HOME: a collective photo-illustrated story by John Morrison

Here is the collaboratively photo-illustrated story created by our contributors to the HOME project. In response to this year’s Brighton Festival theme of ‘home’ we initiated a collaborate submissions project exploring collective experiences of returning home, each being an emotive and personal journey we all can relate to. Writer John Morrison wrote us a short story about his experience returning home and our talented participants each responded to a section photographically to create this collectively photo-illustrated piece. The results are below…

Thanks to all who contributed.

On The Park Benches We Once Ruled

by John Morrison

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The streetlights shine differently here, weaker. The rain yawns down. Life is slower. Nothing much changes.

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Christopher Bethell

Home pulls at my heart. A familiar foggy periphery between affection and depression.

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Heidi Kuisma

 

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Simon Wrigley

 

That enduring smell. Cold and earthy. Dangerous and real. I shut my eyes and breathe it in. Fill up my lungs, deep and oversentimental. But something’s not right.

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Laura Giorgi Monfort

 

The hours-long journey home. Jutting valleys, intense crags, hostile fells. Landmarks deep-rooted in memory. Familiar sights burrowed in a dark corner of my mind.

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Ariane Johnston Breen

 

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Pete F Davies

 

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Rich Cutler

 

I let the touch of wet soil, twig and bracken slip through my fingers. My once-strong and proud accent fades by the day.

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Al Palmer

 

How many new generations have lived how we once did? Is ours a well-trodden path? Under the same stars. On the park benches we once ruled.

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Gavin Freeborn

 

Depressed turf and clogged copse. Smoky mosaics cling by rusty fingertips. This temperate pocket, a place I don’t often visit.

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Joe Conway

 

Like ghosts dancing through the night, I remember bonfires in the woods, knock-a-door-run, school trips, swimming lessons, jumpers for goalposts, tiptoeing along canal locks.

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Pete F Davies

 

Throwing bags of stale bread at ducks, throwing Poohsticks from the bridge, throwing stones at the old factory windows, throwing my first punch.

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Josh Taylor

 

I hope to recognise a face. Pray for a nod or smile. All I receive are hostile stares. Wounding. Expected.

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Adri Blokhuis

 

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Dominic Teagle

 

No family spare room or friend’s sofa. Just me. On these cobbled forgotten streets. Everything shut up and tucked in for the night. Why have I returned? To bid farewell.

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Joan Benney

 

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Joelle de Vries

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Once again a big thank you to everyone involved, we will be printing the full illustrated story which will be available to buy soon. Watch this space…

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