Photographic Piece: Title Caged Piano.
Tall blue steel gates hide the unused tug and yard from prying eyes, I’ve often looked through the slots on the hinge side and wondered who and why the yard seemed to be abandoned in an area of London that has been swamped with redevelopment over recent years.
The Isle of Dogs, … not a name that conjures up images of a skyscrapers and glass for me, more like a gritty street name formed from the word of the people that worked the old docks. I used to think of the area as an island for industry when I first moved to London many years ago, and really, thats exactly what the area had been, small collections of terraced houses fill its curving river banks from one side to the other, (Its a ‘u’ shaped area made by the river) with the remains of a shipping industry and huge water filled docks dominating its interior . Now however, the Isle of dogs is the home of the London Docklands new developments such as Canary wharf, and Canada Square, the whole area has been modernised along side this new growth, huge sky scrapers now dominate all views, the docks have been polished and cleaned and many old mechanical ruins have been restored as monuments to the areas origins. Arty lighting everywhere gives the whole area a modern panoramic feel, classic tree lined walk ways divide large stretches of open water containing all varieties of mored boats. Concrete and steel buildings mixed with the repeated architecture of tinted glass buildings line most of the new roads, and over all, I find its quite a wonderland for 21st century architectural photography…
… I’m saving those shots for another post, In the mean time if you ever find those blue gates or wander along the Thames beach at low tide you may very well wander upon this little nugget of a frozen time, and like me, you’d probably ponder on its owner. “What is going to happen to that tug, is it destined to decay slowly year after year, a boat like that has some value”, your thinking, “If I could just bump into the owner”, you fantasize , “I’d make an offer, you never know your luck” … But of course there is no owner, no trace to help me find him, the registry land addresses do little to help. The local pub gives me a name, boasts about him visiting the pub and tells me hes a master of the ivories and occasionally fills the air with the sounds of his piano. I ‘ve sent a couple of letters and hope to hear from him, but as yet I’ve had no reply.
So, the only hint I have of finding him it seems is to wait for the sound of a piano, a well played piano, dusty and stained yes, but reasonably in tune according to my amateur ear. Its defiantly been used from time to time, its keys are dusted and its lid left up, a chair in a corner shouts out “I’m only still around because of that instrument” and although hits hidden in an old shed, which is hidden in and old boat yard, next to an old rusty tug, behind high spiked fences and barbed wire, but still amongst one of the most modern and extensively developed places on the planet. Yet it still sits proudly and quietly, waiting for its ivories to be tickled again, somehow waiting in certain knowledge that one day soon, its owner will return and the old songs will be sung again.
…. Its a thin hope, but its better than no hope at all… Maybe you’ll hear it and not me.
