Transfigured phenomena
explored how a familiar London street, Bermondsey Street, can resonate like a domestic interior, filled with echoes of memories. Drawing inspiration from the phenomenology of philosopher Edmund Husserl (2006), I reimagined the street not just as an urban public space, but as a place where the environment converged with personal memories to shape perceptions of homeliness.
As our lives in urban environments become more fast-paced and fragmented we often pass through places without taking the time to connect to them. A phenomenological encounter with Bermondsey Street offered a different kind of experience, one that felt more rooted, more intimate. Here, traces of the past seemed to surface in everyday ordinary encounters, creating a kind of perceptual echoe across space and time.
To understand and capture these impressions, I drew on Husserl’s phenomenological method called epoché, a suspension of everyday assumptions that allows us to look more deeply at our experiences. Through this lens, the street became an urban interior, a space that invited memories, associations of domesticity, and a sense of familiarity to take shape.
I chose to narrate my phenomenological journey through Bermondsey Street as a photographic essay. The narrative style was inspired by Gaston Bachelard’s (1994) writings and recounts the echoes of past intimate moments of domesticity exposed during my lived experience of the street. Together, these reveal how the ordinary spaces we may take for granted can acquire extraordinary meanings when we pause to truly experience them. Transfigured Phenomena invites the reader to see the city not merely as a space to pass through, but as a place to feel, remember, and inhabit, even if only for a moment.
explored how a familiar London street, Bermondsey Street, can resonate like a domestic interior, filled with echoes of memories. Drawing inspiration from the phenomenology of philosopher Edmund Husserl (2006), I reimagined the street not just as an urban public space, but as a place where the environment converged with personal memories to shape perceptions of homeliness.
As our lives in urban environments become more fast-paced and fragmented we often pass through places without taking the time to connect to them. A phenomenological encounter with Bermondsey Street offered a different kind of experience, one that felt more rooted, more intimate. Here, traces of the past seemed to surface in everyday ordinary encounters, creating a kind of perceptual echoe across space and time.
To understand and capture these impressions, I drew on Husserl’s phenomenological method called epoché, a suspension of everyday assumptions that allows us to look more deeply at our experiences. Through this lens, the street became an urban interior, a space that invited memories, associations of domesticity, and a sense of familiarity to take shape.
I chose to narrate my phenomenological journey through Bermondsey Street as a photographic essay. The narrative style was inspired by Gaston Bachelard’s (1994) writings and recounts the echoes of past intimate moments of domesticity exposed during my lived experience of the street. Together, these reveal how the ordinary spaces we may take for granted can acquire extraordinary meanings when we pause to truly experience them. Transfigured Phenomena invites the reader to see the city not merely as a space to pass through, but as a place to feel, remember, and inhabit, even if only for a moment.
The phenomenological journey
[… emerging through the threshold, the contrast between the enclosure of the corridor and the bright interior of the entrance creates a sensation of space enhanced by a wall of mirrors on one side. The body seems to integrate with the environment as the reflections follow its movements. The composition of warm tones, tactile textures and smooth surfaces bring a light and welcoming feel to the interior. It is designed for the body. The pace slows down on the textured floor. The stillness of the atmosphere suggests repose. The interior provides shelter from the outside world...]
[… a line of sight towards a dining room leads to a large timber panel whose golden tones and tactile qualities revealed by the passage of time wrap the eyes with a sensation of comfort. Like a picture on a wall with a story to tell, it inspires a pause...]
[… a translucent material filters the light coming into the dining room into a beautiful glow that highlights the mellow tones of the wall surfaces. As when a bright summer light penetrates into the sheltered interior through half-opened blinds, the atmosphere is warm and inviting. Although currently empty, a cheerful display of seats echoes the chatter of people enjoying a meal around the dinner table. The tone is convivial. The meal is eaten slowly, taking time to enjoy the many flavours of the food, each course accompanied by animated conversations and laughter…]
[… materials bearing the patina of time reveal the textures of the repetition of daily gestures. They act as a reminder of the many lives of the interior. Lines and familiar scars inscribed across their surfaces become visible mementos of moments that have been lived but are not always remembered. Some endure, like the time when the corner of a table being precariously carried across the room made a deep cut into one of the doors. Others are habitual, like the encounter between the cat’s claws and an irresistible table leg as a prelude to each meal...]
[… near a side door and into a small room, people are performing the rituals of daily activities. Cleaning, storing, making, moving, fetching, resting, daydreaming, the domestic scenography of the interior…]
[… two steps up onto the chequered kitchen floor. A mouth-watering smell of food emanates from the interior while, in the background, a radio plays a lively tune…]
[… near a side door and into a small room, people are performing the rituals of daily activities. Cleaning, storing, making, moving, fetching, resting, daydreaming, the domestic scenography of the interior…]
[… two steps up onto the chequered kitchen floor. A mouth-watering smell of food emanates from the interior while, in the background, a radio plays a lively tune…]
[… 8 am, coffee, toasts grilled in the oven, often forgotten and burnt. The sound of the burnt surface being scraped into the sink with a knife, the familiar acrid smell. 1 pm, the sound of plates and cutlery indicates that lunch is about to be served. 4 pm, the children are back from school. Hot chocolate, bread, butter and a prized bar of dark chocolate nested inside the bread. 8 pm, dinner is served…]
[… in a glass cabinet, an incongruous display of objects showcases a cherished collection: bottles of various sizes and colours, an old radio, kitchen scales and a few enamelled teapots. Old-fashioned commodities frozen in time and sealed behind glass. There was a time when they were useful. Weighing flour to bake a birthday cake, singing in tune with the music playing on the radio, pouring the cat’s milk into the small enamelled dish…]
[… the glimpse of a fireplace. The glow of the fire warming up skin and spirit in winter. Coming home from the cold, removing boots, coat, scarf and gloves in the cool vestibule, almost rushing in anticipation of the warmth of the living room. The crackling sound of the fire. Finding just the right place where the hands warm up without being too hot. Turning the body for the other side to warm up too…]
[… a bookshelf. Words, images, stories, history, reflections. Portals into other worlds. A long pause. So many afternoons spent reading in this favourite cosy corner of the living room, sitting comfortably and untroubled in the snug armchair, its leather cracked and distorted through successive years of use…]
[… further back, a small conservatory overlooks the garden. With just enough space for a table, a couple of chairs and a few plants, this cosy corner of the house becomes a sun trap where, through semi-closed eyes, daydreams merge with reality. At dusk, the layered reflections of objects and furniture are multiplied across glass surfaces, ghost-like figures, neither inside nor outside…]
[… in a glass cabinet, an incongruous display of objects showcases a cherished collection: bottles of various sizes and colours, an old radio, kitchen scales and a few enamelled teapots. Old-fashioned commodities frozen in time and sealed behind glass. There was a time when they were useful. Weighing flour to bake a birthday cake, singing in tune with the music playing on the radio, pouring the cat’s milk into the small enamelled dish…]
[… the glimpse of a fireplace. The glow of the fire warming up skin and spirit in winter. Coming home from the cold, removing boots, coat, scarf and gloves in the cool vestibule, almost rushing in anticipation of the warmth of the living room. The crackling sound of the fire. Finding just the right place where the hands warm up without being too hot. Turning the body for the other side to warm up too…]
[… a bookshelf. Words, images, stories, history, reflections. Portals into other worlds. A long pause. So many afternoons spent reading in this favourite cosy corner of the living room, sitting comfortably and untroubled in the snug armchair, its leather cracked and distorted through successive years of use…]
[… further back, a small conservatory overlooks the garden. With just enough space for a table, a couple of chairs and a few plants, this cosy corner of the house becomes a sun trap where, through semi-closed eyes, daydreams merge with reality. At dusk, the layered reflections of objects and furniture are multiplied across glass surfaces, ghost-like figures, neither inside nor outside…]
[… the bedroom door, slightly recessed from the landing. Going up the stairs, the feel of the latch of the door already in hand. It must be opened ever so slowly so as not to creak and wake everyone up. Inside all is quiet and peaceful, the glow of the bedside table lamp acts as a reassuring friend. The most private space, a place to dream…]
[… feeling the textured walls in the darkness of the narrow corridor, climbing the familiar final steps while carefully placing the feet on the only spots that do not creak. The attic, with its pungent smell of dust, full of lost treasures hidden in nooks and crannies, invites imagination and exploration…]
[… feeling the textured walls in the darkness of the narrow corridor, climbing the familiar final steps while carefully placing the feet on the only spots that do not creak. The attic, with its pungent smell of dust, full of lost treasures hidden in nooks and crannies, invites imagination and exploration…]
Related article
Mace, Valérie (2015) The Transfigured Phenomena of Domesticity in the Urban Interior. Idea Journal.
Book chapter
Mace, Valérie (2019) Transient Domesticity in the Urban Interior. In: Interior Futures. Crucible Press, Yountville, CA.
References
Bachelard, G. (1994) The Poetics of Space. Boston, Massachusetts: Beacon Press.
Cerbone, D. R. (2006) Understanding Phenomenology. Chapter 1: Husserl and the project of pure phenomenology. Durham:Acumen Publishing Limited.