Monday 10 March 2014

Perfectly acceptable voyeurism


Nobody in the South of England needs me to tell them what a glorious day it was yesterday, as we visited the only part of Bristol not to have been bombed flat in WW2, (they left the best bit) Clifton - on a massive rocky gorge defensively overlooking the stretch of tidal water where all those African slaves got their first glimpse of their new lives in a strange world.

That tower is sited at the top of the high plateau where an Iron Age hill-fort used to be, and was converted into a camera obscura by an artist who rented it out in - I think - the 1920s, at the same time as digging a tunnel through the solid rock to a massive cave overlooking the river, 250 feet below.

It is a strange thing - made stranger by the fine weather outside - that people should actually want to pay to climb up to a dark room in a high tower, just so they can peer at a gloomy image of the world outside which they could actually see in march sharper detail without the use of lenses and mirrors.

It is voyeurism taken to the level of an art-form, and I could easily have spent many more hours up there, swivelling the apparatus through 360 degrees and taking an almost unhealthy interest in strolling couples, dog-walkers and passing cars, were it not for the young boy who I graciously allowed to take the role of censor and editor. He laughed uncontrollably each time he spotted his aunt and uncle sitting on a bench outside, soaking up the sun.


The Clifton Suspension Bridge as unseen by the man who designed it - Isambard Kingdom Brunel - because not only was the camera obscura not there when he was alive, but the bridge wasn't completed until 6 years after his death. I think that if you name your child 'Kingdom', then you must expect great things of him.


You have to be careful how you conduct yourself on the Clifton Downs. Someone maybe watching you...

10 comments:

  1. You can see H.I. and the Swedish blonde bombshell leaving the tower, but the bombshell is now a light purple, so I don't what to call her anymore.

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  2. Hello Tom:

    We have never visited the camera obscura in Clifton but did, quite recently, become as fascinated as you were with one in Szeged in the south of Hungary.

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    1. When I was a young boy in Surrey, I was lying flat on my back in the bedroom of a friend one hot, sunny afternoon. He had closed the curtains so he could smoke an illicit cigarette without being spotted by his parents, but had left a crack in the curtains of exactly the right aperture to cast an upside-down image of the street outside, in perfect focus, on the white ceiling above.

      We spent ALL afternoon in awe of the moving image - it was pure magic.

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  3. You may now be responsible for a spate of children named 'Kingdom'. Just don't mention anything about 'Isambard'.

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  4. Rain :~)
    (ears cocked.)
    Okay, so maybe not.

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    1. I've been trying to work out what this comment means, Sarah, but so far I can't. Gi's a clue?

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    2. Sorry Tom, I was reading your post and then (I thought) it had started to rain here.

      I understand that you in the northern hemisphere have been deluged but we have just had the driest season in European/Oz records. Ever.

      So it was sort of exciting and I thought I'd share it with you but then it didn't rain and my whole moment of comment collapsed. Yeah?

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  5. I like engineers, and he must have been a very gifted one: after you mentioned him I looked up a BBC text.
    I think his famous bridge over the "Tamar at Saltash" (add: by Isambard Kingdom Brunel) lives up to his impressive name. For the ear of a foreigner at least.

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    1. And the ear of an Englander. Try looking up 'Bridge Over The Silvery Tay', if you want good poetry.

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