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✨Holiday Edition✨
Sainte-Chapelle, Paris.
What each of us must do is cleave to what we find most beautiful in our human heritage - and pass it on……And to pass these precious fragments on is our mission.
Michael Ventura, The Age of Endarkenment
Things fall apart.
It’s 05:45 am, and I’m in the van, driving along a dual carriageway in Hampshire, when I’m suddenly parped by a chap in an HGV. Is he calling me a w*nker? He was motioning something with his hands, but I just stare back in that gormless Steve Martin/John Candy Planes, Trains and Automobiles fashion.
Then I glance in the rear-view mirror and see twenty five metres of hookup cable snaking behind me. It’s still attached to the van. In the chaos of a morning where my van alarm had gone off for no reason at 04:30 on the campsite, I’d forgotten to unplug it from the campsite hookup tower.
I just want to stick my head into a hole.
Before I can even do that, I pull over and begin the humiliating task of retrieving the cable from the road—with cars whizzing past, honking their horns.
I’ve got an early shoot I need to get to Southampton, but I’m worried about the electrics back at the campsite; wrenching the cable from the hookup tower might have shorted the site. I drive back, and to my immense relief, everything is intact.
I’m feeling very low. It’s the perfect storm—a toxic cocktail of intersecting events that hits deep into my self-esteem. I keep telling myself that struggling with imposter syndrome and low self-esteem is just a part of being a creative. But silencing the self-doubt is a constant battle for me.
The sight of that snaking cable is a harsh reminder of my vulnerability. Even as I head to Southampton and complete the job, I sink deeper into self-loathing, convinced there’s no way out of this spiral.
In search of something to root me into the day, I visit a building with an imposter syndrome all of its own. St. Mary’s Itchen Stoke, built in 1866, belies the grandeur inspired by the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris—a royal chapel designed to house the Crown of Thorns.
If anybody wants to get a sense of Sainte-Chapelle without the expense of travelling to Paris, they should head for Itchen Stoke.
When I first see its silhouette against the sky, my hopes are raised; this is a place where the material weight of history meets the intangible lightness of space.
Outside, the roof is ablaze with diaper work. The apex is crested with filigree iron ridge tiles. The bellcote has encaustic decoration.
Inside, there is a lavish abundance of material: gilt, bronze, and marble. There is a rhythm and syncopation to the windows that leads the eye to the east end.
I walk over to the polygonal apse. The windows are multi-faceted, like a diamond.
After a few moments, I realise that I’m standing within a labyrinth on the floor.
I start to trace its path with my eyes, working my way into the centre. The process takes the sting from my nerves, but before I make it to the centre, a moment of beauty unfolds. The sun breaks through the clouds, casting a warm, vibrant light across the apse, diverting my eyes away from the labyrinth. I’m stood within a lightbox. The labyrinth’s complexity, and my mental maze, dissolve in the light.
The building grounds me, anchoring me in a moment of clarity. It’s remarkable how places can instigate a correspondence and absorb anxious thoughts.
Feeling back on track, I reach for my camera in an act of thankfulness.
Photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson said that ‘It is an illusion that photos are made with the camera... they are made with the eye, heart, and head,’ and I work for an hour trying to capture the genius loci to pass on the emotional weave of this place.
With photography finished, I step outside into the cool air and feel lighter. The sun is higher now and the birds are chirping, marking the true beginning of the day.
Post Script
Recently, I received a letter from Digest subscriber, Jo, which was a balm for my imposter syndrome and gave me more confidence in the weekly Digest I write.
Jo bought one of my limited edition prints of my sketch of Bradford-on-Avon, and she writes:
“Dear Andy, Thank you so much for the print and the note. I found all of your photos quite meaningful, but the drawing of B-on-A is very special to me too!
Getting older, I had tended to shy away from travelling alone, preferring to let my daughters do the driving, but your piece about Wells and Bradford-on-Avon inspired and moved me—so I booked an Airbnb, got in my car, and went off with my sketchbook and phone camera... Two lovely days of looking and sketching revived me and gave me back such a lot of confidence.”*
I’m not religious, but buildings like St. Mary's, Itchen Stoke and St Laurence, Bradford-on-Avon, are designed to elevate the spirit. Even beyond their original purpose, many redundant places of worship still have the ability to awe us and equally to serve as sanctuaries, offering solace and inspiration to all, regardless of faith. They remain powerful symbols on our journey through the labyrinth of the human condition—reminding us that when we reignite our belief in ourselves, they can guide us towards new and unexpected directions.
Thank you, Jo—every time imposter syndrome starts to creep in, I shall remember your words.
*With permission from the author.
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I'm away on retreat next week! In next week's digest I'll be sharing some words from the draft of my book. Thanks for your support, I'm so grateful.
Andy
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Photographs and words by Andy Marshall (unless otherwise stated). Most photographs are taken with Iphone 14 Pro and DJI Mini 3 Pro.
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