Two Minutes up the Hill (2025)
We have lived on the hill since I was ten years old, my mother’s parents even longer. We used to visit at Christmas when we still lived far away, but after we moved, every few days we’d amble up past the post box and the mustard coloured house to see them. The cottage is visible from the public footpath that follows the bottom field, up through the church and past the farm, a watchful eye and pit-stop offering a strong cup of tea and a game of Scrabble.
This footpath is the only walking route, one that my mother completes at least once a day. Her only dilemma is whether to set off left or right out of the gate. The route passes through a graveyard, a place that became of increasing importance in the lead up to the passing of my grandfather in early twenty twenty-four. An urgent sense of responsibility came upon me and a realisation that nothing is permanent, except the hill on which we live. In the wake of grief, casual conversation becomes a precious memory; a discussion about the weather is etched in time, just as the fallen three-hundred-year-old tree that my mother recalls from childhood.
Two Minutes up the Hill expands upon and contextualises an eight year archive of personal imagery, repositioning my first rolls of film to converse with the present. Time and circumstance are invited to take the wheel, surrendering the images to entropy and addressing ideas of memory and familiarity. Sentience is found in the mundane as the everyday becomes of quiet significance.
This footpath is the only walking route, one that my mother completes at least once a day. Her only dilemma is whether to set off left or right out of the gate. The route passes through a graveyard, a place that became of increasing importance in the lead up to the passing of my grandfather in early twenty twenty-four. An urgent sense of responsibility came upon me and a realisation that nothing is permanent, except the hill on which we live. In the wake of grief, casual conversation becomes a precious memory; a discussion about the weather is etched in time, just as the fallen three-hundred-year-old tree that my mother recalls from childhood.
Two Minutes up the Hill expands upon and contextualises an eight year archive of personal imagery, repositioning my first rolls of film to converse with the present. Time and circumstance are invited to take the wheel, surrendering the images to entropy and addressing ideas of memory and familiarity. Sentience is found in the mundane as the everyday becomes of quiet significance.