It’s a miserable and rained-out day in West London and while we’re stuck in the flat, I’ve remedied to spend some time publishing a post. We were in East London last week to catch -up with our old Hackney neighbourhood and sure enough, I brought my camera for good measure.

We met my brother while we were out there and got to talking about all these photographs I’ve taken over the last few years. He raised the point that perhaps some could fall under the impression that I endorse the message of everything that I photograph and I think he may be onto something. Surely it must be known that just because I document something does not mean that I buy into its politics. However, I’m entirely willing to accept that I might give people a little too much credit. Nevertheless, I find his thoughts on this odd hobby that I have cultivated to be worthy of note and something to which I am sure I will return in my thinking.

If I’m honest, I don’t recall ever reading any satisfactory analysis on the politics of street art as yet. That may very well be because I don’t read any kind of art criticism at all anyway. I just take the pictures, I would much rather let someone else try and figure out what it all means. I could perhaps write a derivative, Orwell styled essay like his critical work on The Art of Donald McGill or Salvador Dali, but I doubt anyone needs or is willing to pay for something like that in this day and age. One thing I know for sure is that I really need to stop talking about George Orwell so bloody often.

Here’s everything I saw on that cold Sunday afternoon last week:

You can now follow my increasingly strange adventures on Instagram here.