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| All Photos, 'Weekend At The Asylum' Steampunk Festival, Lincoln, August 2015 |
We’re already a
week in to the new school term, and the day job is consequently claiming far
more of my energy and attention again.
It’s also evident that the weather is just beginning to turn, that the
daylight hours are diminishing noticeably, and that autumn will soon be upon
us. Actually, I always find this time of
year enjoyably poignant. There’s a sense
of loss as another summer slips away, but also of renewed energy as August‘s
blousy torpor is replaced with an urge to start taking care of business once
more. It always feels like one should
get a bustle on and make use of what warmth and light remain before the year
shuts down for winter.
There’s a certain
thrill in those first, slightly chillier early mornings, and an increasingly
mellow quality to the light on those sunny days that still remain interspersed
amongst the ever-multiplying wet ones. It
was on a particularly fine one, right at the end of the holidays, that I found
myself back in my quaint, old hometown of Lincoln recently. I was there with with my good friend, Suzie,
to sample the eccentric delights of the annual ‘Weekend At The Asylum’ Steampunk Festival.
The Steampunk
phenomenon, (alternative subculture is, I guess, the best description), isn’t
exactly new, so forgive me if you already know far more than I do. However, despite occasionally infecting certain
mainstream strands of Fashion, Cinema, Art & Design or Literature, it seems
to have retained much of its status as a kind of parallel, slightly home-made,
off-duty reality, peopled largely by cheerful eccentrics. It is, traditionally, exactly the kind of
thing at which the British are, occasionally, rather adept.
For reasons I
don’t fully understand, Lincoln has emerged as a serious Steampunk hotspot, and
the Festival, now in its seventh year, claims to be the largest event of its
kind in the international calendar. The
city’s ancient historical quarter certainly does provide an appropriately
atmospheric backdrop to the retro-fixated shenanigans of the steamers, and it
felt like high time I found out what all the fuss was about.
There are numerous
on-line sources, far more qualified than I to detail what Steampunk actually
means. In fact, like any other mature
‘scene’ of its kind, it appears to have mutated in number of different
directions, and probably means various things to different people by now. However, at its heart lies a deep love of
Victorian and Edwardian aesthetics and a desire to reimagine a kind of Science
Fiction, or even vaguely post-apocalyptic, future - had technological advance
stalled around 1900 and Modernism never occurred. Key progenitors might include Jules Verne,
H.G. Wells, Conan Doyle, Lewis Carroll’s ‘Wonderland’
and ‘Looking Glass’ dimensions,
chroniclers of Imperialist derring-do, inventors and engineers of the early
Industrial Age, and possibly, the archetypically British time-travels of ‘Doctor Who’.
The manifestation
of this is that lots of ornate and interesting stuff gets designed and made,
from jewelry through to working vehicles of various kinds, (with craftsmanship
often at a considerable premium), arcane or humorous, rituals are performed,
(competitive tea-drinking and biscuit-dunking, anyone?), but above all, lots and
lots of dressing-up is pretty much compulsory.
I suppose it’s a branch of what, these days, gets called Cosplay, - one
in which the attendees of a Fantasy convention have run riot through the D’Oyly
Carte Opera Company’s Costume and Props. department, or the Science and
Imperial War Museums. It’s also worth
noting that, if the Lincoln event is as representative as it claims, the
average age of the participants appears to be nearer at least 40 than 20. I find that as charming as it may seem
slightly surprising.
First-hand
observation, and a little further research, reveal that there is, at the more
extreme fringes, a certain darkness to some of this. In fact, the various costumes evident in
Lincoln’s old streets ranged from relatively straight historical reconstructions,
through rapidly assembled Weekenders’ gestures and cheerfully barmy
confections, to the highly imaginative, (and often, lovingly assembled), the
distinctly bondage-fixated, and the just plain sinister. Nearly everyone wears goggles of some
variety; masks are popular, and full-blown biomechanics not exactly rare. Weaponry also abounds, (non-functionally, one
assumes/hopes). I’ve no doubt there’s a
Steampunk-themed dungeon, full of really serious kit, somewhere, but all the
best subcultures have a scary edge, - don’t they?
I’ll confess to a
certain admiration for those prepared to go to the really decadent
extremes. There is, I suppose, a
possible questionable element to all that Imperial fetishisation, and some of
it could appear distinctly fascistic in the wrong hands. An article on last year's festival in The Independent
Newspaper reveals that at least some of the Steamers are well aware of that
danger, and prefer to see themselves as free thinkers who reframe Victorian
tropes within a more Liberal value system.
Let’s hope that’s true of the majority.
Indeed, the
atmosphere appeared mostly to be one of picturesque, good-natured relaxation
and generous, mutual appreciation.
Having already endured a slightly arduous plod through Bank Holiday
traffic, and an extended quest for somewhere to sit down for lunch, we opted to
spend the afternoon just strolling and passively watching the throng pass
by. There was no shortage of sights,
although getting a clean, un-obscured photograph often proved difficult amongst
the crowds. As such, we only really
scratched the surface of the weekend’s delights. Had we opted to pay for the wristbands that would
have accessed various events and venues, we would, I’m sure discovered a world
of even more committed participation and stylised escapism.
I’d be tempted to
dip my toe a little deeper on a return visit, and we even casually fantasised
about attempting a little dressing up of our own. I’m far from an
exhibitionist, but even I’ll concede you could have a lot of fun constructing
some of the hardware accessories. In
fact, my surroundings did make me reflect that, once upon a time, attempts at a
(very) mild extravagance of dress, was a small part of my Romantic image of
myself as an Art student, (my Foundation year took place at Lincoln’s Art College). In those days, that mostly just meant
haunting jumble sales, or the town’s one or two Antique clothes shops in search
of something recognisably non-High Street to wear.
It doesn’t feel
like too many go in for that kind of thing so much these days and, if that’s
the case, it’s a shame. Surely, any
self-respecting Art student could have a lot of fun wearing at least parts of
their Festival costume all year round?
When exactly did things become so conformist, I wonder? About the same time that every vaguely
alternative style became just another off-the-peg option in mainstream outlets,
rather than representing a creative project, I suppose. Even what people now call ‘Vintage’ style
feels like an industry, - we had to work for it, I tell you!
On reflection,
perhaps it’s not so surprising that many of the Steampunks appear well into
Middle Age. Could it be a sign of my
generation, (and some even older folks), enjoying one last opportunity to dress
up, - with even more artificiality than they once did when being a Hippy, a
Glam Rocker, a Punk or a New Romantic actually signified a form of alternative
expression? It was always about tribes,
I guess, - but more vividly delineated tribes perhaps. The Steampunks certainly seem to fit that
bill.
Whatever the reasons, it delights me that such eccentricity can still exist in what often feels like an increasingly bland, monolithic culture. Despite the promise of ever-expanding consumer choice, true divergence often feels like a rare commodity in plain view. It's comforting to know that some weeds still grow through cracks in the pavement, and that, once a year, they come to full bloom in the town where I grew up.
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