Robert Coleman

Born Southampton England 1953 to white working class parents - vast Public Housing stock - Grammar School - followed a Real Estate career, then returned to art, writing & design.

Price and Prizes restrain.

Married, three children who are studying, respectively; Human Geography, Art and Agriculture.

Myself and Christine, Art Students, in our twenties hitching from Belgium to Paris, France. Not, in this scenario, Wim Wender's visionary outback.

Late at night, urban streets, sodium lights blazing. Harry, seasoned truck driver, kindly offered a lift, relief. Gershwins Spring City, Haussmann's Boulevards, warm Left Bank attics and Coffee Houses beckon. Rue Nationale blue guide signs carry a warning. Confirmed route reassurance absent. Dreams, reality becomes a nightmare. Tension mounts. Mood changes. One sided, deeply personal, anecdotes abound. Threat and anger, confinement. The cab is no longer a means of transport, it is transformed. Freedom's choice locked, no key. Situation, circumstances, conditional upon a recent suicide. Harry the truck driver's pretty, young, hopeful wife. A newly formed side of Harry's character, at first hidden, reappears. The mean, bad lowlands materialise. Charged atmosphere. Very angry with her and this pair of inconsequential young freeloaders. Harry wants compensation, revenge.

We hold on tight. Truck brakes grind. Dark hinterland scene, trees and bushes nearby.

Caged world, escape. His icy grip gone by. Abandoned. Four in the morning. Rain pouring. Industrial refinery, blazing skyline. Heavy oil dark deluge pools of light reflected.

Many miles from where we wanted to be.

Totalitarian rule or liberal democracy?

Which will it be?

At the moment we live, where the children were born, in an area of outstanding natural beauty. Wonder if it will always be that way?

Love the ocean, swimming and free diving - exploring surface and depth.