Proof

Empty shops and developments are the same as a closing down sale. Not only has a dream ended publicly but an envisioned activity or purpose failed to materialise.

Even when the next big place opens, its inevitable that the world, people and traffic will move on eventually. Surrounding shops disappear or change till there is nothing there and its an empty arcade in a side street.

Documentation of a site acknowledges its existence, but like a person its not dependant on a photo to exist.

French conceptual artist Sophie Calle documents her life as if to prove she exists in the world. Her personality can be negotiated and changed at will and her possessions are of no consequence.

She experiments on herself as though she is an empty shell and an open book. Her projects though personal are firmly in the public gaze.

She once followed a man for two weeks in a blond wig, publishing every detail of his actions in a left-wing newspaper.

Briefly worked as a hotel maid, solely to search and photograph guests belongings.

Persuaded her mother to hire a private investigator to follow her, so she could see his photos and report of his impressions of her as a subject.

The world is full of people who want to make their mark on the world. It doesn't seem to matter whether it is for a structure, photograph, store or piece of writing.

Do we really need the world spotlight to justify our existence, when we are all stars of our own soap opera, however small.

Windows

"Living in the city gets under your skin. Where a leisurely stroll leads to hours lost in a local bookshop. A trip to the dairy turns into a discovery of a new art gallery. Where the local barista knows your name and their cafe becomes your boardroom. Where billposters are like pages of a diary."

I found this in a promotional booklet for the Hudson Brown apartments that have since been built on Auckland's waterfront.

It brings up some nice lifestyle friendly images about city communities. Unfortunately the city is rather impersonal and anonymous at the best of times.

You can go a whole day without a real conversation, especially on the streets where you can be invisible until someone wants a donation, money or to give you a flyer.

On dark, cold nights especially shop windows are attractive visual escapes. They sell a lifestyle or a scene well with varied materials.

I always find clothes stores more engaging than enlarged medicine boxes and fake grass.
Their mannequins take on a life of their own even when they are headless or bald and faceless.

Occupying a scene of twine tumbleweeds, streamers or disco balls they are positioned to out pose others or ignore each other. Splashy graphics just label the scene and refer to the instore music.

Its great fluffy filler for your journey and averts your eyes from sometimes gritty reality.

Stasi

Last year, in Browsers Bookshop I saw "Stasiland" by Anna Funder.

It depicts the struggles of East Germans at the hands of the Stasi (secret police) prior to the fall of the Berlin Wall.

Her post-wall investigations were sobering but balanced, as she explored Stasi headquarters and spoke to both ex-stasi officers and victims of the regime.

A few months later I saw the film "The Lives of Others". It focused on a writer and his opera singer wife perceived to be unsympathetic to the regime.

The book highlighted the number of spies in the country. Each spy needed to report on only three people to cover the entire population.

It is hard to imagine fear controlling a country. Yet poverty and possible torture drove citizens to prove their loyalty to the government by becoming informers.

I would recommend both the book and the film.

Lone Lighthouse

Essential ingredients for exploration are: feet and determination.
Optional extras include a sense of direction and knowing which bus to catch.

While living in the capital, I set myself a series of missions.
One Saturday, I ventured to Pencarrow Head at the mouth of Wellington Harbour.
Its lone lighthouse was open for three hours this particular day as part of World Architecture Day.
Wearing a nylon raincoat and a backpack, I caught the Eastbourne bus to its last stop. I'd packed some books for the hour long journey but having motion nausea and the rain lashing the bus I was in no mood to read.

Assumptions are dangerous and usually lead to a whole lot of work rather than the easy ride you're expecting.
The last bus stop was at the beginning of a long road ending in a car park.
Beyond that was a wide rocky track/road.

I began hopeful, there were lots of people about riding, walking and playing with kites.
But as the track weaved in and around the hills, there were fewer people and more silent time.
I made bets with myself that the lighthouse would be just around the corner, but when I got there I saw large bays to walk around till the next corner.
I lost count at 10 bays of this nature as it rained, blew gusts and I began to hate the books.
Eventually, the figure of a lighthouse appeared after 3/4 of an hour.

I was so excited I was nearly there. but its presence mocked me as I had to walk another 6 bays with it in view before I reached it.
Parked on the track below it was a Historic Places white sports car.

There was a bit of a hill to climb, which was longer and steeper than I thought, but that wasn't going to stop me as I was so close.
This track lead to hills of sheep who stared at me like I was an alien.
I felt more like a nylon lobster.

After all this effort, the lighthouse was rather unimpressive. It was a two-storied, quite crude in structure with a spiral staircase to the top.

I was more interested in the historical literature provided than the view. The sea seemed choppy and the hills wide.

After about five minutes I left, exchanging hello and goodbyes with the Historic Places people there.

I knew the next bus left in an hour from the stop so I went and caught it.

Later at a book launch, I saw one of the Historic Places representatives.
She said they had expected to see me on their way back and would have given me a lift, but I was nowhere to be seen.

Later that year, I dragged my Mum to see the lighthouse. We left late in the afternoon walking till we saw the lighthouse figure.
It was dark twilight on our return and as night closed in so did some wild billy goats behind us. Eventually they went as a pack up into the hills to sleep.
As we set our feet on the car park asphalt, it became pitch black. We continued on to the lit bus stop and waited for the next bus.