I grew up in Stoke-on-Trent. At 17 I left to live in Carlisle, Cumbria and when I arrived people could barely understand me. My accent had them furrowing their brow.
Now, living London, my accent still attracts attention. By far, the question I get asked most frequently is, ‘where are you from?’ Sometimes I go into the spiel of my nomadic placing since leaving home, other times I reply simply; Stoke.
Some don’t know it. I go on to explain how it sits between Manchester and Birmingham. Others are recently aware of its location; since Stoke City Football Club made it into the Premiership. And the rest? They know it, and they grimace.
One of those faces, a friend from Derby, explained how his mum would always comment how, ‘God forgot Stoke’, when they’d drive through. No sooner had his words hit me than I had my new project.
Stoke is a dead industry city. A concrete mass of roads, terraced houses and vast crumbling space filled with derelict factories. It seems to lack art and culture, the people bury into houses loaded with wide screen TVs and walls of DVDs and computer games. It isn’t a world I can live in. And yet I’m connected to it, an unbreakable tie that still causes my stomach to twitch as I reach Junction 16 on the M6.
God Forgot Stoke is an ongoing exploration of Stoke-on-Trent; its place, people and lost soul. I aim to capture it in its true essence. And yet, as I continue to probe with new eyes, speaking to and photographing its people, I wonder if I’ll find beauty.
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God Forgot Stoke will be exhibited in London, 2011
