The Winding Path

A photograph of a place that’s arguably not worth photographing, but it has a significance for me that’s hard to explain. It’s a path that leads from Morley train station, around Daisy Hill and through the farmers fields to Churwell, the village I grew up in. Nothing important ever happened to me here in terms of life events, but when I was a teenager on the dole it’s the route I used to take home after spending the day in the library, reading and wondering what the hell I was going to do with my life. I suppose this path is a very simplistic metaphor for the winding road my life subsequently took, which is why whenever I go back up north I always seem to end up going here, even though – as you can see – there’s nothing there. I’ve been tempted to paint it several times, but something always stops my hand. I suspect it’s the fear that by painting it I will have in a way defined and explained something that I would rather keep mysterious.


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