Wolverhampton Central Library
April 28 - May 10, 2003
Everyday I pass by an old post box, its red top faded after years exposed to the elements, so that now it's a rich, dusky pink. It's buried deep into a blue brick wall barely held together by crumbly grey mortar covered in a deep green moss.
On the other side of the road there's a shop where year upon year of flaky paint peels from its window frames revealing an intriguing glimpse into its past lives. I pass shiny wet cobbles and rusty drainpipes, water stained concrete and sun soaked brickwork a million shades of red. High in a tree a bright pink shopping bag flaps in the wind, and beneath my feet broken glass glitters in the gutter.
Frost is beginning to melt on the windscreen of a lorry, as a brief glimpse of the sun reflects off a road sign, casting light on garish club posters, and revealing an oil spill rainbow spreading across the tarmac.
The rich textures of the city are all around us - colour and grain, light and shade, decay and renewal, old and new, real and imagined - but sometimes they're so familiar to us that we barely notice them anymore.
This is what I try to capture with my camera.
Matt Callow
Wolverhampton, 2003.
