teignmouth atmospheres

8/14/2019 Teignmouth Atmospheres

1/15

Teignmouth Atmospheres

On walking sideways through a place with Phil Smith


2/15

What I bring is this:Teignmouth is almost the oldest seaside resort in Devon.The years of experience have ensureda wonderfully richholiday atmosphere.

Teignmouth retains much of the quaint charm and homelyatmosphere which has drawn generations of visitors.

In 1690, the year the clarinet was invented inNuremberg, the French invaded Teignmouth.

Or this: A pen and a book.

Or this:An enquiry. How will I know anatmosphere? It seems rather a large, all-encompassing thing. Like a parachute so big thatyou think its the firmament.

Two answers:1. The pervading tone or mood of a place orsituation, especially with reference to thefeelings or emotions evoked.2. Atmos is vapour.

The tone does indeed pervade. It goes through. It goesthrough me. But the tone pervades itself too. The town, ora street or a place or a space pervades itself with its owntone. The place constantly recreates itself by emitting andabsorbing its own tone. Just as I do - constantly recreatingmyself, emitting and absorbing my own tone. Sentient andconscious, I can also choose to or seek to change mytone, in a way that Higher Brimley cannot.

Americans say tony. For posh. Tony Spice perhaps?

Can I change the tone of the places we visit? Can I changethe atmosphere? Can we, together, change it? Can itchange me? Or us?
http://www.envireng.co.uk/places/placfind/teignmouth.htmhttp://www.envireng.co.uk/places/placfind/teignmouth.htmhttp://www.envireng.co.uk/places/placfind/teignmouth.htmhttp://www.envireng.co.uk/places/placfind/teignmouth.htm


3/15

Stepping into the atmosphere, do I become part of it? Doesit absorb me? I breathe the vapour. Is my own atmosphereseparate from the atmosphere of the place?

When the atmospherechanges, as on rounding astreet corner, what exactlychanges? Is there a line inthe air, as where two riversmeet? Or is it only thefeelings evoked in me thatchange?

What about those feelingsevoked? Called out. Theatmosphere becomes a Siren,perhaps. Only a stronger tonecan resist it. My babble. Else,plug my ears with beeswaxand tie me to the mast. If I

dont resist it, do I become a litmus? A litmusphere? Amoss dye?

Arriving, I am aware ofgenius loci. The spirit of the place. Is that atmosphere? Orsomething different? The spirit of the place is best found inthe tessellation of the pavement the patterns we aremost familiar with as head-turned-down children scuffing or

not scuffing, hopscotching or crack-hopping in our newshoes. Is that atmosphere?

I did not scuff or not scuff here. What do I know?

There is vapour and there is spirit. Do I conflate these two?Blow or breathe them together?
http://books.google.co.uk/books?id=f09wrZpzvEkC&lpg=PA58&vq=urbain&dq=genius%20loci%20schulz&pg=PA19#v=snippet&q=tesselation&f=falsehttp://books.google.co.uk/books?id=f09wrZpzvEkC&lpg=PA58&vq=urbain&dq=genius%20loci%20schulz&pg=PA19#v=snippet&q=tesselation&f=false


4/15

Words

I notice some tones or strands or qualities in the wordsfirst. Perhaps theyre just themes. If I educe a theme fromwhat I see and what I read, can I then imagine, fantasise,feel an atmosphere that matches the theme? Is thatcheating? How can I find anatmosphere that I havent firstsuggested is there?

Those words:Private ~ Mark your bin hereUnadopted ~ No admittanceRestricted parkingResidents onlyNo access ~ Keep outThis is not an abandoned vehicleKeep clear

A lot of effort is expended in delineating different kinds ofspace. These words do it. Conventional symbols, like yellowlines, do it as clearly as physical barriers in the form offences, gates and bollards. It seems to matter both whoowns this space and who can use it, and how. Reverse into

parking space.

The barriers, symbols and words all symbols determinehow we experience the place. Do they affect theatmosphere? Or simply evoke feelings or a state ofalertness that colours my experience of the atmosphere?What would change the atmosphere? If there had been aconcentration camp behind the high wall on Belgrave

Terrace, would it change the atmosphere? Even if I didntknow it had been there?

You know nothing grows and no birds sing at Auschwitz?

Thats not true. Never was.


5/15

Slices

From the museum, everything is slicing. Or sliced. Themain road and the railway slice through the town. Thebridge slices across the vector of the trains one side thestone is grey and industrial; the other side is red and variedand geological. The bridge is a slice through a marbledcake.

Im hungry already.

Elsewhere streets slice, the estuary slices, the railwayalways slices both the track and the trains. The place isdefined by its interruptions. Or my experience of it isconstantly defined by interruption.

I become differently aware of the street as it ends. I lookback to see it more clearly now I know its extent. Its extent

even defines its function. This is an old way down to theport; this is a residential cul-de-sac; this is an impasse.

The slices, even the estuary, represent functions: traveland transport and commerce. A human imposition with aclear purpose.


6/15

In church

In St James Church, the rungs of the belfry ladder sliceacross a space sliced up already by the wych-elm stiles.The wear of centuries has hollowed them, but they stillhave a hallowed purpose.

Signs seen:

By whom? By the attendants, helpful? By god?

Bells Up perhaps, in a time that conflates sound andalphabetic form?

Eight bells. A wormhole. To my fathers life in the navy. Theend of the watch. The start of another. For those in peril onthe sea. Grunted and sobbed at his funeral.

There is quite an association with HMS Pellew. HMS Pellewis not a ship, in one of those quaintnesses of the RoyalNavy. It is a building. Or was. Its been decommissioned.

Though its a place of birth and marriageand death, the church isnt sexy. I do notsee a condom-vending machine in thechurch. Catholic churches are muchsexier, but they dont have them either.Nor do I see any sign of fornication.

Though there are injunctions behind thealtar against certain types of fornication. Dont think of amonkey. Or your neighbours ass. Or anyone elses wife.

Donations will be appreciated.

DANGER Bells Are Up.


7/15

Forlorn

In Station Business Park there is suddenly width afternarrowness. The skip maws open. The first sign of the litterthat will salt and pepper our journey. Receiving waste in awasteland. On waste ground.

Here weeds flourish. But this is not an abandoned site.Though it is clearly a site, where a street may not be a site.The pumping station is abandoned. What was, is not.Though they be dead, yet they speakdoes not yet echofrom the church that we have not yet reached.

Weeds gang up where once coal stacked. Fromatmospheric to coal to weeds. A slow deterioration. APortakabinned wasteland. Ageing flower troughs harbourfence-averse sweet peas. This is the month to growcannabis.

The station windows are glassless. Eyeless. Are they lessfunctional without glass? I can see more clearly throughthem now. Vinegar is not needed to keep them clean. Arewindows knocked through into seeing? Someone haspunched their lights out. The train slices through.

My sense here is of forlorn. Verloren. Sad and abandoned.Lost. Lost already? Lost before?The sedge is withered. Ifeel as leaden as the sky. Borne down upon. I feel as emptyas a drum.

Paradise Street. Edens Court. A touch aspirational? Thelitany is impossible to say without hearing the young dog. Ibreathe more easily. We are ascending. Larks. My spiritsare lifted. The red hot pokers upsurge. Our path slices upbetween the houses. Valerian breaks through, suggestingthe mortality of walling, but also growth and life and

physis. Is valerian more self-actualising than a wall?

I am lifting with the gulls.
http://www.rense.com/general67/eye.htmhttp://www.emule.com/poetry/?page=poem&poem=782http://www.leoslyrics.com/listlyrics.php?hid=w9Qx/bBY0V0=http://www.leoslyrics.com/listlyrics.php?hid=w9Qx/bBY0V0=http://myhero.com/myhero/hero.asp?hero=d_thomashttp://www.rense.com/general67/eye.htmhttp://www.emule.com/poetry/?page=poem&poem=782http://www.leoslyrics.com/listlyrics.php?hid=w9Qx/bBY0V0=http://www.leoslyrics.com/listlyrics.php?hid=w9Qx/bBY0V0=http://myhero.com/myhero/hero.asp?hero=d_thomas


8/15

Higher Brimley et ses environs

At the top of Heywoods Road someone is undecided aboutdefacing Shute Hill into Shite Hill or Shit Hill. Too muchchoice can be stressful. The former has more literarymerit, I think.

There is the vapour of a Dublin accentnot acountryjoyceaccentpermeates the words, but surely that vapour ismine alone. It becomes a literary peramble.

Covert Capture Cars lurk here. If I should wander this waydrunk one night, could I be caught and consumed by one?Covertly? Would anyone ever know?
http://web.ku.edu/~idea/europe/ireland/ireland3.mp3http://molly.open.ac.uk/mp3/joyce1.mp3http://molly.open.ac.uk/mp3/joyce1.mp3http://web.ku.edu/~idea/europe/ireland/ireland3.mp3http://molly.open.ac.uk/mp3/joyce1.mp3http://molly.open.ac.uk/mp3/joyce1.mp3


9/15

Not waving

On Higher Brimley, more roads slice. Or do they? If roadsare simply whats left of the ground that was there beforethe houses came, with their Covert Capture Mortgages then surely the houses slice and the roads simply remain.

On HigherBrimley theridge tiles oneach roofsuggest awistful qualityin thearchitect. Arethese hooks?Or the flailingright arm of aswimmerdoing avigorouscrawl? Or asimple fancy?

Beyond Higher Brimley the houses become softer. Roundedwindows, creams and blues and custard colours.

Stripes and window wrappings appear. I wish to beenchanted. I am enchanted. Where did the impetus for thatchange of atmosphere lie? Was I asking for it? Or did it askfor me?


10/15

Gaping

After St James Church we find again the main road. Somehorror from our group.

It seems to me that the main road thoroughly inhabits thepresent. Is it more in the now than we are with ourwistfulness? Would Master Eckhartembrace the main road?

Praise for the PresentPride in the PastFaith in the Future

Perm any two of three.

In Daimands Lane many a wheelie bin overfloweth. An olivetree is optimistic in a pot. I Rule By Me says a graffito.Indeed you do, mate.

The downpipes belch. The earth reasserts itself through thetarmac. Roof eye windows gaze. There will be more of this.By the water, the houses gaze over the railway trackenviously a line of open-mouthed tennis spectators, orvultures waiting for the moment to pounce. All eyes andwindows all eyes and mouth and desire and greed andswallowing up and wanting. More gaping maws the houseas skip.

The train is not fast. It is a slow object of house lust.
http://lillemaane.no/forfatter/tolle.htmlhttp://tgwebqld.tripod.com/tgsts096.htmhttp://lillemaane.no/forfatter/tolle.htmlhttp://tgwebqld.tripod.com/tgsts096.htm


11/15

Point Counterpoint

I remember the starting contrast. Counterpoint:

Atmosphere - SteamBrunel - StephensonOrganisation - Individual

I add:

Both retain the threat of violence.

Both ensure order. Who or what keeps order in this town? Iam aware of some tension. We must hold on tight to stopthings falling apart in this town. What would happen if thePrivate sign were to be disregarded?

Perhaps this only echoes my own tension what must I doto stop myself falling apart? Is the town safe in its tension,or threatening, or both?

Perhaps the only atmospheres that I can be aware of in thistown are ones that already exist in me?

The fearsome magician-emperorwho operates by capture, bonds,knots and nets; who is a one-eyed

man using signs and symbolsprincipally.

The jurist-priest-king who proceedsby treaties, pacts and contracts;who is a one-armed man using tools

and mechanisms principally.
http://phoenixandturtle.net/excerptmill/deleuze.htmlhttp://phoenixandturtle.net/excerptmill/deleuze.html


12/15

Putty

By the water the clay is red. Boats and buoys lie aroundlike cattle in the sun. Listless. Listing. At odds withthemselves. I think for a moment ofclumpiness. Clusters ofbuoyish activity. Or inactivity. The boats lie at rakishangles, one leg akimbo, one hand clapping.

The washing line garden has poles for maybe 50 I didnt

count Simon Stylites. It could be a pole dwellers park. InRussia, agoraphobic storks could nest on each one. InBerlin, it would be a holocaust memorial. Buuelwouldhave a field day. There is some clarity of purpose. Thisspace is determined by its poles its content.
http://arxiv.org/abs/astro-ph/0510481http://people.wcsu.edu/mccarneyh/fva/B/Simon_of_the_Desert_516.htmlhttp://arxiv.org/abs/astro-ph/0510481http://people.wcsu.edu/mccarneyh/fva/B/Simon_of_the_Desert_516.html


13/15

Determination

How much of the town is determined. The space(pavement, park, path, church, shop) determines what I doin it.

Signs and symbols and notices determine where I go.

Customs and conventions determine how I go. My own andthe towns.

I am no free agent in any of these spaces.

The atmosphere, too, determines how and where I go. Ormy will determines the atmosphere and it determines me,so I can hold up hands up and protest my innocence. Me?What did I do?

What are we doing here, people ask? Our answers stumble.We are, in fact, uncategorised, perhaps less determined ina determined landscape than most others. Less determinedthan if we were on our own?

The space determines what I do in it; what I do determines,to some extent, how I feel. How I feel detetmines theatmosphere I perceive. The atmosphere determines how Ifeel.

I am putty.

Or not.


14/15

Waste

Trying to write, I seek out covered places where I can beout of the rain. The ink blots. There are few such places.More in the Mediterranean.

The bowling green is a fertilised desert. There is deserteverywhere. What is waste ground? Ground with nopurpose. Unwanted or unusable. Empty or immense in itsorigin. I am wandering in the purposeless. Vagrant,vagabond or vague in the vastness.

Waste, derelict, deserted,abandoned yet, now, availablefor re-use, for new use. Theunwanted is now wanted. Over itpresides the Happy Hooker beached but flirty, temporarilyabandoned but available. I startto run, want to dance. Is it thelightening sky, an open beach orthe overdetermining HappyHooker?

After the port, in Teign Street, the houses are more solid,bourgeois, prosperous; the letterbox is VR. Here windowsretreat slightly from the road defensive, quite unlike theirrapacious fellows by the railway line overlooking the water.Here the windows defend an inner space rather thancraning towards an external one. They nervously protect acertaincertainty, suspicious bouncers at a wealthy garden party.

Outside Pellew House the pavement is all askew, diagonalsand parallels and stars. Yet less a spirit of place than anunharmonious geography imposed. I remain unconvinced.

Atmosphere wishes to emerge. It will not be imposed.


15/15

Taste

The Hobbit is looking for artists who can paint nudestastefully. Now theres a thing. I am tempted to go in andfart tastefully.

Would theyhave turnedaway Spencerand Bacon?

The Hobbitwelcomestasteful beavershots. Cuntsneed notapply.

On StanleyStreet, thebrightlycolouredhouses putthemselvesinto theavailablespace, againunlike thedemure houseson TeignStreet. If theStanley Street

houses could wear tiny skirts, they would.

The vapour of Teignmouth is in my nostrils now. Decay andresurgence. Grandpas going clubbing tonight. Up and atem boy.

Andrew CareyWith great thanks to Phil Smith and Sandra Reeve

teignmouth atmospheres

Documents