ON ILKLEY MOOR (2018)

BAHT ‘AT

Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee, ah saw thee?

On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at

Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee, ah saw thee?

Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee?

On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at

Tha's been a cooartin' Mary Jane

Tha's bahn' to catch thy deeath o' cowd

Then us'll ha' to bury thee

Then t'worms'll come an' eyt thee oop

Then t'ducks'll come an' eyt up t'worms

Then us'll go an' eyt up t'ducks

Then us'll all ha' etten thee

That's wheear we get us ooan back

In the latter months on 2018 I left a print workshop with a concertina print I could fit in my pocket. Prior the workshop I’d found maps of the nearby Ilkey Moor and abstracted them; six different versions; one for each fold.

Before even moving to this part of Yorkshire I’d heard the famous song, but now living in the area itself, ‘baht ‘at’s ‘ seem a world away from the bright student centre.

The maps, so abstracted that they were useless, along with the chorus line of the folk song, seemed pointless when removed from the landscape they’re so linked to. But up on the moor itself they might be found by anyone, and yet be of use to no one; an object so rich with it’s location and yet unable to give any practical assistance.

The logical thing to do was to make a small box out of wood -just big enough for the map- and take the 30 minute train ride up to Ilkley. The print went inside the box; the box on a patch of damp grass just off the moorland path; and I took the pictures above to prove it.

Up on the moor, removed from any typical gallery space, I see the map playing out a continuous unobserved performance. My documentary photos tell us only of an unrecordable series of interactions that will inevitably take place up there; indefinitely and unknown to us. We live in a time where so much is recorded and accessible. I’m glad that I’ll never know what happens to my pocket map.