Photobook Saturday

The labyrinth is an ancient and
universal pattern, found all over the world
sometimes marked into the landscape. Its
shape echoes spirals in nature: galaxies,
clouds, spiders’ webs, ammonites, ferns.
And in our bodies: the surface of the brain,
inner ear, intestines, umbilical cord and
womb. Charlotte Higgins suggests, ’if the
labyrinth is a diagram of the brain it is
therefore the symbol of the imagination…
the manner in which humans make
associations. Freud described the
unconscious as the dark corridors of a
labyrinth, with psychoanalysis providing the
way to navigate it.
Whereas in a maze there are many
possible routes and dead ends, in a labyrinth
you can’t get lost: there is only one way in
and one way out. But it doesn’t feel like that
as the path twists and turns back on itself:
it’s confusing and disorienting. But it does
have a pattern, whether we perceive it or not
Labyrinths have a strong connection to
dance, perhaps mapping out the steps. They
are linked with weaving, also with fertility:
the labyrinth can represent the womb of god,
its journey a metaphor for rebirth.
A few years ago, I walked round the
labyrinth in the City of London, on the site of
a church that was burned down in the Great
Fire of London. I soon felt almost certain I
was going the wrong way and it was an effort
to keep walking ahead. It looked like I was
back at the start and hadn’t got anywhere,
just before I reached the centre. Walking a
labyrinth is meant to be a metaphor for the
journey of life, or inward to the soul, or a
pilgrimage on a very small space. When I
went to this labyrinth near Fenchurch Street
on a day when my work was unexpectedly
cancelled, I struggled with feeling guilty to
be walking in quiet circles while city workers
and traffic bustled all around: it did feel like
walking deliberately to a different rhythm.
On that trip, I noticed, for the first time, one
of Mark Wallinger’s labyrinths on my local
tube platform, a magnificent public artwork
seen at every station on the underground
that reflects the repeated and sometimes
convoluted journeys in and out of London.
Labyrinths, whether on the ground to
be walked on or small ones to be traced with
a finger, are used as a way of mediation or
prayer. It is entered alone, leaving behind
distractions. The centre is a place of stillness,
encounter and transformation, where we
face our deepest selves honestly, dwell in the
spiritual world, or find clarity. The journey
out is just as long, and a time to think on
what we will bring away from this experience
and back into the world.
While I was working on labyrinths,
the coronavirus pandemic reached the UK
and lockdown happened. It felt to me as that
the experience was like finding ourselves in
a labyrinth. All other journeys were
suddenly cancelled and we were forced
inside ourselves. It was lonely and
disorienting.
I think this enforced pause was a time
when we saw things about our world that we
hadn’t noticed before, about community,
inequality, our interconnectedness with
each other and the environment. As the
brakes were suddenly put on capitalism,
many suffered, and many more saw the
insanity and injustice of the system that is
normally accepted as ‘just the way things
are’. It was like a great glitch in the pattern,
helping us to see what we usually don’t.
I’d like to hope that as we emerge from
the global pandemic, we will bring with us
this new perspective and will use it to reset
priorities, make a fairer society and finally
act to halt the climate crisis.