I AM NOWHERE, I AM HERE

Draped over the hazy blue-grey sea horizon, a glowing husk of burning amber permeates the ashen clouds which are heavy with man-made smog- almost too heavy for the sky, and which buckle a little in the middle as if tempted to break and pour into the sea. They are kept up however, by the industrial hulks plunging upward in a jagged disorder of rectangles.

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Defining the empty depth of the sea, is the skyline of Teesside’s chemical plant. This dystopic vision is actually the site of inspiration for Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner and one can have that in their minds eye when imagining this view. Alternatively, Billie Elliot springs to thought when on a night-time drive across the Transporter bridge. I would step out of the car to feel the bitter wind pinch my cheeks as the carriage glides over the River Tees. Only going back now do I realise how distinct this view is.

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The ugliness of Seal Sands it something I’ve grown used to and a sight my Mum particularly likes. Perhaps like the tale of the ugly duckling you grow up knowing, she favours the unconventional landscape for its familiarity: a stable edgeland to mark the centerground of the town. Perhaps, more like an ‘underland’, it’s the insight into the past- where Teesside was an industrial powerhouse in the North East. As a tough labour deeply engrained in the ancestors and mindset of the current people, the plant is a symbol of stability. A land that never sleeps, a reclaimed land from the sea. As long as that flame licks the dull sky gold, a whole community of workers have their payslip.

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The security of these old forms of power comforts my family also, as an area many of them have worked in themselves. Both my Mum and Nana were secretaries at the power plant and it was here that my parents met. An unconventional spot for serendipity; yet the full site looks uncanny in a way, resembling a Brechtian set, aesthetically aged and rusted.

Certainly, the plant has had better days. Its deterioration is only highlighted by the pristine flock of offshore wind turbines at just a twist of the neck left of the beach. Undoubtedly these are symbols of the future of power. In perfect upright uniform, the sleek white turbines make a stark difference from the blackened cooling towers and nineties concrete blocks. However, my Nana thinks the turbines ‘disrupt the view’… which I always found funny.

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I think this shows that human aggregate is more than how much it can blend into the natural landscape. These old skylines have become the natural landscape. Belted Galloways and bright green grass decorate the barbed metal fences leading to the plant. What was once eerie marshlands fostering folklores of drowned thrill-seekers, is now home to seals and a bird sanctuary- at one point I am told, a migration site for flamingos too. The man-made infrastructure has rooted itself into this area’s geo-history. In turn, nature grows over and sews a new landscape, forever remaking. 

When driving through this area, I am reminded that it is ‘grim up north’. But that seems to be an identity which the people hold on to and are proud of. This ageing industrial landscape is commended for the 170 years it’s served this place. This ageing landscape is the place.