A Million “Nobody-Knows”

“Windows of my room, the room of one of the world’s millions nobody knows
(and if they knew me what would they know?)
You open into the mystery of a street continually crossed by people
A street inaccesible to any and every thought, Real, impossibly real, certain unknowingly certain. With the mystery of things beneath the stone and beings With death making the walls damp and the hair of men white
Whith destiny driving the wagon of everything down the road of nothing.”

Alvaro de Campos (Fernando Pessoa) - The Tobacco Shop.


For two years, every time I would leave my studio at Glasgow School of Art, I would cross St. George’s Road and in front of me, I would see the highrises of Cedar Court. My gaze would always stop there: watching their stakr rectangular forms rising against the night sky and the, more than occasional, rain. I would be taken by the small lights of the windows, the signs of the individual stories that gave a breath of life to the otherwise souless buildings. Every night, their sequence would change and every night they would look like massive living, flickering gems. They seemed like points that signified this absurd junction between community and seperation or solitute. An idea came to me: I wanted to record their surface, blow them out of proportion and recontextualise them. I wanted to expose the uneasy poetics of those spaces that are so easily dismissed as “eyesores” and which are methodically demolished.
Especially, I wanted to immortalise those lights on the windows. The suggestion of all the lives and stories that will always stay hidden from knowledge. 

This is a work in Progress.