Urban Constellating

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Citation:

Hibberd, LA and Thompson, Z (2015) Urban Constellating. Other. Leeds Beckett University. Link to Leeds Beckett Repository record:

http://eprints.leedsbeckett.ac.uk/1589/

Document Version: Monograph

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Will anyone come? Can they hear me over the Museum’s music? Who are they anyway? I’m talking about my book. I’m stumbling over my words. What’s the word that means ambivalent again? Lynne is talking and in a minute it will be my turn. There are faces I know. I avoid them. There are faces I don’t know. But then the faces nod. The eyes smile in agreement. Someone says ‘flanerie’. How many of you are from Leeds? Nobody nods. This is going to be a disaster. ‘So’, I say, ‘that’s really interesting, without a ‘native gaze’ you’ll cast a different eye on the cityscape’ (thanks Walter). We turn our gaze downwards and step across the vast map of Leeds that forms the museum’s floor. I tear off tourist maps from a pad and hand them out. Then we are all looking at the map and my power of speech returns. What is the story that Leeds is telling about itself, I ask. Silences. Thinking. ‘Shopping’ says a voice, ‘And also culture’, says another. ‘Well-connected… look at the prominence of the train station, the bus station. ‘It’s walkable, compact’. We stand in a circle. I explain about disrupting this story and ask if anyone has an S in their name. Two hands go up. Stephanie steps forward. She and I kneel on the floor and I hand her a marker. She scrawls a large S across the face of the Leeds map. ‘We’re going to walk the S’, I say. Tell me what you see, psychogeographically, what you hear, smell, taste. The sights you’ve never noticed before, the overlooked corners that have missed your gaze. ‘Do you do this every day’? asks a stranger. ‘Or every week?’ ‘Are you from the museum?’ No, we’re from Leeds Beckett Uni, but do join us…’ ‘It sounds really interesting’, says the stranger.

We exit into twilight drizzle. Stephanie has the map and leads us to the first point. She and Sarah are Masters of Architecture students. Neither know Leeds. Both are from the South, undergrads at Portsmouth and Kent respectively. Rush hour crowds. Pedestrian crossings. Into Merrion Gardens. ‘Has anyone been here before?’ People have been past but never through. Didn’t know of the church or the gravestones

that are fashioned as a pathway. Lights twinkle in bare-branched trees. The stench of marijuana wafts over from the teenage lads huddling against the church wall away from the drizzle. The church café – Age Concern – with its newly-renovated glass atrium, in darkness. Chained gates. A blue plaque. Metal pressed into stone. 1647. A church on this site for 368 years. An eerie face and hand hail us from the window of Sainsbury’s staff room. Cardboard. Cut-out. Down and out. Cut back along Mark Lane. Cobbles. Slick with drizzle. The group splits and the leaders lead. The stragglers ponder Dortmund Square. We’re missing the fat barrel man. ‘What is that’? If we went by it I could tell you. Three heads nod. Jack snaps. It’s to do with the fact that Leeds is twinned with Dortmund. That’s a fat German guy with a beer barrel. ‘Another national stereotype’. Cars, vans, bodies, move.

The lights change and take us into The Light. We pause on the threshold and enjoy the momentary lack of rain and the breeze blowing from the doorway’s heater. A pseudo-public place. We can see that. Fake plants and pavement cafes. Covered roof and mediterranean-tiled floor. How can we feel that? What does this place want us

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A MAP MARKED

WITH STEPHANIE’S S . STEPHANIE’S S . W HA T IF WE HADN’ T HAD A STEPHANIE? N O T EVER YB OD Y HAS A

STEPHANIE OR EVEN

AN S . H O W W OULD YOU DISRUP T THE FL O W? W HA T S TORIES DOES THE TOURIS T MAP TELL US A B O U T LEEDS ? G UM ON THE P AVEMENTS, ON THE C OBBLES, ON THE C ONCRETE, ON THE GR AVES TONES. IS IT AR T? W ITH HINDSIGHT IT

REMINDS ME OF

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THE DEAD INTERMINGLE.

IS THIS DISRESPE CTF UL ? H O W L ONG DO YOU HA VE TO B E DEAD B EF ORE IT C OUNTS AS A NO T-DEAD SP A CE ANYMORE? IT ’S GRUESOME. O H

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E D U C A T I O N ,

I M A G I N A T I O N

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to do? Shop, eat, view but mostly it’s a demand: keep moving. No

loitering. Caught on camera, we wave. Snail’s pace in peloton form through. The gazers become the gazed. Nervous shifts on too-high coffee bar stools. Branded restaurant clientele look harder at us, and then away in puzzlement. We return every look. Photobooth with stool but no camera. A lit cross fills the space where mirrored glass and lens usually sit. Lynne hams it up. We investigate and draw in the press of authority. Black and gold. Boots. Badges. ‘It’s for the Fifty Shades of Grey premiere’, they say. Redundant media technologies provoke the greatest nostalgia. The curtain. The coins. The giddy squash of more than you in the booth. Photobooth selfie a poor substitute. We harpoon xxxx years of technological development in one fumbled click. Katy finds the fossilled floor. Pondering the real and the fake. The really real and the really fake, the fakest real and the fakest fake. Escalator down to love. Love is allowed. Some love. Spontaneity harnessed and sold back to us. We get close. But not too close. We can pause here, linger even. But could we sit down? Could we sleep? Past the brands and out through doors that open for us. A map swap and a new leader. Hotels that were council offices, bars that were banks, coffee shops that were insurance brokers. The financial heart of Leeds. Leeds’ flora and fauna: Lions, Griffins, Owls, Horses. Angels. Do Angels count? Writing love hearts. State-sanctioned love is pondered. What wouldn’t be allowed? ‘I love Jimmy Saville?’ says Rachel to gasps of perverse laughter. ‘Oh my god yes!’ Imagine the faces when they read that one. Disturbing bourgeois complacency, one heart at a time. Buses, heavier rain, suits en masse, wheeled cases on flagstones; the route to the railway 4.35pm.

Butts Court. Short Street. Leeds’ shops are revealed to be all Queen Anne front and Queen Mary back. Service entrance. Multi-story. Commercial bins. Carmelia leads us up and through. Albion Street. Across the traffic. Collect at the kerb and take a risk. Through The Core we talk Brazil. Brasilia was built for the car. A utopia that never lived up to its promise, like Birmingham. Even my city has a small Brasilia, say Carmelia. Queens Arcade ahead. We take a left and plump for Thornton’s instead. Narrow, lit, covered space. 18??. It’s all about the timing. The Ivanhoe Clock welcomes us with its elaborate chime. Le quotidien merveilleux. Robin Hood, Friar Tuck and Richard the Lionheart. We gaze up in wonder. And silence, chat drowned out by clanging chimes. Remarks are made about Robin’s shapely legs. I check the details on Wikipedia. Pigeons aren’t welcome, Katy notices. Tom comes out of Welcome, his skateshop. Chance encounters. Yeah Emily mentioned it. Sadly she couldn’t be here. Gentleman’s outfitters. Ironwork and tiles. Elaborate fruit and veg abound from the ceiling rose. ‘Is it anything to do with Thornton’s chocolate?’ Unanswered questions pondered. The sumptuous delights of consuming. Scopophilic pleasures. Elegant slopes guide us onto Briggate. Bridge Gate. Street to the Bridge. 5.10pm. Friday. Cross cutting the vertical crowd. Another arcade: County. Matcham’s grand vision. Locally kilned pottery, ironwork. Hunslet? Burmantofts? Victorian values etched into the ceiling. Civic virtues. Pomegranates fit to burst. Labour. Tiles. Splendour. Sewing machines. Leeds’ past? Its history of cloth, textiles, wool. Tailoring. Nicely captured by the repetition of the display. All Saints. Candid Camera. No, it’s like that in all their shops. West Village, NYC: Sewing machines. Pomo trickery. The invisible class and race wall. Watch the shift. Beep Beep Beep we’re leaving. It’s letting us know it knows. Gap on the landscape; promises of pleasures to come: The ‘John Lewis’ effect. Men’s names. Men’s names. Men’s names. Down Vicar Lane up Fish Street. Ginnels. Nature takes its revenge. The return of the repressed: ferns in gutters, a bloom from the hopper head. Music, dankness, the tanning salon really wants us: tempting passersby with

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G A ZING IN TO SHOP S. W HY DO EA TER S GET T O G A ZE NO T SHOPPER S? T HE M EN W HO ST ARE AT C O ATS. W E SL O W DO WN TO TR

Y AND FREAK

THEM OU T. H O W SL O W DO WE HA VE TO MO VE B EF ORE SE CURIT Y CHE CK US OU T? D OES SIT TING DO WN B EC OME THE HEIGHT OF RE B ELLION? S IT TING IN A NON-DESIGNA TED SIT Z ONE. E DUC ATION, IMA GINA TION, R AM B LING S AND RUMINA TIONS W E SL O W DO WN TO A CR A WL B U T WE’RE NO T BOLD ENOUGH TO S TAND AND S TARE B A CK A T THEM. YOU’RE ALL O WED TO B E A S TARER B U T NO T IF Y OU’RE C AFFEINE FREE. T HERE

ARE NO SMELL

S OF F OOD INSIDE T HE LIGHT . R ES TA UR ANTS HERE

A MORE S

TERILE, LES S INVITING WITH THEIR P SEUDO-OU TDOOR S. W HY DO THEY GET T O L OOK A T US ? LET ’S ST OP AND S TARE AT THEM TO FREAK THEM OU T. G IGGLES NO I C AN’ T DO IT IT ’S TOO WEIRD . W HY IS IT C ALLED T HE LIGHT? IS IT LIT UP? A SHOR T SKIR T ON THE FIFT Y S HADES B OO

TH ENSURES NO HANKY

P ANKY . M O VE AL ONG NO W , L ADIES. IT ’S FREE! T HE GUYS ANNOUNCE. IT ’S NO T OPEN YET THOUGH. O H WE THOUGHT IT W AS A SELFIE B OO TH. N O. T HE HEAR TS OFFER A PL A CE TO S TAND AND L OITER. M ES SA GES OF L O VE. IS LEEDS A GL O B AL CIT Y? T HE POS

TS HERE MAKE IT

L OOK LIKE IT IS. W HA T ’S IT HIDING ? P U T Y OUR HEAR T ON

YOUR SLEEVE, LEA

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OR ME. BE

C A USE YOU’RE MINE, I W ALK THE LINE. B

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TS WE B EC OME A W ARE OF T W O SE CURIT Y GU ARDS. H AVE THEY B EEN F OLL O WING US ALL AL ONG ? W HEN I W ORKED IN A SHOP WE HAD

TO USE C

ODE W ORDS. COULDN’ T S A Y B OM B THREA T HAD TO SA Y M R R

ED IS IN

THE B UILDING . N O THING T O REFER TO ETHNICIT Y, IT W AS ALL ‘ THERE ARE T W O B ICY CLES WITH A POS SI B LE LIP STICK EXITING THE FRONT DOOR’ . M ADE IT

SOUND MUCH MORE GL

AMOROUS THAN IT W AS. W HA T ’S WITH THE OR ANGES ? A RE THEY APPLES, JUS T OR ANGE C OL OURED ? M AY B E THEY’RE POMEGR ANA TES. D ID THEY DO POMEGR ANA TES IN THOSE D A YS ? IS THIS NO T A B IT EL A B OR ATE F OR A FRUIT AND VEG MARKET? IS THA T A CR A B ? D ID OR ANGES AL W A YS EV OKE HO T TER PL A

CES, OR DID

THEY J US T SMELL WEIRD TO THE FIR ST PEOPLE THA T GO T A SNIFF? I LO VE THE SOUR TANG OF THE S EVILLE, THE JUICY EASE OF THE CLEMENTINE, THE S WEET GOR GING OF THE BL OOD . D ID THEY AL W A YS SMELL OF THE W ARMTH OF

THE SUN – OR DO

WE ONL Y NO W THA T NO W WE KNO W WHA T S PAIN’S LIKE?

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"

“

Y E L LO W, P U R P L E , O R A N G E : P R I M A R Y CO LO U R S D E M A N D I N G Y O U R AT T E N T I O N , M Y M O D U S O P E R A N D I . LO O K AT M E , A N D M E A N D M E . B A N G I N

T H E V O I C E O F L E E D S’ M A P

T H E C E N T R E . R I G H T I N T H E M I D D L E . S H O P P I N G. S H O P P I N G. S H O P P I N G. O H A N D D I D I M E N T I O N S H O P P I N G. I T H I N K Y O U ’ L L F I N D T H AT I F Y O U

FO L LO W M Y Y E L LO W PA R T S Y O U ’ L L B E M O R E T H A N A D E Q U AT E LY S E E N TO O N T H E S H O P P I N G F R O N T. I F Y O U ’ V E T I M E , W H E N Y O U ’ V E B E E N R O U N D A L L M Y Y E L LO W B I T S , I T ’ S O N LY A , O H , S AY, F I V E M I N U T E W A L K , A S M Y G R I D PAT T E R N T E L L S Y O U , TO T H E P U R P L E B I T S . Y O U M I G H T L I K E

T H O S E TO O . W E L L , S O M E O F Y O U M I G H T. I T ’ S M Y, W H AT

Y O U M I G H T C A L L , ‘ R A R E F I E D S E C T I O N ’. C U LTC H A . Y O U

K N O W, G A L L E R I E S A N D T H AT. S I G N I F I C A N T C I V I C B U I L D I N GS .

W H E R E T H E L I O N S A R E . W H I L ST W E ’ R E O N T H E S U B J E C T,

D I D Y O U K N O W T H E Y W E R E D E S I G N E D BY T H E S A M E F E L L A

W H O D I D T H E T R A FA LG A R S Q U A R E O N E S? H E H A D A

P R A C T I C E O N L E E D S . Y E S , Y O U ’ R E R I G H T, T H E Y H AV E N ’ T

W O R N A S W E L L A S LO N D O N ’ S . M I G H T B E T H E H A R S H E R

N O R T H E R N C L I M AT E . B U T Y O U H AV E TO R E M E M B E R , I A M

S I G N I F I C A N T LY D R Y E R T H A N M A N C H E ST E R . H AV E Y O U S E E N

M Y Y E L LO W PA R T S? H A , J U ST D O N ’ T W A N T Y O U TO M I SS

T H O S E A N D I K N O W Y O U M I G H T N OT B E A B L E TO STAY A L L D AY.

O F CO U R S E , I ’ M V E R Y W E L L CO N N E C T E D. C H E C K O U T M Y

D A R K E N E D G R E Y W I T H W H I T E L E T T E R I N G B LO B S : R A I LW AY,

B U S A N D CO A C H W I L L G E T Y O U I N A N D O U T I N J U ST A T E N

M I N U T E W A L K F R O M W H E R E V E R Y O U A R E . I M E A N I M U ST T E L L

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B U T I ’ M A L S O P R E T T Y K E E N O N M Y O R A N G E S E C T I O N S . Y E S ,

T H A N K Y O U Y O U ’ R E R I G H T, T H E Y D O M A K E Q U I T E A N I C E T H R E A D

T H R O U G H T H E C I T Y. I M E A N , I D O N ’ T C A R E W H AT T H E Y S AY

I N T H AT LO N D O N , I H AV E A LOT O F O R A N G E . I N D I E S C E N E ? I N D E P E N D E N T S H O P S A N D C A F E S? U M , O H W E L L I D O N ’ T R E A L LY H AV E M U C H TO S AY A B O U T T H O S E . I S I T A ST U D E N T T H I N G? A N Y W AY, E N O U G H O F T H AT W E H AV E G OT B R A N D S G A LO R E . A L L T H E M A I N FO O D C H A I N S . M U LT I P L E

B R A N C H E S I N S O M E C A S E S . J U ST I N C A S E Y O U W E R E W O N D E R I N G W H AT N OT TO M I SS T H O U G H , C A N I D I R E C T Y O U B A C K TO M Y Y E L LO W ? Y E S , I R E A L LY D O F E E L Y O U S H O U L D S E E I T. T H E ‘ K N I G H T S B R I D G E O F T H E N O R T H ’, I K N O W. I D O T R Y.

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blaring soft rock. Tattoo parlour. Back alley cashpoint. Safe? Nightsafe. Dean wonders why anyone would. Cold bark on un-gloved hand: nature. Juxtaposed. Hemmed in. Surviving. Why just this one? Maybe there was a row, says Sarah. Sixities brutalism signals possible clues; erasure. Dean and Jack at the helm. The weird arcade with more upstairs than down, trying to hang on to Trinity’s coat-tails. Greggs has gone hipster. Industrial lights hang in triumvirate over banquette seating.

Minerva. Athena? The one with the owl.

Ah, the owl. The Leeds bird. Wisdom, industry, what else? Trinity: just the latest version of all those covered spaces of commerce, spectacle and luxury. Augmented space. Interpellated via your phone. Airport. Concourse architecture. The Gruen transfer taken up many notches. The itch in your palms like in duty free. Spend spend spend. Customer lounge. Black sky through criss-cross glass. Werewolves bleed on this roof. Chrome, glass, RnB muzak. The draft that runs through. Which way? Escher-esque. Deliberate. Predictable. Hollister’s darkened store beckons pre-teens to have their first fumbling nightclub feel. Apple. Always Apple. And horses? Land Securities commissioned: something big, shiny, unrelated, sure that’s totally fine: think spectacle, the wow-factor. Dean talks gates. The church gate is special, ornate, marked out. Criss-cross commuters. ‘Scuse-me.’ ‘Sorry!’ One big foot. Marble. To sit on. ‘And what about the dog benches’, says Fi. ‘You know the ones by Smiths?’ Map check. Where are we? Mill Hill Chapel. All faiths welcome. Cold blast. Full rain. Pink fingers clasping umbrellas or defiantly pushed into pockets.

City Square. Traffic roar. Morn and Even atop their plinths. The city’s fathers and the Black Prince. To the owls, can you see them? Silhouettes through early evening darkness. There’s one! And another. Is that one? No it’s a vent. Fi has to go. Passing the Black Prince to leave. Stuck to his base: Frozen’s Hans. Fitting. Metal balls set deep deny the grinders. The square’s one final flourish: Conway and Young’s Colliding at the Corner and its thrilling invitation: ‘Imagine the Loop Road is Closed.

Close your Eyes and Breathe Through Your Nostrils’. The Adelphi beckons via Boar Lane, through persistent precipitation. Cross Leeds Bridge. Where it all started. Louis Le Prince through that window. 1888. Well before the Lumiere Bros. All his fault. Into lit Victoriana-cum-Hipster retreat. Open fire. Yes! Warmth works and unfolds us into velvet benches. We’ve lost Carmelia. ‘Any drinks guys?’ ‘Menu, love?’ Fitchy works his charm. Now the jam jars come out. The mystery solved. Make a snow globe. A tourist kitschitty that covers in glass something prized. Capture in your jar something you noticed about Leeds, that you want more of, or less of. Something you saw you hadn’t seen before. Elevate the mundane, prize the debris. Lego, glitter, glue, lolly sticks, pipe cleaners. Industrious creativity ensues. Urban Constellators turn their eye to the overlooked: a perch for pigeons; the oldest church and the tree lights; commuters, clubbers, shoppers; the layers of Leeds’ past just metres below its shiny surface; security guards, skeletons and spectacles:

t h e m u l t i p liciti

e s o f t h e c ity.

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SCOPOPH

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L CROWD

READING SURFACES,

DEMYTHOLOGISING THE CITY,

TURNING THE SPACE ‘AGAINST THE GRAIN’

MAPS ARE IMAGES, REPRESENTATIONS,

PICTURES, POWER. THE BIRD’S EYE VIEW OF

THE LAND; THE RATIONAL INSTRUMENT OF

SPATIAL ORDER AND CONTROL. TAKE A MAP, ANY

MAP. TAKE, FOR INSTANCE, THE TOURIST MAP

OF LEEDS. WHAT DOES IT WANT US TO KNOW

ABOUT THE CITY? WHAT STORY DOES THIS MAP

SEEK TO TELL? WHAT, FOR EXAMPLE, IS AT THE

CENTRE OF THE MAP OF LEEDS, WHERE DOES

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(16)

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I’ VE NEVER B EEN DO WN HERE B EF ORE! N O T LIKEL Y TO A G AIN EITHER. W HITE TR ANSIT V

AN – HAS

TO B E F ULL OF DEAD B ODIES. W HO C OMES TO THIS C AFÉ?

YOU’D NEVER SEE IT

. M U ST B E A FRONT . W HA T ’S WITH THE FEET? IS THA T SIGNIFIC ANT? N O T EVEN

A SHOE SHOP IS IT

. IS IT A MAP? A TIGHT SQUEEZE IN THE SHOPPING CENTRE F

ADES PINK

YELL O W GREEN B LUE. W HY HIGHLIGHT THIS AREA ? BRU TALIS T B UILDING S. A WEREW OLF L ANDS HEA VIL Y ON THE ROOF , A POOL OF B LOOD OO ZES INT O A A CEILING . T HA T W OULD FREAK ME OU T, TO TALL Y. W ALKING, TALKING . IT ’S B EEN SHO WN TO C OM B AT DEPRES SION. JOINT W ALKING ’S GREA T – WE F

OCUS ON DIFFERENT

THING

S, SEE

THE F

AMILIAR IN NEW

W A YS. W E S TOP AND L OOK UP AT A TREE. H O W

OLD IS IT?

H O W DO YOU TELL ? W HO C AN DO TREES ? W HY IS THIS TREE, HERE? ZOË PROMISES

LEEDS IS F

ULL OF ANIMAL S, ASK CHILDREN TO FIND THEM AND THEY’LL SPO T THEM EVER YWHERE. I C AN’ T SEE ANY . AT THE TO WN HALL WE C OUNT O WL

S – ONE,

T W O, THREE. N O W THEY’RE EVER YWHERE. W HERE IS C ARMELIA ? LOS T OR LEFT? S

OME PEOPLE FELL

OFF THE ROU TE B EF ORE IT B EG AN – APOL

OGIES, REGRETS, EX

CUSES. AT THE LI B R AR Y WE NEARL Y DOU B

LE OUR NUM

B ER S IMMEDIA TEL Y WHEN AN INTERES TED P AR T Y L AT CHES ON. JOIN US! T HERE

ARE 16 OF

US. O H – JOIN US ? W E’LL KEEP IN TOUCH. O THER S F ALL OFF AL ONG THE W A Y OR JOIN P AR T W A Y THROUGH. COUNTING THEM OU T, NO T C OUNTING THEM ALL B A CK IN A G AIN. FORMA TIONS, MU TA TIONS, UR B AN C ONS TELL ATIONS, C ONVER SA TIONS. LOUIS LE P RINCE’S B RIDGE, AND… T HE A DELPHI - M A GIC AL! R EAL FIRE, AND

A DOOR! ‘

LYNNE

AND FRIENDS

’ – IT

’S RIGHT , B Y THIS S TA GE. LO VEL Y S TAFF , GREA T F OOD , W ARM W ARM W ARM. LEGO! A ND THEY BROUGHT J AM J A RS ! D OG S IN THE MUSEUM. M AT T

AND ME S

W AP DOG PHO TOS. N O DOG S ON THE S TREETS B U T

THEY’RE IN OUR PHONES, IN OUR HOMES, IN OUR

SEL

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(19)

(20)

Urban Constellating

took place on 13 February 2015 in Leeds,

West Yorkshire. It was one of a series of events hosted by the

Media and Place research cluster at Leeds Beckett University.

The text was written by Zoë Thompson and Lynne Hibberd.

Thanks to everyone who took part.

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maps can Be a Bit overBearing you see. as you can tell from leeds,

it’s a lot of pressure to Be the ‘official version’ of somewhere.

But what if we don’t want to listen to that story? what if we

want to find a different thread

through? let’s Borrow some

techniques, let’s shake

things up a Bit. what’s

your name? what’s your

favourite letter in your

name? take a pen, and take your

map. draw your favourite letter

across its centre. walk that letter.

stay as close as possiBle to the contours

of that letter. see what you notice, hear, smell,

taste. what you haven’t seen Before, streets,

Backstreets, ginnels, cut-throughs, lanes you’ve never had cause to

go down, sounds, overheard conversations. look up, look down But

follow your letter. your letter. your name. and record, rememBer,

mis-rememBer, everything. then tell the story. your story of your

city. your town. your village. your place.

PRODUCED BY ZOË THOMPSON & LYNNE HIBBERD • PRINTED BY W W W.NEWSPAPERCLUB.COM • APRIL 2015 • DESIGNED BY BOFF WHALLEY