Marc Provins

I've a German friend who calls the light in Manchester 'greyshine'. It's our most common look, soft diffused light bouncing back off a ceiling of velvety grey cloud. There's no point doing anything other than embracing it if you live here. It changes everything, barely a shadow to be seen, the world looks still, almost suspended. These images were made on just such a day. I walked what has historically been the southern edge of the city centre, now a huge building site, with skyscrapers going up at a pace, blurring the corridor that separated Hulme from town. I lived in Hulme during one of the regeneration waves, it was the first house I owned and there was nothing there except a massive Asda, having been cleared of the architecture from the previous regeneration attempt just twenty or so years before. I was intrigued by the change, my interest being the struggle for control between nature and the human race and how this collision presents itself...

I was in an insular state of mind earlier in the week as a result of spending several solitary hours working in my garden, thinking about growing things. I suppose it doesn't matter what type of creativity you involve yourself in, but when you are truly immersed in thought and experimentation the rest of the world recedes into a quiet hum whilst you focus on the task at hand. I couldn't snap out of this state so I decided to walk to Hulme to post a card through our old neighbours door, something I'd been meaning to do for days. I thought the 6 mile round trip would clear my head, I took pictures as I went (of course) and spent most of the walk thinking about the neighbours I was heading towards. They are two nuns, Sisters and sisters who were our neighbours for a couple of years and have remained friends ever since. Despite me being an atheist and them obviously having religious and theological beliefs at odds with that we get on incredibly well and can...