. One morning, whilst driving down the A1, I was entertained by the pink adolescent globe swinging from left to right and then back again. For a short while, it perched on top of a lorry cab hurtling up the inside lane, until a rise in the road dropped it into a distant village, vignetted by a blanket of fog.

On another freezing, inanimate day during first light, I was rooted to a single location, taking a time-lapse. My view was of a flattened landscape, framed by trees encompassing a small building. The scene was pallid and drained of hue, until a patch of blue gently spread, rippling out plumes of cyan, and a yellowing of the horizon revealed the tip of the golden orb.

The landscape, after a barren night, drank deeply from the gloaming and gradually filled with colour until it reached saturation. For a moment, the sun hesitated, cradled like a jewel in a thicket, before gathering itself and rising above the thorny hedge. Within minutes, it was silenced once more by the prow of a barn, only to re-emerge moments later, creeping across the fields, perambulating along hollow ways, silhouetting trees, and absconding behind hedgerows.

On days like these—days that will soon be upon us—I always seem to notice and appreciate the light more than I do in summer. The light feels rarified, a blessing—something destined to carry us through the darker days.

The best evenings are when the atmosphere is charged. As the day dissipates into the ether, the air is alive with motion: the murmuration of birds, the flickering of lamps, people heading homewards with sanctuary on their minds. Five minutes past the golden hour, and the blue begins to take effect. The buildings look like cardboard cut-outs, silhouetted against a cerulean sky. In spite of all the movement, the night feels as though the sound has been sucked out of it. For a mind that often races, it simplifies the complexity of the day into a soluble silhouette.

Horatio Clare touches upon the qualities of abstraction of seasonal light in his book “The Light In The Dark.”

‘The light was astounding today, the air whitening the sunlight, the cold burnishing the blue, the light like the absence of smell in the air, both bright and bleaching. There seemed to be no dapple, no interplay of shadow and light. In the sun there was glittering, blintering blaze with a stark radiance in it. Out of the sun the shadows were scoops of cold, like darkness left lying in broad daylight.”

One of my architectural mentors, John Archer, told me the best time to photograph a building was in autumn, when the low slung sun creeps into the darkest corners. Even better if it has snowed, as the light reflects upwards, illuminating the roof timbers.

But the shadows would still be there or thereabouts. If it were not for the shadows, we would not appreciate the light so much. For without the delicate equilibrium between light and shade, there would be no depth, no contrast, no visual purpose. It is in the shadows themselves that we discover the true brilliance of the light.

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HOTSPOTS

Hexham, Northumberland.

And so our last visit to Hexham, Northumberland.

And what a remarkable journey it has been where first we saw light absorbed and transformed in one of the darkest places on this planet - St. Wilfred's Crypt - where the strange alien forms glowed in the dark.

And then onto the town proper - above it with the birds - hovering over a scene where a man told a story of fortitude and inspiration where he used his art to help subdue Parkinson's.

After speaking to Bill, I felt so inspired. I finished my sketch and walked into the abbey. Inside there is a remarkable interactive exhibition called The Big Story.

Many of the photographs on the information boards were taken by me on a visit to Hexham over a decade ago.

How the above photo was taken:

It was during this time that I noticed the light and shade. Hexham Abbey has a particular quality of light - a light percolated through the northern climes.

We can pick up a book and find out about the artefacts, the archaeology, the Roman and the Viking, the chantry and the chapel, the art and the edifice.

But without witnessing the light-play in the abbey it is difficult to find its soul.

Over several days I worked with camera and tripod absorbing the light onto my sensor and onto my retina. I hope that this visual parade of light and shade will give you a sense of this building.

The Night Stair

During the countless hours I spent at the abbey, I found myself deeply drawn to the Night Stair. I recall capturing a time-lapse of the stairs, watching as they shifted from darkness into light.

Out of the shadows, the staircase appeared, its essence woven from both light and shade, bearing the weight of centuries. In medieval times, before dawn’s first glow, the Priory bell would rouse the monks from their slumber, summoning them to Matins. Silently, they would descend from their dormitory, following the ancient path of the Night Stair to the Choir, where the first prayers of the day awaited.

Over several days I kept coming back to the Night Stair and capturing them in different phases of use and light.

And then came an idea - what if we trammelled up the light and captured the essence of the movement from centuries gone by with my camera.

In that moment, as I caught the light trails with my camera, it felt as though time itself folded. The soft glow of the present intertwined with the shadows of the past, and the centuries-old footsteps of the monks echoing in the stillness.

The Night Stair, once a silent witness to their devotion, now carried the weight of both memory and motion. It was more than just a staircase—it was a threshold, where past and present converged in the rhythm of light, a fleeting glimpse of eternity within the abbey walls.

✨ Members have access to an fab aerial video and VR image of Hexham here:

VAN LIFE

Camper Van Dinner

The best way to wind down for me is to cook a good evening meal.

Griddled vegetables with mozzarella and feta cheese on flatbread.

Cut up cherry tomatoes, spring onions and set aside. Griddle the aubergines, courgettes, peppers until brown. Set aside and mix with the tomatoes and spring onions. Heat up a flatbread in the pan.

Put the mixed vegetables onto the flatbread and tear up some mozzarella and crush some feta cheese on top. Add some mint leaves and season. Then add a touch of olive oil. Yum. Perfect vanlife food.

ON MY COFFEE TABLE

BOOKMARKED

FILM AND SOUND

FROM THE ARCHIVE

VAN LIGHT

Golden Hour Light

Raking Light

Midday Light

Diffused Light

Mirrored Light

Refracted Light

Dappled Light

Coloured Light

Artificial Light

Rainbow Light

Contre-Jour Light

Tungsten Light

Twilight

Blue Hour Twilight

Astronomical Twilight

Woody Headlight

Neon Light

Moon Light

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