There is good and there is evil. In between, somewhere, is the duck.
These words, spoken by Accrington artist and visionary Tim Whittaker, come back to haunt us in these ribald, brittle, stretched months of 2020 and 2021, where ghosts of the threshing floor rise to meet us.
These photocopies hark back to another, happier time and maybe presage a third.
We just need to locate the duck.
You have to act. Burn them, commune with their indolent, witless, stolid spirit. Or photocopy them endlessly to erase their presence.
Maybe you can draw on humanity’s creative commons to give you another answer. It’s what the internet is for.
I’m staying in my lane. To be precise, Hollins Lane. But that stops in Baxenden. Where then?
An iphone 7 photograph of a photocopy of an iphone 4 photograph, depictingThe Grey Horse, Whalley Road. Not to be confused with the Greyhound down the road, where the Photocopier’s direct relatives were laid out after the Moorfield pit disaster sometime in the 1880s.
It is time for action. It is time to find Tim Whittaker’s duck. To find the auguries for the duck, download and photocopy, and then set alight in obeisance to the deity of your choosing.
It is the only way to commune with a future England, whilst processing 70 years of a couch potato worldview, held together by Airfix glue.
When using a chafing dish (or similar vessel) please heed the words of Scorpio Murtlock. Appease the shades of your dwelling and burn laurel and alder before watching the copy of Accrington Pals Health Centre go up in smoke.
(Students of the photocopy will notice the role of the small circular cut out piece of paper, a refugee from some binding action. See it as a comet coming.
An iphone 7 photograph of a photocopy of an iphone 4 photograph, depicting the darts board in the Grey Horse Whalley Road, Accrington. Taken during a Christmas long ago.
It is time for action. It is time to find Tim Whittaker’s duck. To find the auguries for the duck, download and photocopy, and then set alight in obeisance to the deity of your choosing.
It is the only way to commune with a future England, whilst processing 70 years of a couch potato worldview, held together by Airfix glue.
When using a chafing dish (or similar vessel) please heed the words of Scorpio Murtlock. Appease the shades of your dwelling and burn laurel and alder before watching the copy of Accrington Pals Health Centre go up in smoke.
(Students of the photocopy will notice the role of the small circular cut out piece of paper, a refugee from some binding action. See it as a comet coming.
An iphone 7 photograph of a photocopy of an iphone 4 photograph, depicting Accrington Globe Centre, once the Howard and Bullough “works” where most of Accrington’s youth ended up, lathing, turning and mucking about.
It is time for action. It is time to find Tim Whittaker’s duck. To find the auguries for the duck, download and photocopy, and then set alight in obeisance to the deity of your choosing.
It is the only way to commune with a future England, whilst processing 70 years of a couch potato worldview, held together by Airfix glue.
When using a chafing dish (or similar vessel) please heed the words of Scorpio Murtlock. Appease the shades of your dwelling and burn laurel and alder before watching the copy of Accrington Pals Health Centre go up in smoke.
(Students of the photocopy will notice the role of the small circular cut out piece of paper, a refugee from some binding action. See it as a comet coming.
There is good and there is evil. In between, somewhere, is the duck.
These words, spoken by Accrington artist and visionary Tim Whittaker, come back to haunt us in these ribald, brittle, stretched months of 2020 and 2021, where ghosts of the threshing floor rise to meet us.
These photocopies hark back to another, happier time and maybe presage a third.
We just need to locate the duck.
You have to act. Burn them, commune with their indolent, witless, stolid spirit. Or photocopy them endlessly to erase their presence.
Maybe you can draw on humanity’s creative commons to give you another answer. It’s what the internet is for.
I’m staying in my lane. To be precise, Hollins Lane. But that stops in Baxenden. Where then?
An iphone 7 photograph of a photocopy of an iphone 4 photograph, depicting a bypass in Accrington. Like many in the North, local residents can say “I remember when it was all houses around here”.
It is time for action. It is time to find Tim Whittaker’s duck. To find the auguries for the duck, download and photocopy, and then set alight in obeisance to the deity of your choosing.
It is the only way to commune with a future England, whilst processing 70 years of a couch potato worldview, held together by Airfix glue.
When using a chafing dish (or similar vessel) please heed the words of Scorpio Murtlock. Appease the shades of your dwelling and burn laurel and alder before watching the copy of Accrington Pals Health Centre go up in smoke.
(Students of the photocopy will notice the role of the small circular cut out piece of paper, a refugee from some binding action. See it as a comet coming.
An iphone 7 photograph of a photocopy of an iphone 4 photograph, depicting Accrington War Memorial. the Crown Green Bowling club is just round the back.
It is time for action. It is time to find Tim Whittaker’s duck. To find the auguries for the duck, download and photocopy, and then set alight in obeisance to the deity of your choosing.
It is the only way to commune with a future England, whilst processing 70 years of a couch potato worldview, held together by Airfix glue.
When using a chafing dish (or similar vessel) please heed the words of Scorpio Murtlock. Appease the shades of your dwelling and burn laurel and alder before watching the copy of Accrington Pals Health Centre go up in smoke.
(Students of the photocopy will notice the role of the small circular cut out piece of paper, a refugee from some binding action. See it as a comet coming.
An iphone 7 photograph of a photocopy of an iphone 4 photograph, depicting the bunger in The Grey Horse, Accrington. In spaces like these, Britain’s ruin is continually hatched.
It is time for action. It is time to find Tim Whittaker’s duck. To find the auguries for the duck, download and photocopy, and then set alight in obeisance to the deity of your choosing.
It is the only way to commune with a future England, whilst processing 70 years of a couch potato worldview, held together by Airfix glue.
When using a chafing dish (or similar vessel) please heed the words of Scorpio Murtlock. Appease the shades of your dwelling and burn laurel and alder before watching the copy of Accrington Pals Health Centre go up in smoke.
(Students of the photocopy will notice the role of the small circular cut out piece of paper, a refugee from some binding action. See it as a comet coming.
What does the original matter when you’ve got a copy that cost more? It’s much more fun to be in Doggerland, Doggerland under Sea, where nothing ever matters, to you or to me.
Digital photo of a black and white photocopy (on 200gsm coloured paper of a freehand drawing (using dip pen and Indian ink) on a postcard made of heavy watercolour paper. The images depict imaginary inhabitants of Doggerland, a once vast stretch of land that joined mainland Europe and the British Isles. Now it lies under the English Channel and the North Sea. At the time of writing, each original postcard (of a series of 14) is in the post, going elsewhere, maybe never to reach where they’ve been sent; like the subjects depicted on them.
Digital photo of a black and white photocopy (on 200gsm coloured paper of a freehand drawing (using dip pen and Indian ink) on a postcard made of heavy watercolour paper. The images depict imaginary inhabitants of Doggerland, a once vast stretch of land that joined mainland Europe and the British Isles. Now it lies under the English Channel and the North Sea. At the time of writing, each original postcard (of a series of 14) is in the post, going elsewhere, maybe never to reach where they’ve been sent; like the subjects depicted on them.
Digital photo of a black and white photocopy (on 200gsm coloured paper of a freehand drawing (using dip pen and Indian ink) on a postcard made of heavy watercolour paper. The images depict imaginary inhabitants of Doggerland, a once vast stretch of land that joined mainland Europe and the British Isles. Now it lies under the English Channel and the North Sea. At the time of writing, each original postcard (of a series of 14) is in the post, going elsewhere, maybe never to reach where they’ve been sent; like the subjects depicted on them.
Between the worlds of Post Card and Pod Cast lies a new map of hell. It’s much more fun to be in Doggerland, Doggerland under Sea, where nothing ever matters, to you or to me.
Digital photo of a black and white photocopy (on 200gsm paper of a freehand drawing (using dip pen and Indian ink) on a postcard made of heavy watercolour paper. The images depict imaginary inhabitants of Doggerland, a once vast stretch of land that joined mainland Europe and the British Isles. Now it lies under the English Channel and the North Sea. At the time of writing, each original postcard (of a series of 14) is in the post, going elsewhere, maybe never to reach where they’ve been sent; like the subjects depicted on them.
Digital photo of a black and white photocopy (on 200gsm paper of a freehand drawing (using dip pen and Indian ink) on a postcard made of heavy watercolour paper. The images depict imaginary inhabitants of Doggerland, a once vast stretch of land that joined mainland Europe and the British Isles. Now it lies under the English Channel and the North Sea. At the time of writing, each original postcard (of a series of 14) is in the post, going elsewhere, maybe never to reach where they’ve been sent; like the subjects depicted on them.
Digital photo of a black and white photocopy (on 200gsm paper of a freehand drawing (using dip pen and Indian ink) on a postcard made of heavy watercolour paper. The images depict imaginary inhabitants of Doggerland, a once vast stretch of land that joined mainland Europe and the British Isles. Now it lies under the English Channel and the North Sea. At the time of writing, each original postcard (of a series of 14) is in the post, going elsewhere, maybe never to reach where they’ve been sent; like the subjects depicted on them.
Away from the internet, away from the affray, away from the melting Liquid Crystal Display. It’s much more fun to be in Doggerland, Doggerland under Sea, where nothing ever matters, to you or to me.
Digital photo of a black and white photocopy (on 200gsm paper of a freehand drawing (using dip pen and Indian ink) on a postcard made of heavy watercolour paper. The images depict imaginary inhabitants of Doggerland, a once vast stretch of land that joined mainland Europe and the British Isles. Now it lies under the English Channel and the North Sea. At the time of writing, each original postcard (of a series of 14) is in the post, going elsewhere, maybe never to reach where they’ve been sent; like the subjects depicted on them.
Digital photo of a black and white photocopy (on 200gsm paper of a freehand drawing (using dip pen and Indian ink) on a postcard made of heavy watercolour paper. The images depict imaginary inhabitants of Doggerland, a once vast stretch of land that joined mainland Europe and the British Isles. Now it lies under the English Channel and the North Sea. At the time of writing, each original postcard (of a series of 14) is in the post, going elsewhere, maybe never to reach where they’ve been sent; like the subjects depicted on them.
Digital photo of a black and white photocopy (on 200gsm paper of a freehand drawing (using dip pen and Indian ink) on a postcard made of heavy watercolour paper. The images depict imaginary inhabitants of Doggerland, a once vast stretch of land that joined mainland Europe and the British Isles. Now it lies under the English Channel and the North Sea. At the time of writing, each original postcard (of a series of 14) is in the post, going elsewhere, maybe never to reach where they’ve been sent; like the subjects depicted on them.
God, the art world bores me. Being an artist? You might as well be an astronaut. It’s all so serious and full of important things to do. It’s much more fun to be in Doggerland, Doggerland under Sea, where nothing ever matters, to you or to me.
Digital photo of a colour photocopy (on 200gsm paper of a freehand drawing (using dip pen and Indian ink) on a postcard made of heavy watercolour paper. The colours are courtesy of pencil, coloured inks and water-based colour pencils. The images depict imaginary inhabitants of Doggerland, a once vast stretch of land that joined mainland Europe and the British Isles. Now it lies under the English Channel and the North Sea. At the time of writing, each original postcard (of a series of 14) is in the post, going elsewhere, maybe never to reach where they’ve been sent; like the subjects depicted on them.
Digital photo of a colour photocopy (on 200gsm paper of a freehand drawing (using dip pen and Indian ink) on a postcard made of heavy watercolour paper. The colours are courtesy of pencil, coloured inks and water-based colour pencils. The images depict imaginary inhabitants of Doggerland, a once vast stretch of land that joined mainland Europe and the British Isles. Now it lies under the English Channel and the North Sea. At the time of writing, each original postcard (of a series of 14) is in the post, going elsewhere, maybe never to reach where they’ve been sent; like the subjects depicted on them.
Digital photo of a colour photocopy (on 200gsm paper of a freehand drawing (using dip pen and Indian ink) on a postcard made of heavy watercolour paper. The colours are courtesy of pencil, coloured inks and water-based colour pencils. The images depict imaginary inhabitants of Doggerland, a once vast stretch of land that joined mainland Europe and the British Isles. Now it lies under the English Channel and the North Sea. At the time of writing, each original postcard (of a series of 14) is in the post, going elsewhere, maybe never to reach where they’ve been sent; like the subjects depicted on them.
Where do we go and what do we do when we sleep? There is plenty of activity and sensations to document. And what of the space where #SleepLife happens, how do they change? This is one such document, of a space in Accrington that needs a new #SleepLife, and quietly suffered a temporary interregnum. It’s old one has ended.
An A4 photocopy of a pencil sketch of the Photocopier’s mother’s gardening shoes (which were moved to the bedroom from the hallway). And the wooden cabinet containing the antique cistern that heated the water for the Photocopier’s baths. The Photocopier has almost primal childhood memory of lowering himself into the bath at his parent’s house. And the attendant feeling of comfort the first few minutes of the bath gave him. Over time it became a ritual to immediately have a bath on returning to the family home. The drawing is in the Photocopier’s notebook of his nocturnal experiences whilst sleeping in his late mother’s bedroom, over Christmas and New Year 2019-20.
An A4 photocopy of a sketch of the Photocopier’s mother’s make up bag (a tabby cat) sat atop a sheesham wood box (containing nothing) and in frot of a small pot cat ornament fixed to the wall, above an oak chest of drawers. The notes in felt tip refer to the photocopier’s fascination with the classical motif on his mother’s jewellery boxes. The drawing is in the Photocopier’s notebook of his nocturnal experiences whilst sleeping in his late mother’s bedroom, over Christmas and New Year 2019-20.
An A4 photocopy of a pencil sketch of the ornaments and jewellery boxes to be found in the Photocopier’s mother’s bedroom. The swan vase was originally his aunt Marion’s (from the Bury branch of the family, long deceased) which, along with a similarly highly glazed vase depicting a highwayman, fascinated the Photocopier as a small child on trips to Bury. The pot jewellery box, with a relief showing some scene from classical myth (made in the East Midlands) were some of the longest standing items in his mother’s bedroom, being there from the early 1970s. The Photocopier had issues drawing this freehand. The drawing is in the Photocopier’s notebook of his nocturnal experiences whilst sleeping in his late mother’s bedroom, over Christmas and New Year 2019-20.
An A4 photocopy of a quick sketch of the Photocopier’s mother’s bedroom with some cursory notes in felt tip. The drawing is in the Photocopier’s notebook of his nocturnal experiences whilst sleeping in his late mother’s bedroom, over Christmas and New Year 2019-20.
An A4 photocopy of a quick pencil sketch of the bathroom door (with Staffordshire porcelain handle) and a highly glazed ceramic seal from the Gema ceramic company (which the Photocopier’s mother had a soft spot for). These two elements were the first thing that somehowcame to mind when trying to focus on the nocturnal bathroom visits. The drawing is in the Photocopier’s notebook of his nocturnal experiences whilst sleeping in his late mother’s bedroom, over Christmas and New Year 2019-20.
Where do we go and what do we do when we sleep? There is plenty of activity and sensations to document. And what of the space where #SleepLife happens, how do they change? This is one such document, of a space in Accrington that needs a new #SleepLife, and quietly suffered a temporary interregnum. It’s old one has ended.
An A4 photocopy of a pencil sketch from a Polish film poster that somehow mutated into a bored – and aborted – take on TE Lawrence. One of the first drawings made after his mother’s death, the drawing is in the Photocopier’s notebook of his nocturnal experiences whilst sleeping in his late mother’s bedroom, over Christmas and New Year 2019-20.
An A4 photocopy of a pencil sketch of a pot ornament made by the Photocopier’s brother at infants school that was given to his mother. Indestructible and inscrutable, the glazed clay ornament – depicting a bird it according to family legend – has never left the window sill of his parents’ bedroom. The notes in pen document the time of death of the Photocopier’s mother, amongst other sensations and observations. The drawing is in the Photocopier’s notebook of his nocturnal experiences whilst sleeping in his late mother’s bedroom, over Christmas and New Year 2019-20.
n A4 photocopy of a quick pencil sketch of the Photocopier’s mother’s bedside table (with wood-based lamp and the Photocopier’s personal effects strewn loosely upon it) and a battered Roberts digital radio. The radio was notorious in being too loud. The Photocopier’s late mother, who was an insomniac, would play the BBC World Service at high volume throughout the night, often to everyone else’s irritation. The drawing is in the Photocopier’s notebook of his nocturnal experiences whilst sleeping in his late mother’s bedroom, over Christmas and New Year 2019-20.
An A4 photocopy of the Photocopier’s notes in felt tip. The photocopy that is pasted in the bottom right hand corner is from Wyndham-Lewis’s Vorticist Manifesto, “Blast” (1914). The drawing is in the Photocopier’s notebook of his nocturnal experiences whilst sleeping in his late mother’s bedroom, over Christmas and New Year 2019-20.
A few weeks ago the Photocopier collated some answers about the sleep life of important professionals in the music business, in the upstairs room of a Groningen pub. Some of those answers (spread over four separate posts) are to be seen here. One can only wonder; what does sleep really mean to us, during our never-ending lives?
The Photocopier asked some of his friends in the music business how they slept. Some of the answers are very revealing, some tug at the heartstrings and make The Photocopier want to illustrate their experiences, others are brief to the point of emotionally stunted. What do these answers hide, or tell?
This is from a Russian.
The makeshift questionnaire came to being when The Photocopier found a strange printed set of forms in his works copier; the fields filled with what looked liked a number of stuck keys, specifically z’s and i’s. This seemed appropriate to use in Sleep Life.
A photograph of a photocopy of a photocopy of a form found in the office of WORM Rotterdam. The Photocopier asked some of his friends in the music business how they slept. Some of the answers are very revealing, some tug at the heartstrings and make The Photocopier want to illustrate their experiences, others are brief to the point of emotionally stunted. What do these answers hide, or tell?
This is from a Belarusian.
The makeshift questionnaire came to being when The Photocopier found a strange printed set of forms in his works copier; the fields filled with what looked liked a number of stuck keys, specifically z’s and i’s. This seemed appropriate to use in Sleep Life.
A photograph of a photocopy of a photocopy of a form found in the office of WORM Rotterdam. The Photocopier asked some of his friends in the music business how they slept. Some of the answers are very revealing, some tug at the heartstrings and make The Photocopier want to illustrate their experiences, others are brief to the point of emotionally stunted. What do these answers hide, or tell?
This is from a Dutchman.
The makeshift questionnaire came to being when The Photocopier found a strange printed set of forms in his works copier; the fields filled with what looked liked a number of stuck keys, specifically z’s and i’s. This seemed appropriate to use in Sleep Life.
A photograph of a photocopy of a pencil drawing. The Photocopier once started drawing images that made him sleepy or had an inherently tiring element to them. These images – taken from various sources (the suffering of WW2 prisoners, young people being young) make him very sleepy.
A few weeks ago the Photocopier collated some answers about the sleep life of important professionals in the music business, in the upstairs room of a Groningen pub. Some of those answers (spread over four separate posts) are to be seen here. One can only wonder; what does sleep really mean to us, during our never-ending lives?
A photograph of a photocopy of a colour photocopy of a drawing. The Photocopier’s friend Charlien asked him about any recurring nightmares he may have. The Photocopier doesn’t like to think of eyes under water.
A photograph of a photocopy of a form found by the photocopier in the office of WORM Rotterdam. The Photocopier asked some of his friends in the music business how they slept. Some of the answers are very revealing, some tug at the heartstrings and make The Photocopier want to illustrate their experiences, others are brief to the point of emotionally stunted. What do these answers hide, or tell?
This is from a Dutchman.
The makeshift questionnaire came to being when The Photocopier found a strange printed set of forms in his works copier; the fields filled with what looked liked a number of stuck keys, specifically z’s and i’s. This seemed appropriate to use in Sleep Life.
A photograph of a photocopy of a photocopy of a form found in the office of WORM Rotterdam. The Photocopier asked some of his friends in the music business how they slept. Some of the answers are very revealing, some tug at the heartstrings and make The Photocopier want to illustrate their experiences, others are brief to the point of emotionally stunted. What do these answers hide, or tell?
This is from a Slovenian.
The makeshift questionnaire came to being when The Photocopier found a strange printed set of forms in his works copier; the fields filled with what looked liked a number of stuck keys, specifically z’s and i’s. This seemed appropriate to use in Sleep Life.
A photograph of a photocopy of a photocopy of a form found in the office of WORM Rotterdam. The Photocopier asked some of his friends in the music business how they slept. Some of the answers are very revealing, some tug at the heartstrings and make The Photocopier want to illustrate their experiences, others are brief to the point of emotionally stunted. What do these answers hide, or tell?
This is from a Russian.
The makeshift questionnaire came to being when The Photocopier found a strange printed set of forms in his works copier; the fields filled with what looked liked a number of stuck keys, specifically z’s and i’s. This seemed appropriate to use in Sleep Life.
A photograph of a photocopy of a pencil drawing. The Photocopier once started drawing images that made him sleepy or had an inherently tiring element to them. These images – taken from various sources (the suffering of WW2 prisoners, young people being young) make him very sleepy. This particular image is a favourite of Estonian popstar Mart Avi as it reminds him of his grandfather.
