Sunday, February 24, 2008

Victorian Cemetery

I do love domestic urban architecture. I love the hundreds of rows of Victorian terraced houses in Portsmouth, the details of their construction; decorative brickwork, stained glass panels, wrought iron porticos, white tiled walls... all these things are endlessly fascinating. I have this kind of half-baked idea that I would love to be one of those people who spends a lifetime on a particular project and mine would be to photograph every building in Portsmouth to be known in years to come as 'the man who photographed an entire city'... anyway, fanciful daydreams aside, it is in this spirit that R and I like to roam the streets. Most people take their evening constitutional or Sunday afternoon walk in a park, we tend to walk along road after road of terraced housing. Today was one such Sunday afternoon but we found ourselves taking a detour through Kingston Cemetery which, although not in the league of Highgate or Nunhead in London, nonetheless has its fair share of wonderful Victorian stonework now suitably draped in foliage or worn at the edges. The whole set of photos is HERE if you want to see the overly friendly squirrels too.

1 comment:

clixchix said...

I've been a terrible correspondent of late, and I apologise for that. Pressure of work and a few rather long breaks in our broadband service must take most of the blame. Living in the countryside is beautiful, but the services are not always reliable. We had a tree down on our phone line a while back, snapping it like a shoelace, and for a couple of subsequent weeks the communication blackour nearly drove me potty.

I love these photographs. The angel appearing to be sprouting like a tree, the human outline vanishing into a nest of twigs, is positively surreal. Some artists gain celebrity from making works not as half as arresting as this. I keep thinking how much Cocteau would have loved it. Well done for taking these images and sharing them with your readers.

Peter and I once sat on the grassy bank of a park in London, having our lunch. A squirrel zig-zagged toward us across the green, stopping to closely examine non-existant things en route so that it could watch us out of the corner of an ever vigilant eye. Finally the little chap arrived at my foot, reared up and struck a pose, a supportive elbow on my shoe, and one leg crossed over the other. Just likesome cocky bloke leaning on a bar at lunchtime while surveying the world around him. Needless to say this cheekiness was rewarded with crusts and fruit!

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