One could walk on. Turn left. Go up. But, for some reason, one looks right. A sight perhaps seen previously, yet coated with a fresh aura. A reflection of the sparkles playing on the river’s surface? A visible echo of the unreachable water depths? The river’s report about the earth’s message to the sun? Movements of the air independent of anything mentioned. Anything unmentioned. Of the imponderables. Makes one want to walk through the dream of the voice unheard. Only anticipated. Its unborn promises leaking through the crevices of today’s shadow.
The Strandlines editors got to know each other either through working together on events for the first iteration of Strandines, or through related research interests. The group includes expertise in medieval, digital and eighteenth-century matters; in hair work and memorial culture, authors’ rights and churchyards; in drones and undergrounds; in soundscapes and life writing. We share different forms of fascination with London, and can occasionally be found discovering more common interests in one of the Strand’s pubs.