Mass Observation 2016

Mass Observation 2016: Beach and Bench!

10.30 - Beach

A quiet site, fountains can be heard around me along with the faint beeping of a truck reversing, suddenly the sound of people laughing interrupts and I can see them walking by. Across the bridge, underneath them a duck can be seen dipping it’s head into the waters below. I fear for how cold the water must be. With small brushes of winds, I feel the first signs of winter push against me but also the trees and plants too.

11.10 – Creative Edge Bench

A small insect marches his way across the table I sit upon, taking no notice to me as I scribble down his movements into my journal. His movements are slow although his little feet move quickly, all repetitively going back and forth until eventually he disappears over the edge of the table, I wonder where it is the small insect is going.

Suddenly, a familiar sound creeps into my ear as the group from earlier comes walking and laughing by, all of them with hands full of grocery bags. Something catches my eye behind them as a small duck comes making his way away from the pond, it’s orange beak bright against the deep green landscape, it’s bright beak picking against the grass, until it eventually waddles its way into a bright green bush.

Out of nowhere comes a couple and their Golden Retriever, a surprising sight to see on-campus. Its delightful smile is a nice addition to the scene as it makes its way into the Creative Edge building.

Small clusters of people make their way across the campus, all going their own way, no sound can be heard from them at all, even the ones right in front of me are as quiet as mice. Only the fountain in the pond can be heard as it sends streams of water into the murky pond, and even the sound of that is faint and easy to forget about.

I start to take a look around me, paying close attention to the sights around me, trying to take it all in.  The sky is a light shade of blue today, with small strikes of clouds etched out across the blue canvas. In front of it lies the Creative Edge building, big and bold it stands tall. With its boxed design, all dark shades of grey except the bit of red that creeps into my vision just to the right.  Then to the left lies a giant clump of mud, squared off by metal fences, although it doesn’t add much to the image it is a sign of progress, a reminded that the campus is constantly growing. In front of it is a tall and skinny tree that stands firm against the cold winds, with its light vibrant green leaves only slightly shaking against the winds. Suddenly the winds calm down and for a second the sun glares down on me and I feel hot, I take this time to enjoy the feeling and I smell the nature surrounding me and it feels nice to know that is what is around me.

Charlie Cairns

PS There is a 'beach' at Edge Hill. I've never seen it, but students have. (ed)

Mass Observation 2016: Brunch, Male Genitalia and Bedhead's Stubble

A Blackbird’s Brunch at Edge HIll

 

The Arts Centre. The place in which your character can be anything you want it to be, and your imagination is free to take over and control you.

Costumes. There is nothing more powerful than the transformation of an individual through their outfit. Bursts of gold, pleats and ruffles and spirals of black and red are contrasting with the gentle pastels on falling, elegant chiffon. A medieval theme seems to be occurring here.

People. Everywhere. Milling around. Taking things in. Having coffee. Relaxing with friends. Laughter fills the red painted walls. A small group of girls are dancing to Beyonce in the right-hand corner of the social area; whether for fun or for routine, they seem to be enjoying what they are doing. Another group of students are in the opposite corner, stood and sat down, practising their lines for an upcoming play. Possibly Goodbye Gunther, which is the next theatre production to be shown here. The atmosphere inside this bustling building is juxtaposed with the view from outside of the window in which I am sat.

Outside, everything is purely tranquil. A beautiful peaceful aurora graces this part of the campus. It would make the perfect picnic spot in summer. Looking out here, one can only imagine the many groups of friends sat here at many times of the year, or lone individuals on a lunch break, head in a book. Oak trees gracefully dance in the gentle wind. The grass, freshly cut, is filled with an overlay of rustic, brown and orange leaves – autumn has arrived now.

A hopeful blackbird comes for his brunch on the opposite side of this pane of glass, but evidently has no success, and flies on its search for its meal.

The occasional lost –and no doubt, hungover- first year crosses the path at the side of the building, but none stop to appreciate the fine metal sculptures or picturesque scenery – presumably because they’re late for a lecture.

Beyond the circumference of the Arts Centre, the student information centre is bustling with busy students: “What do I do about this?”, “Where can I find that?” – You can almost hear the anxiety in their voices.

Upstairs, theatre halls are currently being set up for ‘Free Film Fridays”, which I suspect will be popular with the newcomers; after all, nobody in the right mind would turn down a free night out.

The weather slowly takes a turn, and the clouds gradually make a move over the sun. The wind’s pace fastens, and students are now wearing jackets over their summer t-shirts. Sudden temperature drops and chilly mornings like this bring out the inner excitement for autumnal events.

Sitting here, watching, keeping to yourself and your thoughts, over a warm cappuccino makes one wonder about the lives that all of these people lead. The man over there in blue jeans could be the next scientist, who may find the cure to many illnesses, he may have a wife and a dog, they may already be successful. The girl sat in the corner with her earphones in may be the next huge fashion icon, she may be obsessed with vogue and indie music, off to every gig with all of her best friends. Who knows what kind of lives these strangers lead, or whom they are about to become. Only time will tell.

 

Rachel Whittingham

 

The green outline of male genitalia

 

10:40 AM

Two mallards, one male and one female, waddle across the grass by the sports track and pause momentarily by a large tree.


10:49 AM

You can tell a lot about a student by the sticky notes they choose to display in their windows. For example, the owner of this particular flat is presumably fan of retro game characters. They, whosoever they might be, have gone through the trouble of assembling little squares of sticker paper in the forms of a space invader and pac-man villain.

The flat opposite which shows the green outline of male genitalia, however… Well, that speaks for itself.


10:54 AM

A young woman plods up the path, hugging her arms close to her chest and keeping her eyes trained on the floor.


11.20

Two students sit side-by-side, one contentedly typing on his laptop and the other scribbling in a notebook. They don’t communicate to each other but, appear comfortable in each others presence. Simply knowing they aren’t alone is enough to keep them going. They look across at each other in wordless acknowledgement of this unspoken fact.

 

Kaden James

 

 

 

Bedhead and Stubble

 

A tractor slowly hums its way through the army of parked cars. The danger that it might hit one of them seems to be increasing as it turns its corner, but it made it safely out of the metal maze. Now that it's drudged behind me I feel rather scared for the poor thing; I doubt I've ever heard such an almighty racket! I wouldn't be surprised to turn around and find half the running track torn apart. 

Two blokes with bedhead and stubble just passes, glaring at me with deadpan eyes. Even if I hadn't looked up their aura of judgement radiated too strongly for me to ignore. Another girl followed them just behind; her contempt expression regarding life indicated that 10:50 may be a tad too early for her. It doesn't help either that she reeked of smoke and dropped her used fag to the ground as she walked away.
Then again, a couple just bounced past giggling. It's refreshing to know that not everybody is all doom and gloom before lunchtime. Perhaps they're enjoying this short patch of nature that interludes the overpowering sense of industrialisation. 

The trees are blowing stereotypically in the wind that's freezing the tips of my fingers.

To my left 4 men are having a good chat, chuckling away at each other’s jokes.  They seem to be lecturers, a student with untamed shaggy hair is asking them directions. Unfortunately one of them, the shortest with a magnificently twirled moustache, has spotted me staring at him. I doubt he approves of such peculiar behaviour, judging from his short decision for him and his friends to venture back inside where warmth awaits. 

A girl with long, pampered hair just strutted past giving the world her best 'cool kid' swagger. Her fur coat I can empathise with though, the wind's picked up brought a nasty chill along with it. My fellow creative writing student and I have both progressed now to sniffing where necessary and wrapping up as tightly as our coats will allow. 

I do find the traffic cones quite amusing. They've placed them hopefully between the road and the grass, but I fail to believe that if a grumpy driver didn't already know to drive one the road, a few small orange triangles are hardly going to provide much direction here. 

The campus has really hushed up now, even the distant rumble of cars on the motorway mixed with the profanity I can hear in a nearby flat can't really ruin this idyll. One bird is floating above the car park alone. Not in a lonely way, it just seems to be playing a game in a naturally graceful way. It'll swoop low to the cars, seeing how close it can get without touching them, before rising to the skies. Personally I think it's a bit of a show off, but I do hope that the other birds are watching from all their respective trees so this acrobatic display won't have gone to waste in the aviary community. 

A man in pale blue just walked past dragging a bin so large that the nearby skips may well get rather jealous. He's paused for a moment down the path, just long enough for the garbage smell to drift downwind to me. I'm disappointed in the surrounding pine trees, I thought they were supposed to be a fragrant constituent of nature, but they've failed to drown out the repugnant stench of rot now filling the air. 

I briefly abandoned my post just now; somebody mentioned "Free hot dogs in the Hub" and, as a student, I feel I was obligated to follow that lead. I'm eating it now, and it's delicious!

 

 

Callum Trueman 

 

Mass Observation 2016: These Two do the Date in two different ways

23^rd September, 2016

At the back of the Art Centre, there is a small, beautiful field. People rarely come here because there is nothing to do here. Maybe this is the best thing about this place. It’s away from everything. Calm, quiet and peaceful.

The grass has been cut down in circles, which is quite satisfying. It looks like an old Greek theatre but there is only grass instead of stone. The sun is shining brightly. It’s illusive: we might feel this is summer. But the small brown leaves around in the grass, the cold wind reminds us, no, it’s not summer. It’s autumn now.

The weather is balanced between cold and warm. It feels perfect, but nothing is. A lawnmower destroys the peaceful silence and the safe feelings, which make us feel we are invisible here, are gone.

It’s good to sit alone in the nature for a little time. It refreshes our soul. But nothing lasts forever, unfortunately…

Balambér Paál

23/9/2016 

 

Two Girls escort a four-wheeled suitcase through the carpark. The older does more work but the younger doesn’t notice. Four computing students, all male, step out for a fag break; cupping their hands together against the wind. When a fifth joins them their body language changes. Her jeans are ripped at the knees

 

Later, a bald man in a blue shirt smokes two cigarettes over the course of one phonemail. The faster he paces the faster he smokes. A woman in a black jacket, hijab, and doc martens smokes a roll up, looking like a northern Sheila Vard; she weaves between six young white men in hoodies and shorts.

 

Hywel

Mass Observation 2016 Just beyond the wind matches the main buidling (a la Breakwell) near the beach!

Just beyond my view of the bright

Just beyond my view of the bright, multi-coloured flags, pinned between two short stumped trees, a man sits upon a large, yellow lawnmower. He has black muffs covering both his ears, blocking out the angry sounds of the machine’s working blades, and he rests one of his hands upon the top of his left knee, while the other tightly grips the steering wheel before him. His body calmly tilts to the left as he rounds yet another fat stumped tree, and now I find that he is coming towards me, his eyes looking far beyond my shoulders. I have gone unnoticed. As the man gets closer, the more I can distinguish his features. They are softening, the hard cut edges now fading. It isn’t until he is just within a few meters away from me do I realise that the man I have been observing is actually a tiny woman, her hair tightly pulled back and her eyes covered with large, black and rather chunky glasses. She seems much more skinner now that I can see her up close, her cheeks somewhat hollow. The more I watch her, the more her uncomfortable demeanour screams out to me; she’s doesn’t seem happy, at least not today. 

- Chloe Endacott 

 

Ormskirk: Edge Hill Library 12:00PM

The second floor is coloured with white, green and grey. Walls block out the outside chatter. Chairs and desks inhabit the space. Footsteps amplify and fade into the distance. Coats are dumped on chairs, bags thrown under desks. Seated on chairs are several students going about their hushed work. Necks craned forward, heads bent low. Eyes fixed on illuminated screens. Fingers poised, they dance to the beat of taps and clicks.

Eve Lewis

 

The wind matches

The wind matches the students’ mood, relaxed and carefree. A small number of students either alone or in packs wandering in and out of the sun and the shade.

 

In a patch surrounded by trees stands alone a single statue. A statue resembling a woman forged with welded steel. Does it represent strength of woman? Or just a piece of art? Not much is to be known, only that it is called "Bingo Bongo" and that it is my safety not to touch. 

 

A group of people stand lost seeking help from what appears to be another student, although I cannot judge them as I am now also lost. 

 

Two young students sit typing on their phones, one startled by a wasp and the other about to join. 

 

As the sun gets hotter the crowds get bigger. One half dressed for the earlier chill while the other dressed for the warm glow.

 

I saw the man again, the first time I saw him was on the bus, the second in the student cinema and again walking past in front of the business school. Each time dressed smartly. I’m leaving guessing what exactly he is here. 

 

It is hard to please everyone on one university campus but by judging the line in front of me there is one way to please them, free hotdogs. 

 

I have some questions about reading lists and textbooks I was hoping to ask you? 

 

-Ailís Mc Goldrick 

 

 

Main Building

Here I sit, alone, watching what the world has to offer drift past me. Most pass through without a second thought. Others stop and over think to a point of confusion and panic about where they’re even going.

A man passes through then back again with a newly acquired woman. He is a blind man with a beautiful golden canine assistant. The world is dark to him just as it is colourless to the dog. Whereas the rest of us must endure the sun’s beam smashing through the countless windows spread around the building. The sun’s beam reflects off the already harsh white surfaces that covers the interior of the building structure.

People stop and stare for a subtle moment at the visually impaired gentleman and his furry companion. Perhaps because a blind person is an uncommon sight and we are always drawn to the unusual. Or perhaps it was his trusted four legged friend that, although it spends its days sniffing butts and eating raw meat, was looked upon as elegant and majestic. 

Others pass through demand no attention from the people that have congregated in this space. Three men with dirt on their thick brown boots; freshers dazed and confused wondering where they are and why they thought that extra shot of vodka was a good idea the night before; an experienced student casually searching for his misplaced jacket; proud yet exhausted teachers; people looking for that desperately needed hit of caffeine to get them through the day.

The cashier of a small shop in the space wished she also demanded no attention. She scowls with her eyes half shut as if the universe has short changed her. People thank the cashier but she just sighs and rolls her eyes or avoids eye contact all together. An attitude, I’m sure, the out of place exquisite traditional neo gothic stairs would take about being surrounded by such impersonal modern structures if it were to become animate.

However, linked to the modern complex is an older building that shares the neo gothic style of the stairs. As I walk down to this side of the building one is greeted with brick and stone walls which is a contrast to the unsettling harsh white paint of the modern walls. The traditional garden square in the middle reveals beautiful greenery as well as a fountain with a both scared and endearing looking child holding itself as its centre attraction. In contrast to the busy modern area that keeps you alert the sort of neo gothic style of the rest of the building relaxes me. The dark wooden doors with golden handles; the small windows dotted down the corridors reveal vibrant purple, red and white flowers as well as interesting artistic structures and even the sound of heels hitting the floor as people walk has a somewhat relaxing tone.

I walk up the two flights of stairs passing no one as I climb to greater heights. The only sound is the echo of my shoes hitting the ground, although, quite loud it is not deafening. The sound gives me a sense of importance, a sense of existence. However, I am quick to realise that the beauty of this neo gothic half of a building hides its ugly secret needed maintenance rooms, on the top floor.

Returning to the modern side of the building I see that a long queue has formed outside the small shop. This queue is full of people longing to get their hands on a hot dog. All have vouchers out, clutching them tightly as if they were a precious gift that someone may attempt to take. This is a very common occurrence with vouchers especially among students, I find. Saving money wherever they even though often this means they buy something they don't eve’ want as they could get it half price. Four girls walk past carrying at least two full shopping bags each. Clearly they have taken advantage of every voucher they’ve found.

The occasional moments of human silence is something I appreciate as I sit outside. The ambience of all the human voices together creates an almost static like sound. However, within the moments of silence birds can be heard. They sing a beautiful bird song that is constantly drowned out by the common human. Sitting here and very occasionally hearing these beautiful natural sounds makes me realise that perhaps I too drown these unappreciated sounds out through the loud music I listen to and the loud conversations I have. Would be incredibly peaceful if one day everyone just sat in silence during the day to listen to nature and turn no light on at night to view the wonder of nature in the sky.

 

Gemma Boyne

 

A la Breakwell

There are automatic doors in the glass walls at either end of the foyer. Worn handles adorn the doors behind me; automation has been added only as a hasty afterthought.  They sound like a forklift truck lifting a heavy load each time they open and close. The doors in front are purposely automatic and sound like the yawn of a giant, a swallowed inhalation on opening succeeded by a contented outward breath as they close behind each person.

There is a sun bright yellow cherry picker parked inside the foyer by the giant’s mouth. It hides two embarrassed fire extinguishers which nestle, inaccessible, in the corner.  The cherry picker is very clean.  It has a name. “STAR 10” is printed boldly on the arm extending to the basket.  It reminds me of a Thunderbird.

Beyond the glass wall in front of me, a flame haired girl smokes and clutches a cup of coffee. She sits and her liquid metal hair pours forward as she checks her tiny phone-box-red smart phone.  She is wearing a scoop necked leotard and furry boots.  She sighs and, still grasping her untouched drink, wanders towards the dance studios leaving behind a glowing magmatic cigarette stub. Even when the doors open no smoke follows her.  She smells of showers and laundry.

Two cleaners meet amidst an eddy of dancers streaming towards the theatre door.  The first watches the passing troupe and says, “Still two hours but I want to go home now.”

The other smiles an inaudible but encouraging answer. “I want to go now,” the first spits back.

A pony tailed man enters the foyer from the toilets. He gasps loudly with relief as he presses an icepack over his left eye.  The giant’s mouth breathes with him as he exits.  His waiting friend manages a concerned, “What on earth happened?” before the doors close.  Then he grins and grimaces all at once as he watches the accident replayed silently and in slow motion.

The doors open and close, editing conversations, as people pass through.

“Very odd September, isn’t it?” a breathless bearded youth asks his disinterested friend.  He answers himself confidently, “Probably summer hasn’t realised that it’s over yet.”

A deep North African accent proclaims, “We love you Claire!” Claire giggles and puffs up like a proud hen when the man continues, “You have made our nights so exciting!” Claire ducks into the toilets.

Paul Shacksmyth

 

Mass Observations

Creative Edge/running track

Two ducks casually waddle past me as I walk to the lake. I sit on the freezing cold bench, behind me a girl drops her phone I see her quickly pick up her I phone and carry on walking. The noise of the fountain flowing in the lake is loud and calming I listen to it as groups of two and three pass, one group of three stop and write something on their phones before continuing walking. A man passes riding a bike he is wearing a black helmet he goes the same way the group of three did. There are two people carrying rugby balls and cones they are wearing blue sporting tops one with shorts and the other with track suit bottoms. Two girls sit on the bench next to mine eating crisps and talking one is wearing a blue wooden beaded bracelet on her right wrist, the other the one eating is wearing a black and white stripe top and blue skinny jeans with canvas shoes. Someone is talking on the phone walking behind me I hear her talking and hear her shoes against the stone pavement. The two girls on the bench next to mine freak out because a wasp was near them, they stand up and move a few steps away from the bench. The one with the blue bracelet lights a cigarette and smokes it while the other is on her phone. A few people by themselves pass by quietly. The girl finishes her cigarette and the two girls walk off into creative edge. A short distance away from me are more benches but they have tables, there are two people sat alone at two of them both sat facing the lake. They both sit there writing on either a notepad or phone. Four people pass behind me in groups of two talking they walk into creative edge. One of the people at the other set of benches is wearing a red hat I see them look up for a few seconds before returning to write on their phone. The other is wearing a grey hoodie. Groups of people pass behind me talking between themselves. A pigeon lands on the grass next to the lake and walks up to another before they both fly away. A small girls with blue hair passes the other benches and then by me and enters creative edge.  I see the people at the other benches watching, waiting for something.  More groups pass by me talking they walk down by the lake and pass creative edge making their way towards Chancellors south. The people on the other benches look down writing. A duck appears near the lake on the grass looking for food, it combs through the grass carefully with its head down; it stops and looks up before returning to its search. It stops and looks at the lake before walking towards it and carefully falling head first in to the lake, I hear a faint "plop" as the duck hits the water behind the fountain. There's a woman carrying two green carrier bags on the side of the lake she walks towards the accommodation in Chancellors south. A person sits on a bench near mine with a laptop on their lap, arms folded looking at the lake through their sunglasses. They tilt the laptop and examine the edge for a few seconds before returning it to its upright position. They have a black bag on the floor between their feet, I see them glance around and look at me before typing. I look back at the other benches and see the person with the red hat looking up before writing on their phone. There is a wasp near the person with the laptop but they don't notice it. They take their sunglasses off and squint at the screen before putting their sunglasses back on, glancing around and typing. A man in a blue hat and hoodie walks nearby watching us both as they pass. More people pass next to me. I see the person on the laptop look at me but quickly look away when I look at them, they keep looking around and they typing. Three people with note pads pass by me and sit on the bench next to mine and begin writing in them. Two men with light blue tops on walk past us pulling recycle bins behind them, they walk to creative edge and leave the bins outside near a wall before entering the building.

Other side of the Creative Edge building

There are four people sat under a group of trees in the shade, who have not books and look to be working. The wind is blowing the pages of one of the note books as the girl looks at the page she's using.

Near the beach

There are two ducks swimming in the lake, one dips its head into it. Both ducks move onto the bank where there are another seven ducks lying down or sleeping. The two go back into the lake swimming round and dipping their heads. There's a person sat on the other side of the lake with their legs crossed using a laptop. There's a small bird with stick thin legs walking on the path behind me, it walks a few steps, stops, then carries on and repeats this in an uneven circle. A magpie calls nearby and the small bird slowly moves further away and continues its circle. Another duck enters the lake and dips its head in to the water. The person across the lake looks like their struggling with their work.

Creative Edge/ running track

The person with the laptop is still here and two of the people on the other bench next to mine but they pack up their notepads and leave passing behind me as they do.

 

Amy Connolly

 

 

 

 

Mass Observation 2016 Ducks in All Directions of Buzzing Students

In the midst of a swarm of buzzing students

 

In the midst of a swarm of buzzing students, stands a woman. Alone. Anxiously scanning the crowd for a familiar face, she paces and shifts her weight to create the illusion she is moving, going with the swarm. Clutching her phone to her ear in a desperate attempt to find her friend, her presence is amplified by the constant blue of colour and faces washing around her. A familiar face emerges, her tense frame instantly relaxes. She becomes another face in the crowd.

The smell of coffee drifts through the room, carried through the air with the quiet hum of voices. One deep voice seems to raise above the rest, echoing around the walls and separates itself. Its owner is sat at a table, mug in hand, talking passionately to his companions. He speaks fondly of ones he calls “the kids”. Sparse hair fluffs outwards from his head, glasses perched on his long nose. Eccentric hand gestures are made by his bony and sinuous hands. He must be a tutor.

Gabrielle Langridge

CW – Observation

The eastern campus was aloud but still, tranquil yet alive. On the northern shore a brood of ducks sat, all facing the same direction. They were either basking in the sun’s radiance or, from the flow of the glistening lake’s ripples, enjoying the gentle breeze. Perhaps both, perhaps neither; it will forever remain a mystery.

Thus far, the docile brood had only been disturbed by the galosh of a distant fountain and periodic flush from a wave-making machine beneath a bridge. Alas, it was an ephemeral utopia. Peace, much like the wings of a duck, is fragile, needing only the passing of a frantic student clutching his phone before him and sprinting in a mad dash to break it. His raucous invasion shattered the amity, and scattered the ducks in all directions. The drums of war beat once more and the largest mallard charged into another, asserting his dominance. Emerging victorious, he approached the nearest female. But with a flap of her wings, she dove into the lake and away from his advances, clearly unimpressed.

On the southern shore, a trio of American football players swaggered through their kingdom, each of them branded with the word Vikings across their green back. One tossed a pigskin higher and higher into the air, hurling it in a vertical corkscrew movement. On his fourth display, his grasp failed him and it rolled haphazardly on the floor, much to the delight of his shield-brothers. He parried their scorn, attributing it to a night of drinking and dancing in his favourite mead hall, Level. He asked his fair-haired comrade his excuse, to which the giant claimed a sleepless night with a wench. His claim was refuted by the others.

Outside of the great glass structure labelled Creative Edge, a woman in uniform placed a row of tables in the salmon-coloured square and covered them with white sheets. The display went mostly ignored by the comers and goers entering and leaving the building, and those sitting by writing notes on their surroundings.

 

Oliver James

Mass Observation 2016: a Capella Ducks, Jackets and Wheels

Untitled Poem

A man of simple pleasures 

Surrounded by a trove of treasures 

In at nine and home by five

Time flies when you're having fun

When the wind blows from hollow lulls

The man stops and slows then goes 

and then again

Work in packs like one long tack

Stick together on their six wheels

 

Tom Newman

 

Blatant

 

Blatantly bored, a gardener plugs away at soil in a flower bed, prodding it incessantly with a green-handled hoe. All at once, it seems like he does this motion every day, and that he has never done it before.

Another gardener circles a tree three times on a ride-along lawnmower, leaving torn up dirt and green streaks through the grass in his wake. He wears headphones to block out the whirring of the mower and nods along to music only he can hear.

A woman pauses cycling to light a cigarette and smoke it against a wall.

A student with a purple sweater and a matching lanyard walks along a path, buried in his phone even as he reaches a building and heads inside. He does everything blindly, engrossed in the world in his fingertips.

In a high window, a man stands shirtless, wearing only blue shorts and socks. He sees me and waves. He is a stranger to me, but he extends a greeting regardless. 

Blinking in the sun, a brown and white cat lies just beneath a hedge, inches from the shade. When approached, he mewls loudly and bumps his head against my hand. He doesn't object to being lifted from his grassy bed in the sunlight, and his fur feels soft and warm beneath my hands.

High up in the limited canopy of trees, a black crow squawks and squeals as I pass underneath. Another bird echoes its cry, but this one is softer, gentler, briefer; the jovial sound that often marks dawn. They are backdropped by the whooshing, grinding sounds of a distant lawnmower.

On a red brick wall, a student sits with a notebook. On the wall opposite them, another sits with a different notebook on their lap. A few feet away, yet another sits, cross-legged, writing in yet another notebook.

A student walks past a monochrome paper gown and curiously brushes his fingers against the black crepe skirt. It crinkles beneath his fingertips and the whole dress moves, shifted by his smallest of touches. He pauses, fascinated, but does not touch the gown again.

Two cleaners stand on a landing between two floors. The ground is littered with black plastic bags that lift up and rustle when two tired students walk down the stairs, unlock their mailboxes, and leave the building with equal handfuls of envelopes.

A man in a blue jacket walks along a road and waves both his arms in the air, to the delight of his red and grey jacketed companions.

Someone in an olive t-shirt with a long ponytail sits on top of a lamp that lines a pavement, alternately talking on the phone and smoking a thin cigarette. 'Takes a lot to get comfortable,' he says to whoever is on the other end of the line, 'It'll come with time.'

By a red building marked “ARTS”, a small group of students sing a heartfelt song to the tune of a wordless music track. As the music increases in volume, one boy sings loudly above the rest, dominating the space in front of the building as his deep voice echoes between the walls. One girl holds her notes far longer than the others, her voice blooming like a flower as the seconds pass. They dance in formation, three girls and three boys performing a practiced routine for all the world to observe.

Jesse Oliver

 

 

The Arts Centre

Outside The Arts Centre singing can be heard as students practise a performance, seemingly to their own reflections as they sing into a darkened window. An a Capella piece with each voice adding to their tune. A boy walks past them, curiosity makes him glance up and he watches the performers as he passes.  A girl walks by and with her eyes fixated on her phone and her earphones pressed in to her ears she is oblivious to the performance going on just behind her. Quiet follows a final “Down on skid row…” as their song ends. Their performance is over and only the cool wind rustling the bushes and the chatter of nearby students can be heard. A man in dark clothing walks by knowing nothing of the moment he just missed. 

Georgia Jepson

 

 

The Lake

Two ducks lie side by side, heads bowed down, as if in prayer. They don’t flinch. They don’t move. They just sit. They pray. Nearby, another duck slaps its feet at the grass. It looks for an entrance to the lake, discovers one and test the water. Too cold. No good.

A bird pesters the ground for food where two shadows intersect. Its friends make symphonies through dense trees. It is ambient. It is peaceful. A passer-by scares the bird away.

Two people sit; one on a bench, one on the grass. They both write. They both live. They both breathe. Neither speak.

A man tramples fallen leaves – a cigarette in one hand, phone in the other. He takes a sharp, deep breath of poison and strolls over to the smoking post, where he stubs it out and abandons the last whispers of smoke.

A metal bird rips through the blue sky and patchy clouds heading for the unknown. Listening closely, you can hear the clouds tear apart with a deep, dull bellow of screams.

Dylan Booth

MASS OBSERVATIONS 2016

Hi,

 

It's time to post some introductory writing by our students online, from their First Week. I'm back again, but I've never left the blogosphere, because I'm here (www.robertsheppard.blogspot.com) all the time (it seems). Every year I share a (different) page from the great artist Ian Breakwell's Diaries as inspiration. Sometimes I mention Mass Observation as a 1930s movement but usually I don't. Here's a video of his diary, or rather the development out of a small part of his diary, the everyday, the quotidian, to use a fancy word. This is both an exercise in perception (active looking, listening, feeling, smelling) and a model for the daily act of writing we call your writer's journal.

There's a personal side to this: this isn't something that I've simply made up as an exercise to use every year (although it is that too, and a good one: please look at the previous years' entries, all ten years of them). I am an obsessive diarist and have been at it at continuously least since 1969; but I also try to produce a daily act of creative writing, working my way through books of images, or whatever. Some of these are simply keeping me 'writing fit': others become raw notes for poems and prose pieces. (And my diaries too I've used in a book called Words Out of Time.)

But I've always been fascinated by Ian Breakwell. I saw him read once and show films (in all probability the one embedded above) and was always fascinated that a visual artist would find that his most extensive and enduring work would be not his art work (though SOME of the diaries are art works, as you can see on the film) but an act that started as a record of the day to day.

After we look at the page, I'll send you off, into your own writing futures.

Robert Sheppard