Don't mind the sun

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DON’T MIND THE SUN




1977


Hull 1977 - 2017 A city in the mind



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The loss of three Cod Wars with Iceland (between 1958 and 1975), and increased fuel and trawler costs, combined to send Hull's fishing industry into severe economic depression. At the end of the last Cod War, Hull had just over 90 trawlers. Six years later this number was twentytwo, with an equally serious effect on employment. Hessle Road : Alec Gill (Hutton Press Ltd., 1987)


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A dark cold winter night was when Girl, exiled as we were, came into my life, founding a dynasty that enlivened my home for the next two decades. 1977

With her remaining strength onto a window sill she jumped , a farewell to the world she had come from, for to die in my arms. Another dark cold winter night that was.




1978



An imprint of the city in my imagination.



2014




Pablo Luis Gonzรกlez-Rueda


DON’T MIND THE SUN


My thanks to (provisional list): Luis Bustamante, Carmen Brauning, Jon Robson, Neil Holmes, and to all the local photographers and artists in the city, and those I have known through the useful but infuriating Google+, Tumblr, Flickr, who have encouraged my photography.

Design: Pablo Luis Gonzรกlez-Rueda


Facing a new reality, its strangeness hidden behind the apparent similarities between the Hull and ValparaĂ­so of 1976, I used a camera as a tool to grip it. These photographs are the result of my wanderings, on and off, in this city of Hull, for the past four decades, my eyes alert, my heart and mind open, a camera of some sort nearby. Images made with no prejudice, in spite of some uninspiring remarks made by my stepfather (for a short time, as my mother kicked him out), who had been stationed in the city at some point during the Second World War as crewman of an American gunboat. A romantic vision of clap board houses with leather settees, derived from reading too many sea adventures as a kid (and Sir Walter Scott's novels as well), was in my mind when I arrived to the city. That was the late summer of 1976. Indeed, one of my first lodgings was not very auspicious, a bed sitter with a gas fire with criminal intentions, bent on sending me far too early to the disused graveyard facing my window. Or the house which had been condemned to be demolished, a collapsed kitchen ceiling being a good hint that the time to move had arrived. And a good lesson on the dynamics of a dying community, too, mirroring the decline of the city after the collapse of the fishing industry. Nearly forty years later, I am still here. A city imprinted in my memory, in my imagination. Hull, 2015.



2015




Pablo Luis Gonzรกlez-Rueda


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