While The Sun Shines
All day
I drove down that road most days of the week. There were speed bumps on it which slowed me down and let out a squeak from my aging vehicle’s suspension. Most places of work I had rushed to arrive at, but this road was different. The bumps and gently narrowing width made me take care and arrive slowly at my job. As it snaked through the brush, gorse and dune, the ocean came into sight, and in the distance stood a lighthouse that had helped guide shipping for decades. I rarely listened to music on my drive to work and instead tried to be present and take in the scenery.
Living somewhere people came to holiday was a strange way of living. You’d find yourself rushed and hurried with the humdrum of life, only to remember that most people whizzing past you had paid money to be there and to enjoy their stay. I too enjoyed my stay there and often held myself accountable for appreciating where I was able to live and work, trying to stave off those feelings that come from working too much and not enjoying your life.
The job was a renovation. It was an old beach house built in the sixties. When we demolished part of the structure, remnants of old ways of working came to light once more. Housed joints for wall frames and tusk tenons for openings — things that have long since been replaced by joist hangers and strong ring shank nails. In a way, we had degenerated in our ways of working. Things were easier and faster, but I often doubted they were better. Some of the old timber was of marvellous quality — durable and difficult to remove. I often compared the tight growth rings of the old framing timber to the rapid-grown redwood we were installing, and the difference was profound.
I was lucky, nonetheless, to work in this location. Summer came and scorched us for months on end. This verdant and dank part of the world got some much-needed sun and, as we worked, I longed for finish time, when I could jump in the ocean to cool off. It was only a short walk down some cliffs and there I was, in front of an expanse of cool. I often surfed the wave right out front. On a mid tide there was a bank that often had waves peeling both left and right. As we rebuilt the roof, I would often watch in awe as wave after wave rolled in and dissipated on the gently inclined sand.
A few of the lads on my crew surfed and we often shared tales of surf at home and away. Surfing, to me, was the thing that drove my hunger for exploration. I loved waves and documented them from close up in the water and from the land. I was also fascinated by how the ocean taught me things about what was going on in the hinterlands. All these land-based creatures throwing themselves into the water, willingly, also had lives happening on shore.
Whilst I worked there, I never quit thinking about travel and making images. Of course, I was lucky to be there and to work in such a beautiful location, but I had gone from moving constantly and seeing new things to being in a Monday-to-Friday rotation that seemed the same very quickly. Art and travel had often been my antidote to this type of malaise. Some of the guys I worked with were proper construction types — the kind who didn’t believe mental health was real, baulked at anything new or unknown, and completely disregarded safety and health-driven practices, to the point where wearing sun cream was considered soft. I had become thick-skinned, and working with these types of people had become something I joked about rather than something that affected me. I used to try to convince people of different points of view, but maybe I had conceded that some were too far gone to help. I rarely mentioned that I wrote or made photographs during my time off because I knew it would likely be met with ridicule. The construction industry was in the stone ages in some aspects, and I often wondered how this country had managed to house so many people with such a backward workforce making the work happen.
Throughout the summer I continued to do good work. I came daily — early — and cut, measured, glued and fitted floorboards, floor joists, and finer carpentry such as doors and built-in wardrobes. At the same time, I continued working on myself and my art. Life was a process that needed day-by-day attention. I tried to treat myself well and respond to my mind in a calm manner, and I made art when I could.
In the evenings I would often pick splinters out of my hands or make some food after a surf. Summer was by far my favourite time of year. The work was easier wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and a difficult day on the tools was normally rewarded by a swim or a walk along the high cliffs.
I just want to say a big thanks for those to you out there that already support me - and for those of you looking for ways to support me please consider buy a print in my print store
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Thanks for cruising along as always
Steve
Hooked on your words. Appreciate you sharing.