I had an excellent conversation with Hannah on Saturday.
She’s right, of course, Hastings has become awfully Boujee, or gentrified to use more common language. It’s frustrating when you live here, to see people pretending they’re poor while paying London prices for beer in the upscale, very nice, pubs. Each year my landlord, who is actually very good, says he can get so much for the flat I live in, each year I stretch myself further so I have somewhere to live. And yes, if he looked for another tenant, he could get more, because they’d probably come from out of town and earn significantly more than me.
So where do I go?
Well, I stay here of course, with my holy shoes (no judgement, they’re well comfy). As much as at times I want to move, I like this flat with its quirks and noise and view. I’ll drink my tea and survey the street drinkers in St Leonards. I’ll watch Co-op get robbed daily and quietly cheer when they get away with their sausages. I have that privilege.
It frustrates me when some friends complain about their lives, when they don’t acknowledge how much privilege they have. I am lucky that I can absorb my landlords increases, because I don’t buy pints for London prices in local pubs. There’s a lot of give and take in my life these days and sometimes it feels like the world is taking more, you know? Anyway, enough complaining.
I’m sorry for the complete bullshit that I sprouted last week. I haven’t been very well, obviously, but the rainbow on the horizon is that I am feeling a little more normal. I have changed my medication, again, and now life slides along a little better, I still sleep the most bonkers of hours but things are better and I can’t complain too much about it.
The tremors have abated and I can type again. Still not excitedly completing my BTEC for work though, ho hum. Don’t judge me, it’s arduous and boring and full of best case scenarios when the care industry couldn’t be further from the perfect world they teach you. That’s what they teach, you see, they teach rainbows and reporting safeguarding and things being 100% better and more magical than they really are. Can you see why I photograph? Can you see why I search for magic in other places, because this is literally 100000000% of the reason.
My day job, and the world beat me and so I need beauty, I need inspiring fantastic people that help realise my ideas and leave a lasting impression, a photograph that captures a moment and maybe a feeling. Once at university I was told that I was talking about things in my work that didn’t exist, and maybe what I want in my work doesn’t exist, maybe they are just mediocre images, but I don’t care because they make me happy and sometimes thats enough for me. There are a lot of people out there who do talk their work up like it’s something more, something deeper, and if you can’t beat them (with sticks) then you might as well join them.
In that way, maybe I’m not so different from those in Hastings, maybe I too am trying to pretend that I’m something I’m not, that instead of pretending to be poor, I’m pretending to be a conceptual artist. Ha, what is it they say? Fake it til you make it? Well, I suppose thats what I’m gonna have to do.