Folks in Bath must have looked upwards in days gone by. Look up today, in 2016, and you will see faded, flaking murals. Murals over murals. Adverts skillfully painted by hand on to the corners of buildings. Flowing fonts and delicate pigments. So precise, and yet in their decay somehow reminiscent of Titian. Crumbling frescoes. Be they purveyors of Chocolate or Cycling, most are joyously independent. Of a time that enterprise and endeavour carried a family, not corporate name.
All aloft. Perhaps people had more time to stand and stare in bygone years. To glance upwards, free from screens and the seduction of vibratory or alarm-pinging correspondence. Unplugged. I know of so many, in my Somerset city. I should record them. Yet I do not give myself the time. I allow my eyes to fall, to lesser matters.
© Tom Tide 2016