I remember the head of the photography course at Trent Polytechnic kindly lending me his copy of 'The Wasteland' by TS Eliot. Great title, but shame it meant little to me, perhaps as actual waste land hardly gets a look in. I was well into my post-Baltz-visit, new topographics phase of regularly setting off on a motorbike to photograph industrial/wasteland areas to the east of Nottingham. Memories that spring to mind from that time are the bike once slithering over on a back road covered in hard ice and sunshine on railway tracks, and the sense of stillness once the engine was off, walking on questionable ground. And being invited inside a refinery for a security check once...
Now when I go to my local Tesco I sometimes wander through the gap in the fence at the back of the car park to look over the expanse of wasteland there, on the east side of the city. Today I wasn't the only one. I'd been taking pictures for a few minutes when a middle aged man, followed by a young girl trudged past, carrying short-handled spades. Also in the distance men not dressed for winter were sat on white plastic garden furniture. Later on, up an embankment, hidden by scrub and low trees, someone had neatly constructed a home from wooden pallets and plastic sheeting, tucked out of sight until practically upon it.
