Journal of a C21st Explorer
Photographs from Paddington Green High Security Police Station
And after much to-ing and fro-ing we eventually secured access to the Palace of Westminster, a building at the heart of the nations political life.
1st Day
The equipment we had chosen for the task was as follows;
Bronica sqa 6×6 body
Bronica sqa 110 mm macro lens
Bronica sqa 50mm lens
Several film backs
Two Metz flashguns with extension cords and spare batteries
Minolta auto IV light meter.
Mamiya c330 6×6
Mamiya sekor 65mm lens [this eventually proved unreliable]
We exclusively used Kodak Portra 160 vc 120 colour negative film.
My assistant, Laurent Betton and I met at 7.45 am on the first morning with a high sense of expectation. The project had been thought about and discussed for several years. Previous sorties, via correspondence from significant institutions had resulted in terse denials of my entry to the chamber [1] and whilst others had had a degree of access in the meantime, their findings had barely touched on what we were about to discover.
So, on a bright June morning in the year 2000, I found myself outside of Black rod’s garden entrance at the extreme western end of the Westminster. We passed through the first cordon and entered a room through a [proscenium] archway. There sat an X ray machine and a security guard. Our equipment was passed through and we waited for another doorway to open before us allowing us into the next preliminary level. At precisely 8.00am the small and hirsute desk clerk from the other side appeared and we went through, a little further toward our destination.
Foolishly, I had forgotten the authorisation sheet sent to me by
facsimile the previous week and the rather troubled clerk made much of this.
We sat and waited whilst various telephone calls were made and the situation began to resolve itself. Our guide was supposed to be
present as we arrived to meet us and lead us to the chamber but there was no sign of him. This coupled with the clerks boorish and unhelpful attitude had us waiting for a considerable time before we were able to proceed. It was apparent that unlike other visitors to the building, we were regarded suspiciously. Perhaps from now we should consider our appearance a little more. An ominous start.
After twenty minutes our escort arrived, a pleasant middle-aged man from the north east of England. He bore none of the anger of the clerk and we proceeded through labyrinthine corridors to the heart of government.
We passed oil paintings of indeterminate value, medieval sepulchres, domestic staff and cleaning equipment reeking of disinfectant. Oak panelling surrounded in marble walls crowded in on us as we made our way through the building.
Closed rooms and half open doors along endless corridors all promised something of my undefined goal, of power, lineage, an idea of England, dark dreams, long submerged within us and indistinguishable from our day to day thoughts.
At 8.23 am we arrived at the Central Lobby which opened up above us like a storm. The ceiling representations of Ireland, Scotland, Wales and England gave some sense of urgency to our passage through this anteroom and turning right we caught our first sight of the chamber of The Commons, warmly lit and largely un-navigated by outsiders such as ourselves.
The excitement was insufferable and as soon as we entered the chamber I instructed Laurent to unpack and assemble the equipment. I was immediately drawn to the space occupied by the leader and stared intently at the carpet immediately in front of his microphone until disturbed by Laurent handing me the camera and flashgun.
I began making my first photographs in that space at 8.30 am on the morning of the 26th of June 2000.
I started from the point that Laurent handed me the camera. Kneeling down, my first thought was of evidence of activity over the years preceding our visit. I made photographs of the bench area around the leaders sitting position, taking particular attention of how heels and toes of presumably well polished shoes and boots had scraped the surfaces, revealing lighter wood beneath the dark, oak surfaces.
Whilst in this position I looked up and could hardly believe what I was seeing. A piece of chewing gum or similar, had been left; maybe for devilment by another occupant of the chamber, maybe out of necessity by the leader himself, underneath the ‘Table of the House’ and directly beneath his microphone. [2] This was startling and I began making photographs of it immediately. The object itself can of course be found in many other places of interest, but it’s presence here lent an air of considerable excitement and hilarity.
We kept this from our guide, who possibly would have been compromised by the information. As we were to find out, the guides were an assorted bunch of characters, all ages, mainly of the working classes, many ex police or armed services. Their duty as incumbents of the Serjeant at Arms was to protect the Crown at all costs, even though the Monarch can never actually enter the chamber, vigilance is their code and they look like they would prove to be extremely efficient in hand to hand combat especially.
Our morning continued and we meandered around the chamber under the watchful eye of our guide. Photographs were made of the following;
Microphones, Carpet areas, Debris, discarded speeches, sweet wrappers and so on. [3], [4] and [5]. Conscious of time closing in on us I shot off the few remaining frames, concentrating on the microphones hanging from the ceiling. This was rather rushed and it was uncertain if any of these have any real value for my work.
Laurent and I then hastily packed away the equipment and were escorted off the premises by our friendly guide. This time we crossed directly over St Stephens Hall in a [northerly] direction, passing the cavernous [Westminster hall] on our right and being amazed at its size and beauty.
We thanked our guide, who was to return to his duties for the Serjeant immediately and found ourselves on the street at the St Stephens entrance. Slightly disorientated as we anticipated our exit from the chamber to be at the same point as our entry, but we were in fact, a 100 yards further west. We acknowledged that the proportions of the house and it’s nature would easily confuse all but the most experienced.
Laurent and I found a coffee house in St Martins Lane and sat for a while discussing the morning.
2nd day.[27th June 2000]
We again met outside of the Garden entrance. Two early mornings for us then and we began the same procedure at entry as the day before. The same attendants were in evidence and the desk clerk was perturbed to see us again. However, our guide was absolutely on time and at two minutes past 8 of the clock we were on our way to the chamber. We were taken an entirely different route today, no sense of our tracks yesterday but still we passed through areas rich with significance making me realise that a complete survey of this space would be an incalculable undertaking.
My concentration was not as intense as the previous day. I began to see the chamber in a different light and observed different things. Many trips would have to be completed I knew, before I could begin to make sense of exactly what was going on here.
Today we came across other people in the chamber. Men in brown technicians overcoats pored over the time keeping devices, attentive and concerned. They barely acknowledged our presence. A friendly young man whose accent placed him as from the Balkans, polished the Table of the House with care, the scent of industrial polish lingered after he had left and as I began to photograph the table this made me sneeze violently, permeating my olfactory senses. What compelled me however was that the area had just been ‘worked’ on. Our agreement with the authorities was that no people could be photographed.
Also this morning we saw our first sign of members of the house. A common practice, to reserve your seat for the day’s debate, is to insert a prayer card [6] in the back of the bench area where you would like to seat. Special receptacles have been provided and this practice assumes that you are at Chapel, or wherever, praying to your God. Because of this, your seat cannot be taken. Mr Skinner the notorious ‘Beast of Bolsover’ makes use of this practice everyday so I assume that he is a particularly godly fellow.
Some of course are the sorts who disgrace our nation with their misdeeds and on first sight there is little to differentiate the assorted types. This is also true of political allegiances, though today we did find the Conservatives to be rather more brusque.
Today there were several members of the House passing through, some known to us, some less so. Some left prayer cards and others were merely ‘en route’. The response to our presence was mixed. It was becoming clear to me that as my intentions were ambiguous we seen as either mildly amusing or slightly irritating. A more accurate way of putting it would be to say that we were tolerated. We had a commercial arrangement with the Serjeant at Arms, so we were not exactly ‘persona non grata’, however I was acutely aware that my negotiations with him were always in the balance and had to be undertaken with the utmost care for fear of my project being curtailed.
Today I photographed obsessively as if a fever had hold of me. It seemed thankless and endless. I began to wonder, to what end? After all of this waiting, I knew that perseverance and single mindedness was the only way forward.
Again our time flew and we packed our equipment together and walked through the hall to the exit. The sun outside was too bright after the low lighting and muted concentration of the chamber, the traffic too loud. Crowds of tourists queued amongst petrol fumes and my anxiety was the question of return. I had only arranged these two visits, leaving it open to re negotiate the others as and when was necessary. This of course gave the Serjeant at Arms leeway to bar my re-entry if it were deemed that my face did not fit or that I was some republican with ulterior motives. My task now is to look at the work I have made and consider it’s worth.
It’s soon to be summer, and Parliament will close.
3rd day [6th November 2000] 7.30am
It was cold and raining when we met. Laurent was sitting hunched on a bench, alone on St Stephen’s green, as the early morning traffic crawled into London, the weather thrashing around him. Summer had been demanding, travel to America and Europe had sharpened my appetite for this task. To see England from a distance is always beneficial, one understood it’s position in the world so much more fully. The position of the monarchy appears particularly precarious and open to ridicule.
[For Americans particularly, the Windsors are not much more than one amongst many attractions, I fear that the British nation regards them similiarly, our status as subjects largely hidden within citizenship].
Entering the security vestibule offered little comfort, and shortly our guide led us to the chamber. We proceeded, a different route again! As we entered the Central Lobby we found ourselves ahead of our guide, a young man of relative inexperience. What happened next was all over in a wink of the eye but exemplified the ingrained and unquestionable duty to ‘protect’. We turned into the Commons, Laurent and I, and were spotted by two uniformed and armed guards who, one of them, on seeing us and not our guide, as his small frame was hidden behind mine, reached for and unbuttoned his revolver. He was ready to shoot! Calamity! Our nerves were tested. He saw our guide an instant later and put the weapon away. We were not shaken. It is not after all
commonplace to have firearms presented toward you but the speed of the incident minimized the effect. We duly showed our authentication and we were allowed to continue.
We were wet and dripping against the hallowed carpet of the Commons chamber, unpacking equipment. Today I made many photographs of the ‘red line’. It’s presence in the chamber, as a piece of décor which catches the eye, far outweighs it’s apparent symbolic value. More ‘debris’ photographed and many more recordings of time keeping instruments, some apparently archaic.
4th day [7th November 2000]
It is difficult to imagine the noise and strife, which must be generated when this chamber is in full use. I understand that after the chamber was bombed, some 50 years ago; the emphasis on rebuilding it was placed on architectural sympathy with the original design rather than any changes which would assist the acoustics. Each sound is deadened, footfall is unheard and yet outside of this dark sanctum we hear shouts and activity as the Palace comes awake. The chamber gives an unreal sensation of security. The symmetry itself, if one is not wary, begins to order the photographs one makes. The near converging parallels of Tudor green benches, the red line, the symmetry, all conspire against me, as if to impose an appreciation of England, an illusion of order and democracy. It will be necessary to smash this down if I am to get to the bottom of it all, to understand.
Today was rather desultory, we were packed and ready to head back on time. On leaving Westminster we proceeded straight to a commercial engagement in the East End.
5th day.[27th March 2001]
The Palace of Westminster in cool, spring sunlight. The usual rigmarole with security and on to the chamber with our guide, who today was a pleasant middle aged female. Her knowledge of the house surpassed any other guide’s and we enjoyed our traverse to Commons, again a new route.
The chamber of course was unchanged, and today I used more rolls of film than ever before. Renewed vigour and a sense of a small breakthrough over the intervening period since my last visit here. Little to report, words are becoming superfluous.
Today we showed the guide the way. He was a young man who had only been working here for a short while. In previous weeks we had generally arranged our visits on Mondays and Tuesdays, through some administrative quirk on my part, we were here on Tuesday and Wednesday this week. The chamber had more visitors than usual, inserting prayer cards all over the place. I was told that today was Question Time and various important matters were to be put before the Leader.
At one point a strident and fragrant lady member [Mrs Bottomley] for a country constituency asked Laurent for the use of a pencil. He became immediately enamoured of her, and rather distant I noticed. As she crossed the house to her chosen seat to write her name, Laurent’s eyes followed her. As a Frenchman he had not been living in this country enough years to have any history of her political life and was therefore bewitched by her apparent charms
No more diary entries after this date.
Photographs from Paddington Green High Security Police Station
And after much to-ing and fro-ing we eventually secured access to the Palace of Westminster, a building at the heart of the nations political life.
1st Day
The equipment we had chosen for the task was as follows;
Bronica sqa 6×6 body
Bronica sqa 110 mm macro lens
Bronica sqa 50mm lens
Several film backs
Two Metz flashguns with extension cords and spare batteries
Minolta auto IV light meter.
Mamiya c330 6×6
Mamiya sekor 65mm lens [this eventually proved unreliable]
We exclusively used Kodak Portra 160 vc 120 colour negative film.
My assistant, Laurent Betton and I met at 7.45 am on the first morning with a high sense of expectation. The project had been thought about and discussed for several years. Previous sorties, via correspondence from significant institutions had resulted in terse denials of my entry to the chamber [1] and whilst others had had a degree of access in the meantime, their findings had barely touched on what we were about to discover.
So, on a bright June morning in the year 2000, I found myself outside of Black rod’s garden entrance at the extreme western end of the Westminster. We passed through the first cordon and entered a room through a [proscenium] archway. There sat an X ray machine and a security guard. Our equipment was passed through and we waited for another doorway to open before us allowing us into the next preliminary level. At precisely 8.00am the small and hirsute desk clerk from the other side appeared and we went through, a little further toward our destination.
Foolishly, I had forgotten the authorisation sheet sent to me by
facsimile the previous week and the rather troubled clerk made much of this.
We sat and waited whilst various telephone calls were made and the situation began to resolve itself. Our guide was supposed to be
present as we arrived to meet us and lead us to the chamber but there was no sign of him. This coupled with the clerks boorish and unhelpful attitude had us waiting for a considerable time before we were able to proceed. It was apparent that unlike other visitors to the building, we were regarded suspiciously. Perhaps from now we should consider our appearance a little more. An ominous start.
After twenty minutes our escort arrived, a pleasant middle-aged man from the north east of England. He bore none of the anger of the clerk and we proceeded through labyrinthine corridors to the heart of government.
We passed oil paintings of indeterminate value, medieval sepulchres, domestic staff and cleaning equipment reeking of disinfectant. Oak panelling surrounded in marble walls crowded in on us as we made our way through the building.
Closed rooms and half open doors along endless corridors all promised something of my undefined goal, of power, lineage, an idea of England, dark dreams, long submerged within us and indistinguishable from our day to day thoughts.
At 8.23 am we arrived at the Central Lobby which opened up above us like a storm. The ceiling representations of Ireland, Scotland, Wales and England gave some sense of urgency to our passage through this anteroom and turning right we caught our first sight of the chamber of The Commons, warmly lit and largely un-navigated by outsiders such as ourselves.
The excitement was insufferable and as soon as we entered the chamber I instructed Laurent to unpack and assemble the equipment. I was immediately drawn to the space occupied by the leader and stared intently at the carpet immediately in front of his microphone until disturbed by Laurent handing me the camera and flashgun.
I began making my first photographs in that space at 8.30 am on the morning of the 26th of June 2000.
I started from the point that Laurent handed me the camera. Kneeling down, my first thought was of evidence of activity over the years preceding our visit. I made photographs of the bench area around the leaders sitting position, taking particular attention of how heels and toes of presumably well polished shoes and boots had scraped the surfaces, revealing lighter wood beneath the dark, oak surfaces.
Whilst in this position I looked up and could hardly believe what I was seeing. A piece of chewing gum or similar, had been left; maybe for devilment by another occupant of the chamber, maybe out of necessity by the leader himself, underneath the ‘Table of the House’ and directly beneath his microphone. [2] This was startling and I began making photographs of it immediately. The object itself can of course be found in many other places of interest, but it’s presence here lent an air of considerable excitement and hilarity.
We kept this from our guide, who possibly would have been compromised by the information. As we were to find out, the guides were an assorted bunch of characters, all ages, mainly of the working classes, many ex police or armed services. Their duty as incumbents of the Serjeant at Arms was to protect the Crown at all costs, even though the Monarch can never actually enter the chamber, vigilance is their code and they look like they would prove to be extremely efficient in hand to hand combat especially.
Our morning continued and we meandered around the chamber under the watchful eye of our guide. Photographs were made of the following;
Microphones, Carpet areas, Debris, discarded speeches, sweet wrappers and so on. [3], [4] and [5]. Conscious of time closing in on us I shot off the few remaining frames, concentrating on the microphones hanging from the ceiling. This was rather rushed and it was uncertain if any of these have any real value for my work.
Laurent and I then hastily packed away the equipment and were escorted off the premises by our friendly guide. This time we crossed directly over St Stephens Hall in a [northerly] direction, passing the cavernous [Westminster hall] on our right and being amazed at its size and beauty.
We thanked our guide, who was to return to his duties for the Serjeant immediately and found ourselves on the street at the St Stephens entrance. Slightly disorientated as we anticipated our exit from the chamber to be at the same point as our entry, but we were in fact, a 100 yards further west. We acknowledged that the proportions of the house and it’s nature would easily confuse all but the most experienced.
Laurent and I found a coffee house in St Martins Lane and sat for a while discussing the morning.
2nd day.[27th June 2000]
We again met outside of the Garden entrance. Two early mornings for us then and we began the same procedure at entry as the day before. The same attendants were in evidence and the desk clerk was perturbed to see us again. However, our guide was absolutely on time and at two minutes past 8 of the clock we were on our way to the chamber. We were taken an entirely different route today, no sense of our tracks yesterday but still we passed through areas rich with significance making me realise that a complete survey of this space would be an incalculable undertaking.
My concentration was not as intense as the previous day. I began to see the chamber in a different light and observed different things. Many trips would have to be completed I knew, before I could begin to make sense of exactly what was going on here.
Today we came across other people in the chamber. Men in brown technicians overcoats pored over the time keeping devices, attentive and concerned. They barely acknowledged our presence. A friendly young man whose accent placed him as from the Balkans, polished the Table of the House with care, the scent of industrial polish lingered after he had left and as I began to photograph the table this made me sneeze violently, permeating my olfactory senses. What compelled me however was that the area had just been ‘worked’ on. Our agreement with the authorities was that no people could be photographed.
Also this morning we saw our first sign of members of the house. A common practice, to reserve your seat for the day’s debate, is to insert a prayer card [6] in the back of the bench area where you would like to seat. Special receptacles have been provided and this practice assumes that you are at Chapel, or wherever, praying to your God. Because of this, your seat cannot be taken. Mr Skinner the notorious ‘Beast of Bolsover’ makes use of this practice everyday so I assume that he is a particularly godly fellow.
Some of course are the sorts who disgrace our nation with their misdeeds and on first sight there is little to differentiate the assorted types. This is also true of political allegiances, though today we did find the Conservatives to be rather more brusque.
Today there were several members of the House passing through, some known to us, some less so. Some left prayer cards and others were merely ‘en route’. The response to our presence was mixed. It was becoming clear to me that as my intentions were ambiguous we seen as either mildly amusing or slightly irritating. A more accurate way of putting it would be to say that we were tolerated. We had a commercial arrangement with the Serjeant at Arms, so we were not exactly ‘persona non grata’, however I was acutely aware that my negotiations with him were always in the balance and had to be undertaken with the utmost care for fear of my project being curtailed.
Today I photographed obsessively as if a fever had hold of me. It seemed thankless and endless. I began to wonder, to what end? After all of this waiting, I knew that perseverance and single mindedness was the only way forward.
Again our time flew and we packed our equipment together and walked through the hall to the exit. The sun outside was too bright after the low lighting and muted concentration of the chamber, the traffic too loud. Crowds of tourists queued amongst petrol fumes and my anxiety was the question of return. I had only arranged these two visits, leaving it open to re negotiate the others as and when was necessary. This of course gave the Serjeant at Arms leeway to bar my re-entry if it were deemed that my face did not fit or that I was some republican with ulterior motives. My task now is to look at the work I have made and consider it’s worth.
It’s soon to be summer, and Parliament will close.
3rd day [6th November 2000] 7.30am
It was cold and raining when we met. Laurent was sitting hunched on a bench, alone on St Stephen’s green, as the early morning traffic crawled into London, the weather thrashing around him. Summer had been demanding, travel to America and Europe had sharpened my appetite for this task. To see England from a distance is always beneficial, one understood it’s position in the world so much more fully. The position of the monarchy appears particularly precarious and open to ridicule.
[For Americans particularly, the Windsors are not much more than one amongst many attractions, I fear that the British nation regards them similiarly, our status as subjects largely hidden within citizenship].
Entering the security vestibule offered little comfort, and shortly our guide led us to the chamber. We proceeded, a different route again! As we entered the Central Lobby we found ourselves ahead of our guide, a young man of relative inexperience. What happened next was all over in a wink of the eye but exemplified the ingrained and unquestionable duty to ‘protect’. We turned into the Commons, Laurent and I, and were spotted by two uniformed and armed guards who, one of them, on seeing us and not our guide, as his small frame was hidden behind mine, reached for and unbuttoned his revolver. He was ready to shoot! Calamity! Our nerves were tested. He saw our guide an instant later and put the weapon away. We were not shaken. It is not after all
commonplace to have firearms presented toward you but the speed of the incident minimized the effect. We duly showed our authentication and we were allowed to continue.
We were wet and dripping against the hallowed carpet of the Commons chamber, unpacking equipment. Today I made many photographs of the ‘red line’. It’s presence in the chamber, as a piece of décor which catches the eye, far outweighs it’s apparent symbolic value. More ‘debris’ photographed and many more recordings of time keeping instruments, some apparently archaic.
4th day [7th November 2000]
It is difficult to imagine the noise and strife, which must be generated when this chamber is in full use. I understand that after the chamber was bombed, some 50 years ago; the emphasis on rebuilding it was placed on architectural sympathy with the original design rather than any changes which would assist the acoustics. Each sound is deadened, footfall is unheard and yet outside of this dark sanctum we hear shouts and activity as the Palace comes awake. The chamber gives an unreal sensation of security. The symmetry itself, if one is not wary, begins to order the photographs one makes. The near converging parallels of Tudor green benches, the red line, the symmetry, all conspire against me, as if to impose an appreciation of England, an illusion of order and democracy. It will be necessary to smash this down if I am to get to the bottom of it all, to understand.
Today was rather desultory, we were packed and ready to head back on time. On leaving Westminster we proceeded straight to a commercial engagement in the East End.
5th day.[27th March 2001]
The Palace of Westminster in cool, spring sunlight. The usual rigmarole with security and on to the chamber with our guide, who today was a pleasant middle aged female. Her knowledge of the house surpassed any other guide’s and we enjoyed our traverse to Commons, again a new route.
The chamber of course was unchanged, and today I used more rolls of film than ever before. Renewed vigour and a sense of a small breakthrough over the intervening period since my last visit here. Little to report, words are becoming superfluous.
6th day.[28th March 2001]
Today we showed the guide the way. He was a young man who had only been working here for a short while. In previous weeks we had generally arranged our visits on Mondays and Tuesdays, through some administrative quirk on my part, we were here on Tuesday and Wednesday this week. The chamber had more visitors than usual, inserting prayer cards all over the place. I was told that today was Question Time and various important matters were to be put before the Leader.
At one point a strident and fragrant lady member [Mrs Bottomley] for a country constituency asked Laurent for the use of a pencil. He became immediately enamoured of her, and rather distant I noticed. As she crossed the house to her chosen seat to write her name, Laurent’s eyes followed her. As a Frenchman he had not been living in this country enough years to have any history of her political life and was therefore bewitched by her apparent charms
No more diary entries after this date.