The Other Side of the City

Simon Buckley is an artist and creator of Not Quite Light, a project which explores the city at dawn, looking at themes of heritage and regeneration. He also is creative director of the Not Quite Light Weekend, a creative collaboration festival in held in Salford. Here he assembles a selection of some of his most mysterious encounters with a camera…

We live in a dynamic city, ceaseless as a winter ocean. At night, the red warning signals atop high cranes across the city skyline, look like a string of cheap fairy lights. They indicate vast endeavour, the Victorian city redefined by a new El Dorado of high rise towers, glowing orange in the dawn sun like giant lollipops.

Not Quite Light began as a response to this change. I was standing in Angel Meadow one evening at dusk, a place where 40,000 bodies are buried. The illuminated offices in the newly built CIS building opposite caused the gravestones at St. Michael's Flags to gleam warmly, and I had this simple thought: “If this light could magically bring back the souls of these Mancunian ancestors, what would they think of the city today?”

I began to photograph the city at dawn, seeing that time of day as a metaphor for transition from the old to the new. I'm listening to the past, but talking to the future. Collecting pictures before sunrise also allowed the structures of the city to be the focus of attention, humans being no more than fleeting figures in the landscape.

Let us consider, what is a city without its ghosts, the spirit thread that connects us to a place? And how important are buildings to this sense of ourselves, as the current inhabitants of Manchester and Salford?

TRINITY WAY, SALFORD 4.08AM

If there were to be ghosts in an old building, is it light that would drive them out, or noise? Looking to the Blackfriar pub, across the newly tarmacked junction of Trinity Way, it seemed as if the developers were taking no chances either way. Now regenerated as office space, each empty room shone like an angel's wing, and the road in front would rarely be as free from traffic noise as it was at this time of day.

The chill of a spring dawn elicited a soft blue light. A monochrome modernity surrounded the old brick structure. I hoped the ghosts would ride it out, and stay.

BELOW NEW UNION STREET, ANCOATS 4.21AM

On the cusp of Redhill and New Union Street wind gusted through moaning trees, causing them to flick shadows across the walls. I was reminded of Disney films, in which a spell that would forever change a child’s life would be signalled by whispering branches. I noticed a brightly lit passageway beneath the bridge above the canal.

The sound of the disturbed air and the fact that I would have to disappear from view caused me to hesitate. A young couple nearby stopped talking as they observed me biting my lip. Feeling stupid, I was propelled to step into the shadows and capture the light before me.

BLACKFRIARS BRIDGE, SALFORD 5.22AM

On misted days sound becomes dulled as if the world is made of papier mâché. There is a particular emptiness to the streets, as if they are a set design on a giant film lot, waiting for the bit part actors to take their place. The name Blackfriars summons a sense of deep history, of a life religious now becoming alien in our modern world. However, it's possible this area of Salford was named by theatrical people, simply bringing the title from London.

Under the bridge someone had written “You and I are gonna live forever” next to a stencilled John Copper Clarke, a locally born poet.

CATHEDRAL APPROACH 5.52AM

On this morning, the cities of Manchester and Salford were smudged together, their respective boundaries indistinct in the mist. The lights distinctly went off in Manchester first, with those in Salford remaining aglow for another ten to fifteen minutes. Was Salford any darker than Manchester at this point, less in need to engage in the frantic energy of its younger sibling, or simply less ready to embrace a new day?

Out of focus figures made their way to unknown destinations, Lowry postures referencing memories of this place, now renamed Greengate Square. Later, I would have to explain where I had been to someone who only knew it as a bus station.

ADELPHI STREET, SALFORD 6.14AM

When dawn is early, a simple bulb aglow in a room can inspire many questions. It's a time of day that can make the ordinary appear out of place. There is a concentration of consideration. I'd noticed the decrepit mobile home some months before I eventually photographed it. During daylight hours it simply looked abandoned, lost. In the half light before sunrise it seemed to regain purpose, and it was possible to imagine someone asleep inside.

Across the car park, luxury flats are slowly being constructed. As yet, in their unfinished state, it's impossible to envisage lives being led there, memories being made.

MANGLE STREET, NORTHERN QUARTER 7.04AM

Back Piccadilly is a curious street, a spine running virtually the length of the Northern Quarter. It has the feel of somewhere that hasn’t been touched in a century. Iron fire escapes rise upwards towards tree branches emerged from brick walls. Through windows that tempt you to climb higher, Victorian tiles can be seen lining vast stairwells.

I touched the walls of an old warehouse on Mangle Street, and the bricks were cold and damp. A single street lamp, too much in shadow to be affected by the new day, remained lit long after those on the surrounding streets had been extinguished.

ASPIN LANE 7.10AM

The bridges here fascinate me, with their dark brick and tarnished tiles. Sometimes, in the aftermath of rain I touch the walls, as if earthing myself to the old city, believing that the dust from another century will somehow have endured. Shadows flick at the edge of my vision, and sometimes it seems I hear footsteps far in abundance of the number of people that now pass by, on their way to the beaming, rekindled city.

Life in this working community was bitterly tough, and much of the architecture is now frayed beyond repair. Change, like death, is inevitable and sometimes welcome.

PORT STREET, NORTHERN QUARTER 7.29AM

Turning like a figure on an old-fashioned music box, this allowed me a 360 degrees view of Manchester architecture. An old house with a new skin, glowed an odd colour in the half light. The clean-cut lines around it, and the shambolic remains of the ruin opposite, caused me to feel as if I was in the frame of a graphic novel.

An old woman appeared carrying two heavy plastic bags. She was slouched, as if already defeated by the day. She turned towards me, looking shocked. Maybe she’d hoped no-one had witnessed her trudge away from the light.

ANGEL MEADOW 7.29AM

In the distance a crane rose above the old railway arches. Plans have been made in restaurants and offices for the redevelopment of the area. A tree had fallen, exposing its now useless roots. Trams rumbled through the dank, winter air. A woman walked past holding the hand of a young child, indicating the evolution of the park from place of fear to one of relaxation. “Are you going to take some beautiful photographs of the trains?” she asked, as if I was also a child. “I hope so.” I replied, smiling. “I really hope so.”

FARADAY STREET 7.35AM

This morning my chilled hands were thrust deep into dampened pockets. A bin lorry pulled up beside me, and the driver pushed his head through the open side window. Orange, spinning lights swept across our faces.

“What you taking photos of mate?”

“Just the area..”

“Shit isn’t it?”

“It has its own beauty” I replied.

“Well, at least you’ve got a number on your coat, mate” he said, and drove off.

I looked down to see a small, white sticker proclaiming “The Roaring Twenties” on my chest, acquired from a weekend visit to a local stately home. Across the road there was a Jaguar in a cage.