Saturday, the train throngs with people out and about. The day off, and the spring sun has brought out the desire in people to be out and about. All ages surround me, the very, very young, to the inexperienced and the older more considered faces that raise eyebrows and roll eyes, before breaking into grins at the antics of those who have it all to come.
Clouds have become wisps in the sky; the lack of insulation means that there is a chill to the brightness, and coats become a complex decision - with no sun essential, but quickly raising body temperatures when the clouds become distracted by the spring vibes.
By now sights have become familiar to me, and the weather change brings subtle differences - where once was frozen now has grass striving for the sun that in turn has mellowed and gives less harsh lines as well as a deeper tone, drawing the landscape together. Now I see scenes that connect, not patterns seeking to escape. This is the beginning of blend and smudge, as deep contrast and hard lines shy away for another year.
There is a determined relaxation to the those in town. Moving about their business, but taking the time to take stock of where they are and who they are with. The shopping itself is an excuse rather than the business of the day.
I meander around venues - stopping to glance at private galleries (and the art of Timmy Mallet, a memory disjoint that I am still unable to fully reconcile even now), and make my way to a coffee bar. The rest of the morning is spent writing and enjoying the passing by of people, before my wanderlust returns.
I make my way to the cinema, and arty venue hidden away down an alleyway, and get a ticket for Under the Skin. It is a while away for the moment so I enjoy a Coke from a glass bottle, which leads me to consider the nature of texture. Why the glass bottle is more pleasing to me: how it seems more physical in presence, it's weight, and the clink as it is poured into a glass? How it is that all these features add to the experience?
This is a thought that nags at me as I watch the film. Under the Skin is intensely aural; the quality of the sound added to the visceral and metaphorical photography gave me a compelling sense of distance - and of empathy. The nature of things as presented on the screen is continually questioned: textures, sound, motivation and purpose are all made strange through the eyes of the protagonist, but more through my eyes as an observer. The film is distant, but not cold, for the emotion may be harsh, but is found through simplicity and by making what was familiar new.
Like the film the season change asks of us that we re-see our surroundings. That we find the meaning in the ordinary and who we are.