In the late 1990s I used to take the train north from Kings Cross on my way home. Not far into my journey I would travel past a quartet of identical tower blocks in the middle distance. One particular block always caught my attention as I passed because of the oddly neat manner in which one of the upper windows had been burnt out. That one flat had been incinerated quite completely, whilst those left and right remained apparently untouched.
It wasn't until my third year at university, in 2003, that I decided to photograph the building. Attempts from the train failed due to the uninspiring viewpoint from the carriage and the obvious issue of taking a photograph from a moving vehicle (an adequate vantage could not be achieved from any station), so I sought it out on foot. Fortunately repairs had yet to be carried out and the one blackened window remained. Working at close quarters was of much greater satisfaction. The dramatic perspective produced a far more striking image than could be achieved from the train whilst the journey there offered the added benefit of discovering the building's exact location name - Hind House
On examining the resultant prints I realised that although they were a vast improvement on the in carriage attempts, they still lacked something. They didn't excite the imagination as much as I had hoped they would. I experimented with them in various ways in the hope of achieving some manner of enhancement. Recreating the image as a painting was unsuccessful, as were various colour adjustments, closeups and so on, however whilst experimenting I looked back at the negatives and saw that tonal reversal had a dramatic effect. The negativised the image, to my eye at least, caused the fire that had years previously decimated that flat to appear to burn again. Day turned to night, lights in darkened rooms were switched on and the scene instantly regressed to a moment of destruction years previous. An element of the surreal was introduced also, most clearly indicated by a tree in the foreground which suddenly glowed unusually. I found it instantly successful. The inversion added depth and enhanced the existing narrative, whilst also increasing the drama and introducing an outré visual quality. I was also pleased with its simplicity. The fact that it didn't necessarily rely on a great deal of technical skill on my part for success, but rather a degree of perseverance, some significant fortune and the recognition that it works as a picture.
Since then I have used this image on various occasions, first presenting it as a small print in an exhibition off Carnaby Street, London in 2004 and then at a larger scale in an open studios show in 2007. I've been drawn back to it time and again (and by coincidence moved to a flat not 10 minutes walk from Hind House in 2006). I even considered rephotographing the building until I discovered that it had finally been repaired. I've retitled the work on numerous occasions as it has seemed to change and take on different significance for me over time. The last time was in 2013 when I used a quote from David Lynch's Twin Peaks. Whilst it is an obvious nod to an image maker and story teller of supreme skill, I chose the phrase as much for this as its apparent reference to my inability or unwillingness to consign this particular work to the archive in the past, now, or indeed perhaps in years to come.