This is the Blog for Amanda Eatwell, freelance Photographer, keen runner, and sometimes BoxingYoga coach.
Mostly full of anecdotes and adventures from various photography projects and a sprinkling of life beyond the camera.
With that in mind I am going to present you with an opportunity to immerse yourself in a variety of sounds that I have collected along the way. I have attempted to maintain an awareness of the sensory nature of my travels by keeping my phone on silent and absorbing what I can through my senses. There is a sound-recording device on my kit-list which accompanies me on every shoot.
In February and March as the news from China was filtering through to the public via a seemingly unworried Prime Minister, the population knew things were about to change. It was in that state of mild fear and uncertainty that I last went out with the camera prior to the lockdown (Friday 13th March). I wanted to capture something of the anticipation of what lay ahead, and I had a hunch I wouldn’t be able to go out for a while.
I was fortunate enough to grow up in a time and place where roaming wasn’t so weird for a child, and I always had the urge to explore. I learned to ride a bike early and once I hit double figures I would make the journey by bicycle to visit my Gran who lived a few miles in one direction, and my Aunty Shirley who lived a few miles in another. That would generally take me along an old railway path, and some back roads that may have been classed as countryside. A sense of going somewhere has always excited me.
A selection of images from my project 4 x 4 x 4 are available to purchase as limited edition prints. They have been shot on traditional photographic film in a square format. Each print has an additional handling border, and is signed and numbered on the reverse.
All prints are available in three sizes, and for a limited time the smallest images are available as part of the Artist Support Pledge which is a movement set in place to help generate funds through a community sales scheme to help artists and makers who have suffered a loss of income through the Coronavirus epidemic.
I am writing this post as the whole world wrangles with what to do under the most unexpected of circumstances: that of dealing with COVID-19.
Things are changing on a daily basis, and London is edging ever closer to a full lockdown. The last two days have brought better weather and the urge to be outside, moving, and in the (distanced) company of others is magnetic.
I entered Buddie’s Diner, a bright and sparkly little cafe which contained around six square tables. Inside there was just one customer, sat with a cup of tea, and two ladies working, who were behind the counter. I was greeted with smiles, and good mornings, and I had barely sat down when the sole customer bellowed “So what are you photographing today then?” “Oh!” I said in surprised response, “well, I can photograph you if you like?” For me this interaction felt like my true introduction to Great Wakering, and in many ways to village-life itself.
The lavatories on the platform were closed, so I headed to Fenchurch Street, where I would be catching the mainline train to Thorpe Bay, and made a beeline for the loo. As I awkwardly bashed my way through the connecting doors, due the size of my baggage, I was confronted by a line of four women, who were waiting to use the only functioning toilet. There were smiles and tuts, and then a conversation started about the lack of public conveniences in general.
I feel very engaged with the physicality of my journey, whether that is using my body to walk or cycle, or by fully engaging in my surroundings through sight and sound. Even these blogposts are a way of working through the project, in an exploratory fashion; a place to get my thoughts out, and to open a dialogue with anyone who feels like sharing.
Through observing things more closely on my wanderings, it has become very apparent that there are traces of humans everywhere, and I find that fascinating. Whether it’s a fallen post that someone will undoubtedly have to retrieve, or a sign telling us that ducks are nearby; somebody, somewhere has made or needs to make a decision to bring these things into action or existence.
