Space Jamie C

Found Space Project


There is an unfortunate state embedded in the male psyche, that no matter what the social standing or level of maturity, a street sign emblazoned with “Cock Hill” will always demand a second glance.
The continuing search for a more meaningful, intellectual space, in order to preserve some semblance of reputation, is marred by the instant stock image conjured by the mind at a mere name.
The mysterious “Cock Hill”, perhaps a long dark alleyway, a place of ill repute. The more literal may venture a red light district, the rational illegal cockerel fighting. A slum from a forgotten part left over from Victorian London. A shady spot for the dregs of society, if you ignore the smart offices either side.
The real Cock Hill however seems almost disappointing. It’s banality only describable by maths. A beige shaft of bricks rises up four stories; a block of windows can only look onto the brick wall opposite. It gives the illusion of a dead end, but about fifty feet in it turns sharply onto some other beige passage. Arms stretched, a man would miss the walls with his fingertips by inches, for how many women would wander down here knowingly, just for the name? But all this sits around a once colourful Cockerel mural, outshined even by the mind-numbing bricks around it. Instantly forgettable, and comes with the disenchantment of a mystery solved.