Monday at Home Farm. I had been thinking long and hard about what to call this Blog post and I had been thinking long and hard about how to frame it. In short; do I write about the Weekend? Do I write about the trial with my Parabolic Microphone? Do I write about the inseparable bond between parent and child? Do I write about any of it and just post a picture of a cat instead? In the end, I plumped for a lame blog post title.

My weekend was a slow burner – work all Saturday and then missing out on a David Hockney exhibition in Salt Mill, Saltburn on Sunday. I had not slept on Saturday night so was not in a good enough mood to go. I asked if we (Kathryn & I) could tag along with my good friends Karen & Scoob whilst Karen attended a make-up course to help with her Middle-Eastern Dance. Scoob & Kathryn went pottering around Salt Mill, viewing Hockney exhibitions and sipping strong coffees. I received a Photography Book when she came home – I will try and get around to telling you a bit about that book in another post. I was shot so went to bed at 5pm and …

…slept …

… for …

… twelve …

… hours …

It was amazing – I still needed an alarm to wake me up though!

I phoned Mum as soon as it was decent (9am) and set about a lift to the farm with an activity pack. Before I had even set foot in the farmhouse door I was outside setting up my Dodotronic Hi Sound Mono mic on a camera tripod.



I admit, more haste and less pace would have ensured a better recording – I neglected the windshield and there was a bit of rumble – hell, there was the remnants of one of the UK’s rare hurricanes blowing in. Here is the recording –



It is the actual first recording I have ever done using a Parabolic Microphone. I was very impressed as to how I heard the wing-beat of a Collared Dove flying a 40-60feet away from me in the area I had the Microphone pointed at.

Admittedly, there was the A1 Motorway a mile and half behind me and a busy farmyard too – to the left of me was a shepherd checking this year’s lambs in a run, having taken them in temporarily from the pasture – all I have done is put a high pass filter onto the recording and cut it up so that the wind rumble does not clip.

But then I got thinking – following on from a post on FB by a very interesting friend I know, eV – I figure I would just leave the recording how they were. Why was I trying to edit the sounds of the countryside into more of an idyll // into more of a quiet place where only the birds sing and the lambs gambol? Was this classist of me?

As in, was I trying to project my thoughts of what I thought it should sound like on to something I already hold as dear? Was I my own class enemy?

So, whilst editing the files (all revision was done when I got home this evening) I tried a comparison – here is the same recording but one of them have a high pass filter on it – ie; it only lets noise over a certain frequency out of itself to cut of the rumble of distant traffic.





Was I trying to air-brush the revolution (be it Industrial or Class) out of what brought me into the world as a being, as an artist and as a socialist? So with the final piece of audio I am going to be sharing with you, I will not apply anything except a roll-on/off –



It is a tricky one and a question I hope to go in to further depth on my artist’s blog, When it is written I will post a link in the footer of this post. Essentially, can my lower-end urban bourgeoise pretensions not be projected onto a working countryside? Can my rural upbringing be divorced from the way I see the world now? Is it relevant to what I intend to create, does it matter?

I also had my RICOH GR II Street shooter of a camera with me – crap for taking photos of landscapes as you need to get in really close to the subject to make the 18.3mm Prime lens work – but it was fun although I missed out on the sepia tones and blood red moon caused by the hurricane blowing sands from the Sahara.

However, the real highlight was spending time with my folks – I appreciate this may seem like a sentimental gush; but it is always nice to catch up with them in person, they are not really animated by a telephone conversation and you can’t hug your mum by email. True story: off the back of some advice from a good friend I took the initiative a few weeks ago and told my dad I love him. It was easy.

The following eleven and a half minutes silence after that was not easy.

Here are a few of the images I took today * –

*There are some photos of a cat – her hair seems to be growing back.

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