Surprising how documenting this place made me feel so voyeuristic, the only other space which has arisen this being Broadwater Farm; the scene of the riots in 1985. Empty units, a thoroughfare projecting a false narrative of lacking history, helicopter in to stroll and witness, but not and never having been part of its being. Not having invested in its life line, shifts and progressions. The attempts to connect with a location, always in my mind. Photographing, headphones in, when someone comments 'knock it down’. I want to say ‘why’, mall by design never feels useful, use factors drift in and out. Elephant and Castle in London demolished 2021, relocating local to detrimental effect- sales down by 60%. I try to connect through my computer, after the effect seems demonic. Previously Stretford Arndale, built 1969. Those shapes held humanity for 57 years.
These images are the first I’ve shot since our move north, and a mere few days before the official closure of this space, I chance upon it as my work coach says there may be toilets in there I can use as the Job Centre doesn’t have one. My own relationship with this hallowed ground through the lens of fortnightly attendance proving I’m looking, hunting and begging for work. I write this in my final weeks of Governmental financial support, the drip of funds, closing down around me. Here we collide, declining footfall, financial pressure and a need for new. Our move north at the end of September nearly a whole year ago, this time has felt insurmountable, the tally of work notching a spreadsheet bedpost. The shift underscoring a narrative I’ve longed to destroy in my bones, my own ‘use factor’. The capacity to bond with a building and feel its path towards inevitable change, I hear those words again ‘knock it down’.
They ring in my ears as I open up yet another application, as I scroll the list of places I know to provide work, and hope something will jump out that keeps my bones standing and searching. Fable has it that Muhammad Ali opened Stretford Mall, the place unified under the vision of the new, I still grasp for a connection and my lack of employ defines a new structure to my days. I am sole ‘home’ winner- does that work, not work. Domestic overlord, and childcare shift into 50% of my vision, as the other half attempt to move my career beyond the pale. I never calculated how this limbo would also struggle my bond with this new city. Each day my identity feels unformed, my children head to their places, my partner now ensconced, I stand out, this feeling embeds the greatest of frustrations, but also sadness and at peak, failure.
The new design is to create a greener and healthier space, one which has greater connectivity to link all neighbourhoods. I glimpse the destruction and say ‘you and me both’ under my breath. The chance of new, the pull down and reframe. Is it cliched to draw this to a close through renewal. I make one last attempt at a connection, I promise to return with my camera to document the next steps, be they rubble or stone, bone and before witnessing this move from old to new is less renewal, more accurate how we gather to chart a course together. The report clarifies that the Police had to shut down the Muhammad Ali event in the end, the crowd size swelled and there was a misunderstanding. Trapped in between two columns, unable to move for his contract. The store shutting down with the weight of expectation, the boxer released with help of others, an anecdote chalked up, a moment remarked but his life unchanged.
