I was at DIY Market on Saturday.
Do you know Peckham?
If you’re from out of town, like I am - it’s a vibe.
Hastings to London Bridge.
London Bridge to Peckham Rye.
Off the train.
Under the arches.
Dirty.
Raw.
Fly posters layered on brick -
raves, gigs, past and present.
I pause on the curb.
There’s audacity in the air.
A man runs down the middle of the road with a rail of clothes.
A double decker leans on its horn.
Ignored - obvs.
I cross.
Rucksack on.
Yellow suitcase in tow.
Lit up.
I could do this every weekend.
There’s an alleyway between two buildings.
Bussey on the left.
Studios on the right.
Stickers and vibrant posters speaking their piece,
claiming space on the walls.
I’ve stood here before.
Early RockCakes days.
Selling with Crafty Fox.
The market is hidden, unlikely.
But it calls to the stylish wild of London.
Makers coming together from across the UK.
Familiar faces.
New ones.
Oh, the people.
My lights switch on.
Style upon style.
Not pretentious.
Cool - effortless in some cases.
Full effort in others.
Expression everywhere.
Being here reminds me of who I am.
Alone a lot,
I let my style slip to the back of the cupboard.
Magic hidden.
Not today.
I get to share my work.
Add detail to beautiful people.
Tell my story
and help them tell theirs.
This is a place where I belong.
Full permission
to be all I want to be.
Even the dogs had a vibe...
