Walking the city Before The Great Pandemic of 2020, I was quite down about living in Leeds city centre. It wasn’t anything the city had done, it was more that I left it every morning to go to work and came back when it was dark. At the weekend I was so tired I rarely ventured outside the places I had known when I last lived here ten years ago: rifling through the rails in TKMaxx, Hyde Park Picture House, the art gallery where I worked after graduation. With hindsight, I was forcing myself to feel at home in a place I barely spent any time. My usual energy and enthusiasm for exploring, discovering new independent cafes to eat lunch, drink craft ale and thumb through second-hand books had evaporated. It made me feel lonely, disconnected. I felt myself sliding towards exhaustion. Without wanting to romanticise what is a distressing rupture to everyday life, during COVID-19, I have felt more part of a wider community than I have in years: I have ordered my bread from Bluebird Bakery, clapped for carers with the rest of my neighbours, walked up to Hyde Park Book Club - where I have been desperate to go since I moved back to Leeds - and queued there in the sun to buy my first flat white in eight weeks (and buy a second hand book) and had craft beer dropped off outside my flat from Piglove brewery. Walking around Leeds on my daily walk, in the yawning emptiness of the university, canals and streets, I have been lucky to have had the time, space and energy to remap the city with my feet. In a crude impression of a psychogeography walk, I have followed my impulses around the city centre, avoiding the main shopping streets and usual destinations to cross bridges I didn’t know existed, wandered down side streets to discover artist studios, pretty typography and derelict buildings and get stuck down cul-de-sacs. And I’ve taken pictures of the things I liked.
walking the city - sara sherwood
walking the city - sara sherwood
walking the city - sara sherwood
Walking the city Before The Great Pandemic of 2020, I was quite down about living in Leeds city centre. It wasn’t anything the city had done, it was more that I left it every morning to go to work and came back when it was dark. At the weekend I was so tired I rarely ventured outside the places I had known when I last lived here ten years ago: rifling through the rails in TKMaxx, Hyde Park Picture House, the art gallery where I worked after graduation. With hindsight, I was forcing myself to feel at home in a place I barely spent any time. My usual energy and enthusiasm for exploring, discovering new independent cafes to eat lunch, drink craft ale and thumb through second-hand books had evaporated. It made me feel lonely, disconnected. I felt myself sliding towards exhaustion. Without wanting to romanticise what is a distressing rupture to everyday life, during COVID-19, I have felt more part of a wider community than I have in years: I have ordered my bread from Bluebird Bakery, clapped for carers with the rest of my neighbours, walked up to Hyde Park Book Club - where I have been desperate to go since I moved back to Leeds - and queued there in the sun to buy my first flat white in eight weeks (and buy a second hand book) and had craft beer dropped off outside my flat from Piglove brewery. Walking around Leeds on my daily walk, in the yawning emptiness of the university, canals and streets, I have been lucky to have had the time, space and energy to remap the city with my feet. In a crude impression of a psychogeography walk, I have followed my impulses around the city centre, avoiding the main shopping streets and usual destinations to cross bridges I didn’t know existed, wandered down side streets to discover artist studios, pretty typography and derelict buildings and get stuck down cul-de-sacs. And I’ve taken pictures of the things I liked.