BD: is LIT #2

More photos from BD: is LIT, the light show in Bradford. City Hall was bathed in a moving tapestry of colour: 'Worstedopolis' by Ronan Devlin, which celebrated Bradford's textile heritage. 

Elsewhere, 'Eternal Ensemble' (ONYVA studio) had four screens showing ethereal projections of a cellist, with accompanying music - 'music as living light'. It was rather beautiful (even though deaf old me couldn't hear the music!)

My own favourite was 'Rainforest Butterflies' by Anne Bennett. Inspired by the iridescent blue morpho tropical butterfly, they shimmered among the trees in Norfolk Gardens. Such a gorgeous blue, they looked quite real and were rather beautiful.

'Phenix' by Julien Menzel was also rather delightful, 'rising in light and flame' with ever changing colours from cool to warm and back again. It looked amazing set against the back drop of one of Bradford's Victorian jewels, St Georges Hall, attractively floodlit. Perhaps it's a good metaphor for our city, which is striving to 'rise again'.

BD: is LIT #1

It's not uncommon for cities to stage 'Light Nights' at this time of year. Bradford, as part of the City of Culture 2025 celebrations, was lit up for two nights so I popped down to the city centre to see it. I really enjoyed it. The light installations were, for the most part, rather good and the atmosphere around town was good too - a kind of buzzing calm; lots of people, lots of families out enjoying the sights. 

'Monolith' by  Urban Spy 'explored humanity's shifting relationship with data and technology'. It was huge and impactful, whether you made sense of that narrative or not. 

'End over End' by Studio Vertigo was a giant, colour-changing Slinky, playfully tumbling off the building. 

'Rever' by Outpoint Studio was again a colour-shifting display: 'a cascading waterfall of colour and music', with wreaths of mist giving a dreamlike sense to it. 

Golden light

Some days lately, the light has been just gorgeous, making my usual walk a real pleasure. You don't often see fishermen on this stretch of canal nowadays but there was just the one. He had an absolute ton of equipment: a seat and an umbrella; at least eight different rods, all on stands; plus boxes of bait, nets and so on. He needed a large trailer thingy to transport them all in. To my eye he looked a lot nearer but my phone's camera has rendered him as a tiny speck in the distance! Never mind, I wanted that autumn tree in the foreground and I didn't really want to disturb his peace with a closer shot. 

I rarely take a photo at this spot at the side of the railway bridge, but the blue sky and all the trees on Shipley Glen looked beautiful. Network Rail have recently felled a lot of trees and shrubs on the side of the line. It seems a shame and looks rather denuded now but they don't like a lot of 'leaves on the line' as they can make the rails slippery. 

Below is the view from the other side of the bridge, with Saltaire's towers and chimneys in the distance. Again, it would have been better with my telephoto lens but I only had my phone with me, not expecting the light to be so lovely. The best camera is always the one you have with you! 

In the little nature reserve, there are two small acers, which were absolutely glowing in the sunshine. 

Lest we forget

Saltaire's Caroline's Social Club currently has an impressive display for Remembrance Day, with hundreds of knitted poppies and some wooden ones too. It also has symbolic paintings on most of the windows. I don't recall them doing this in past years but I may be wrong. Perhaps it's because it's the 80th anniversary of the end of WWII, and probably one of the last times there will be any actual veterans of that war still alive. They have clearly put a lot of work into it and it's a nice example of community spirit, involving at least one local school too, I think. 

I'm sure most of us won't 'forget', though I can't see it makes any difference really.  There are still wars... seemingly more, and more brutal, than ever... and so much division and hatred seems to be surfacing in our societies lately. Ironically some of the worst attitudes seem to be among those who hang on fiercely to our notions of sovereignty and national pride. Personally, I'd like to see a lessening of the trend for sentimentality that surfaces when tragedy happens; all those flowers and teddies and candles left at key sites, by people who never even knew those concerned. All those balloons and flaming lanterns released 'in memory', despite that we know how harmful they then prove to be to our wildlife. Yes, we need to teach the younger generations about our not always glorious history and we should always be deeply compassionate to those who struggle, for whatever reason, but I'm not sure we should sensationalise things. I'm not against the respectful commemoration of those who gave their lives and wellbeing for the sake of others, but maybe it's time to dial back on some of the indulgence of nostalgia. (I realise this may not be a widely held view but it's how I feel.) 

Knitting

Life in my apartment is much easier and less stressful than caring for my previous Edwardian terraced house. It's smaller, more modern, no stairs (of course) and generally stays much cleaner, with very little dust. Added to that, before I moved, I'd massively decluttered from twenty-five years of accumulated 'stuff', so that everything now has its place and function, and there is just less of it. As a result, I seem to have a bit more time on my hands, especially in the evenings. By then my dry, sore eyes are usually too tired to read, and there's rarely anything that really attracts me to watch on TV. So my tendency was to sit in front of the computer - and I decided I was doing too much of that. I needed a new hobby. 

Now I've never been into 'crafts'; photography is my creative outlet. My mother aways reckoned she couldn't knit or sew and I've been a bit the same. I have in the past done a bit of sewing, even made clothes for me and my daughter when she was little. But knitting was never on the cards. My only foray into it was at primary school, when I got so bored knitting a scarf that I cast off after about nine inches. My teacher got really cross with me and even threw scissors! So that meant I have never since been attracted to try.

I have friends who knit; my daughter's paternal grandma was a competent knitter and I still wear a jumper she knitted for me. There are 'knit and natter' groups locally and the little craft shop just down the road was advertising a beginners' class. It seemed like a good place to start. 

Fast forward six weeks or so and I'm getting on a lot better than I anticipated. So far I've only done 'straight' things, no increasing and decreasing, but I've found a rhythm and the tension of my work is a lot better and neater than I predicted. I've made wrist warmers, a neck warmer and now a long scarf made up of sample panels of different stitches. I'm really enjoying myself, and it's a mindful activity too. I have to concentrate, can't think of anything else, so that's very calming. 

I've also already got a box full of lovely yarn and started accumulating all the necessary paraphernalia. It seems quite an addictive hobby! Whereas once I'd be attracted to stationery stores and book shops, now, all of a sudden, it's yarn shops that emit the siren call. 

Having finished the scarf, I'm wondering what to try next... My church has just started a 'baby bank' market stall, supplying free clothes and other baby items to those who need them. I think there's plenty of scope in that direction, baby things being smaller and quicker to knit up than adult knitwear. Hopefully this new-found hobby will become a real part of my life. 

When I told my daughter I was learning to knit, her response was 'next Gran level unlocked', which amused me a great deal.  💪

 

To the woods

More autumn trees! These from a wander through Hirst Woods in the sunshine. The entire wood is carpeted thickly with leaves and beech mast, though there are still plenty of leaves yet to fall. 

I enjoy tramping the ancient, hollowed out trackways, strong links to our ancestors who also used these woods. Some worked in the long abandoned mill by the river, some even lived here, in cottages whose broken walls can still be traced. Iron Age Britons may have had a small settlement in the wood, which sits on a glacial moraine; traces of a circular structure have been identified. Charcoal burners had their kilns here. Nowadays, people walk their dogs, children build dens, all manner of wildlife lives in the undergrowth and the trees breathe for us. 

A hint of a rainbow

Dramatic skies and light drizzle resulted in the faintest hint of a rainbow over Salts Mill. I did wait to see if it would come stronger but what little sunshine there was to create it disappeared behind a cloud, so eventually I continued on my way. 

I could see it again as I walked up Saltaire Road. There's something eternally joyful about rainbows (even faint ones), isn't there? 

I do also love the effect of sunlight on the stone set against a dramatic stormy sky, even when there isn't a rainbow. 

Autumnal trio

A trio of local shots... our tree-lined streets are a joy to behold on a sunny autumn day. (Though not usually that quiet!) 

Climb the road up the hill for a quarter mile or so and the views along the Aire valley towards Bingley are magnificent. 

Singing farewell

Ann Hamilton's installation 'We Will Sing' in the roof space at Salts Mill has just closed. I've seen it several times but I decided I needed one last look... It's always the vibrant colours, lyrical drapes and folds of the woollen cloaks that attract me most. In fact, if those cloaks were being auctioned off as it closes, I'd buy one! (I'm not aware that they are; I suppose the installation may go on to be shown elsewhere, though it was created specifically for this space in the mill and I don't think it would have the same impact anywhere else. The roof space is a creative event in itself!)

During the time the installation has been on display, people have responded to the artist's request to 'write a letter to the future' and there have been volunteers reading out many of the responses. I imagine that was interesting to listen to - though, of course, with my impaired hearing, it was not possible for me to decipher.  

The lengths of fine blue fabric in the other room have the event name woven into the selvedges. All the cloth used was made by William Halstead, a local manufacturer of high quality wool and mohair cloth, based in the same mill in Bradford for the last 150 years. Nowadays they supply fabric to the top couturiers and fashion brands across the world. 

So the haunting music that has echoed around this space for the last few months is quieted. I feel it's been a great privilege to have had this on my doorstep, among the many wonderful offerings that have been part of Bradford City of Culture 2025. 

 

Autumn in Roberts Park

It took me quite a few days to recover from my trip to Edinburgh. I did so much walking there that I rather tired myself out. Of course, it didn't help that I had a flu vaccination when I got back too, and that added to my lethargy. I'm feeling more like my usual self now but I haven't really stirred myself to do anything other than a few local walks. The autumn colours are gorgeous, so I won't apologise too much for yet another post full of trees. 

All of these pics were taken in Saltaire's Roberts Park. It was a lovely day and the squirrels were very busy racing around - looking for food or burying food, I'm not sure which.  

An ancient set of stocks that I understand used to be in Shipley market place (on Stocks Hill) is now located in Roberts Park. I sometimes think it's a punishment we ought to return to using. I'm sure we all have some folks we'd like to see pinned in there, having tomatoes or wet sponges thrown at them with accompanying jeers. Personally I'd put those dog walkers who don't clear up after their dog, or - almost worse - clean up and then hang the plastic bag on a tree! And the drivers of big SUVs that park on the pavement and don't leave room for folks to pass safely.

The signs of the times...

Another fiery sunset. I never get tired of seeing them. You know what they say... 'Red sky at night, shepherds' delight.' (Or sailors', depending, I suppose, on how near you are to the coast.) It's said to mean good weather on the following day. We shall see. And I learned something today... the red sky lore is, apparently, even something that Jesus is said to have alluded to (according to the Bible, Matthew 16: 2b-3) when rebuking the Pharisees and Sadducees:

'When it is evening, you say, "It will be fair weather; for the sky is red." And in the morning, "It will be stormy today, for the sky is red and threatening." You know how to interpret the appearance of the sky, but you cannot interpret the signs of the times.'

Still true, I think! 

Azure and aurum

Azure and aurum; blue and gold. These are the colours of autumn, at least on the days we've been lucky enough to have a bit of sunshine. Familiar local scenes are lifted to another level in these conditions.