“Not all who wander are lost” - J.R.R. Tolkein
But sometimes, when I wander, I try to become lost, to lose my sense of this city-grid and just follow my feet, let my feel follow the contours of the sidewalk or the lawn or the road. Debord’s “Theory of the Dérive” talks about psycogeographical contours, but I must admit, in Edmonton, I’m not sure what exactly those would be. If I think about this city’s contours, the first thing that comes to mind is the grid – measured, square streets imposed on a landscape. And that grid does influence how I wander through the city – a path can only wander so much when it must take right-angle turns. But somehow I don’t think that’s all that Debord is talking about.
Lately, I’ve been drawn more and more to the river, and perhaps Debord would be drawn there too. It’s something which I tend to regard as a non-street, merely another part of the grid. My mind’s map has ironed it straight to fit with that linear landscape. But now, when I look a little closer, even if only from up above, on the Highlevel bridge, I can watch that water (even that ice, as it is this time of year) take back a bit of its life. I’ve read other writers’ words that flow with that water, and I am drawn to its current, wanting to feel its wandering poetry for myself.
“We stop on its bridges and banks, staring down into the streaming current of murky water racing east” – Myrna Kostash
East –
where the sun rises over the West,
lights up this River
and draws, with its shadows,
the contours of my Home.
I have the same attraction to the river, yet I see it as existing outside of the grid, resisting the linear lines in its snaking sprawl.
ReplyDeleteIn addition, I really like how you phrased the sentence about looking closely at the water: "But now, when I look a little closer, even if only from up above, on the Highlevel bridge, I can watch that water (even that ice, as it is this time of year) take back a bit of its life."
I wonder if we were to look closer at other places in the city would we find similar acts of rebellion?
Right now I'm thinking of continual disintegration of the city: the wearing down of streets, or even the rusting of the bridge, which you highlight in one of your pictures. More humanistic types of rebellion could be things such as outlandish architecture in a conservative area, or maybe a disruptive, unkempt lawn, breaking up a parade of perfectly sculpted greenscapes. Just a few ideas, I'm sure there are much better examples out there.
So, muse, I want to say: isn't the whole point of psychogeography that you CAN'T think of what it will be like in advance, that you have to experience it directly? I agree that edmonton would make it challenging - but in an interesting sort of way...
ReplyDelete(i hope)
Re. the city's contours -- Edmonton IS very gridlike, isn't it? It's mostly cross-sections of neatly lined up streets and avenues; very few winding roads; logically numbered. Speaking from experience, it's a hassle to navigate cities where "named" streets are the norm, but I kind of prefer it -- to name streets is to overlay the grid with a mythology. Named streets can recall prominent figures or landmarks; numbered streets can't.
ReplyDeleteI'd say that walking actually frees you from the right angles of the grid, compared to other forms of road-bound transportation, and lets you move through the city in a way that gets outside of urban planning. Even more so if you enact a tiny rebellion and make a point of ignoring sidewalks and obvious walkways, which I like to do.
Jamin: Interesting that, just as you begin to think about a city's disintegration, we look at post-apocalyptic cityscapes in class. I have a sort of fascination with rust - I photographed some on the highlevel bridge as part of my mapping project, and have caught similar patches all around town. Perhaps I'll post a few.
ReplyDeleteHeather: You're absolutely right, and I'm always up for a challenge.
Rita: I find the same challenge in cities with named streets - I simply cannot find anything. But named streets do seem to lend a sort of automatic mythology to a place - an implication that there's some sort of story there, even if you don't know it. As soon as I write that though, I think of newer developments in Edmonton, where they've taken to naming the streets. Particularly, in the West End, I have a friend who lives in a neighbourhood where every street begins with W. Is that a false mythology? Could a mythology develop after the fact?