CHEETHAM HILL, MANCHESTER 3.57AM
Still images from the dawn visit, the text below read out and mixed with field recordings from the time spent there.
“We’re told the Earth is spinning at some ludicrous speed, imperceptibly whirling us through the days and nights of our lives. I am most aware of this extraordinary phenomenon when photographing a fixed point, such as a building, with the sun or moon nearby. With each long exposure I can see the planets shifting, never remaining in the same place for more than what seems like a split second. Time is, as they say, relative.
On this early summer morning, I gazed up at the moon, and then down Sherbourne Street towards Strangeways prison and the new glass towers that rise mockingly behind. I wondered how the prisoners inside considered their time, and if they watched the rising sun or falling moon, and then think of their passing lives spent trapped in meagre cells.
If the council get their way, this old brick edifice will be demolished, along with most of the other buildings surrounding me. And then a new history will be built, and the ghosts of old Manchester will have to seek somewhere else to exist. There is ceaseless change within this city.
Behind me, first light brought a seeping blush of orange, pushing through the darkness of the cloudless sky. I could hear a dog, its barking carried mournfully on the still air.
A car passed and then stopped. Then reversed and stopped again. I braced myself for trouble.
The driver moved forward and backwards several times more, increasing my tension, before winding down his window to reveal a man older than myself, smiling.
“Are you ok? He asked. “I wondered if you needed any help.”
I reassured him I was fine, and was touched by his kindness, but wondered what it had been about my appearance and behaviour that had caused him to worry and then stop.
As sunrise approached, I went further north up the street, passing two lads deep in conversation, one tapping along on crutches. The moon was still clearly visible. Across from my new location on the street, in a park, I witnessed a man emerge from a tent and urinate against a tree before returning to his shelter. A woman then suddenly appeared near me, her face painted in make-up.
“Are you looking for business?” She asked sweetly. I politely declined and told her I was out at 4.30am to take pictures. Two strangers out walking the streets, minding each others’ business, briefly connected simply by being out when most were asleep.
“Of the deer in the park?” She asked. “You get deer. They’re beautiful. And down by the Irwell.
I love seeing them. Anyway, good luck.”
She began to walk away.
“What’s your name?” I called after her.
“Eva” she replied, and she waved and smiled.
Over the evolving city centre, in the time we’d spoken, the moon had moved from one side of an apartment block to the other. Seagulls soared above, screaming into the new day. There was now no sign of Eva. It was time to move on.”
