Negative space. An energy drain. Dead time. Purgatory. A form of amnesia. A tunnelled landscape. In 1995 my dad walked up the A13 searching for a wormhole, a doorway, a portal, out of London. If he’d had a car, the wormhole would have already opened itself up to him. We aren’t supposed to exist on the road just to be there. It is not a place by its own merit, but a non-place, a hyper alienated channel to transport capital (workers, goods, waste) from A to B. The landscape beside the road becomes a blur, a background, dimly perceived – relegated there by the roadscape. Bus stops, warehouses, housing estates, tent encampments and traveller sites, all to the side and underside the road. Which side are you on?
Paul Evans
as himself
Aislinn Evans
as herself
