West Street, 29 March 2018

Processed with Blackie

Hail holy light, ofspring of Heav’n first-born,

Or of th‘ Eternal Coeternal beam      

May I express thee unblam’d? since God is light,      

And never but in unapproachèd light

Dwelt from Eternitie, dwelt then in thee,             

Bright effluence of bright essence increate.    

Or hear’st thou rather pure Ethereal stream,  

Whose Fountain who shall tell? before the Sun,        

Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice        

Of God, as with a Mantle didst invest  

The rising world of waters dark and deep,     

Won from the void and formless infinite.      

Thee I re-visit now with bolder wing …

David Village Lighting maintained a showroom on West Street for 20 years. I passed the place hundreds of times and I never once saw a customer in there. Come to think of it, I never saw the slightest trace of a human presence in what seemed to be a luxury commercial outlet.

The shop never made sense to me. For a time, I speculated that the tawdry luxury apartments across the road might have generated a viable customer base but ultimately the development failed to make any appreciable difference.

Something unseen must have been going on to sustain the place for so long without any visible signs of support. I assume it had something to do with council sponsored neighbourhood action plans and vainglorious chancers exploiting transient funding streams.

David Village Lighting embodies a certain type of future, a self-interested form of success: something that appears to exist, offering something for sale, without anyone to sell it, because nobody wants to buy.


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