Counterpoint Nine by Counterpoint

@_counterpoint #9

COUNTERPOINT

water

the water issue: swimming / lifeboats / droughts / baths

Counterpoint is an independent publication featuring work from new artists, designers and writers. Counterpoint is based in Edinburgh, Scotland.

The theme of our ninth issue is Water. Through articles about artists and activists, original prose, photography and illustrations, we wanted to explore our relationship with water as a source of life, danger and creative inspiration.

CONTENTS 4 8 14 22 26 28

The long way around We speak to a fundraiser who’s willing to go a few extra miles for the RNLI

Conversation: Kristine Petersone An interview and photo story from this issue’s featured photographer

Swimming lessons Revisiting the chlorine and sweets of childhood swimming lessons

A brief cartography of baths A personal essay explores the ins and outs of a good soak

Conversation: Modern Studies Talking seascapes and harmoniums with new band Modern Studies

Saving Sãu Paulo Brazil’s community activists are working to solve Sãu Paulo’s water shortage

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the long way around Alex Roswell is walking the entire length of the British coastline to raise money for the RNLI. Counterpoint spoke to him to find out more about his journey. Words: Sam Bradley Picture: Bethany Thompson

The volunteer crews of the Royal National Lifeboat Institute risk their lives every day to rescue people at sea. In 2014, 20 people died in British waters – yet on average, RNLI crews saved 23 people every single day.

In 2014, 20 people died at sea - but that year, the RNLI saved 23 people every single day

They’re an essential service who have patrolled the waters of the British Isles for 192 years, but their network relies almost entirely on donations from the public and the volunteers who crew those iconic orange rescue boats. Alex Roswell is one fundraiser who’s pushing himself a little further than most for the RNLI. He’s walking around the entire British coastline – over 19,000 miles including Ireland, the Isle of Man and the whole of Great Britain itself – in order to raise cash for the RNLI. The journey will take him nearly three years. It was a bit of a distance for me to go and interview him, so we spoke by email, with Roswell writing just as he was traversing the West Coast of Ireland. I asked him first why he chose the lifeboat service as the focus for his campaign. “Being brought up in Kent where you’re never more than a half hour drive from the sea, I’ve always been aware of the RNLI and the work they do to save lives,” Roswell said. “Over the past 550+ days of doing this walk I’ve met hundreds of RNLI volunteers from all different backgrounds who give up so much of their time and energy as well as risk so much to save others at sea- they are a huge source of inspiration to me, both for continuing my walk and raising money for this charity.”

“I’ve just decided to spend my time in a way that helps others and allows me to learn from so many people, landscapes and communities” 6

“It’s a huge endeavour you’re doing – suspending your life for what, two years? I don’t think I know anyone who’d be willing to give up their jobs and cities to do something like that. What was the original motivation behind your decision to begin?” “It’s interesting you use the term ‘suspending your life.’ It’s a term I hear over and over. I haven’t suspended anything, my life isn’t on hold – I’ve just decided to spend my time in a way that helps others, allows me to learn from so many people, landscapes and communities and which I hope will go some way to making our world a better place.”

“Where I’m originally coming from is a sense of purposelessness and loss, basically. That was the original impetus that drove the journey. There was a tonne of negative energy in my life, the same so many other people have- I wanted to do something to change all that into a positive.”

“Where I’m coming from is a sense of purposelessness and loss”

The journey so far has seen Roswell rely upon the kindness of strangers and supporters around the country for accommodation and supplies, as well as his trusty Vango tent for the nights spent in between checkpoints. He told me, “I’ve had heartwarming support… I’m really lucky to have stayed with a really diverse bunch of people who I either meet along the way or who follow me on Facebook and Twitter – everyone from chimney sweeps to teachers to hippies.” Roswell reached his fundraising target of £10,000 back in January. I asked him whether he planned to continue with his journey, given he’s already reached his goal. “Yes! £10,000 raised for RNLI in just over a year – I never thought I’d raise that much by this time. Now the plan is to carry on walking until the walk is complete and keep talking about this charity and what they do while trying to raise as much money for them as possible.”

through the lens

Counterpointâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s featured photographer for this issue is London-based Kristine Petersone. We spoke to her about living in the city as a photographer and how she approaches her practice. Interview: Sam Bradley Photos: Kristine Petersone

CP: You said that your photo story for this issue was about ‘desire and curiosity’ - are those themes that you have explored before in your work? KP: I would say I wanted to show my internal emotions, sort of externalize it. I think it is a great way to inspire - from your own experiences and feelings and ‘get them out’. I am very curious and sometimes get in trouble because of that, as well as I tend to find new things and become so over-obsessed with them, that they take over my life.

Counterpoint: Where are you based - and what do you love about being there? Kristine Petersone: I am currently based in London. I love the busyness of the city and sort of getting lost in it. Also, there are many places to go and things to see - always. It is a great source of inspiration and also meeting and collaborating with other creatives.

CP: How do you approach telling a story or a narrative with photography? KP: I firstly jot down an idea. Could be anywhere, any time of the day. Then I tend to keep it at the back of my mind and come back to it later, with a little more content to add. I like to just draw it and write it out with notes for myself. Once I think I have everything for the concept drawn out, I search for the right people to work with - I need to meet them and see of course if we click and if the concept ‘catches on’. When the shoot is planned out, on the actual shooting day, I do like to get surprised with quick ideas and deviate off the plan for any good ‘in the moment’ ideas.

CP: I’m assuming you really love photography as a craft - but it’s also your job, and there must occasionally be some overlap between your personal and professional lives. How do you keep the two separate? KP: I don’t! Photography is such a big part of my life, I rarely am not doing it (in my head or in practice). I know you are supposed to switch off, but for me I might only do that when I procrastinate by the TV and my brain is busy with something else really important. But it all tends to come back to be connected with photography, because even my other hobbies and interests inspire my photography. You can view more of Kristine’s work at laineapine.com

swimming lessons In an original piece of prose, writer Clare Harris rediscovers the chlorine and parental bribery of childhood swimming lessons. Words: Clare Harris Picture: Bethany Thompson

School swimming pools on desolate Sunday mornings are not the same as the things I’ve seen in holiday books, with palm trees, sunshine dappling the water, slides, juice, fun, et cetera

Baths, they’re great. I get to pretend I’m a fish and blow bubbles in a shallow pool whilst surrounded by familiar and slightly grubby plastic toys. I can sit there until my fingers turn to prunes and then Mum takes me out and puts me in my nice warm pyjamas. Swimming pools, well they’re another story. Mum and Dad first decided I’d learn to swim when I was three. That’s way too young for anything adventurous, I thought, but they persisted in taking me anyway. The first few times the water was downright freezing – I screamed and sulked but it just seemed to make them more determined to keep me in it. Especially Mum. ‘It’s warm, darling, see?’ Not convinced. School swimming pools on desolate Sunday mornings are NOT the same as the things I’ve seen in holiday books, with palm trees, sunshine dappling the water, slides, juice, fun, et cetera. No bubbles here. Still, there was a Rich Tea biscuit handed out after each lesson. And if I stuck it out and pretended to enjoy myself sometimes Mum and Dad would take me for a hot chocolate afterwards. As the weeks rolled on I slowly began to trace a direct correlation between swimming and sweets. One Sunday morning Mum told me that when she was a girl, she’d always have a packet of Iced Gems after her swimming lessons, or sometimes a Wham Bar (I’m not sure what this is, but its got to be bad for you). She was allowed to buy her treat from the vending machines with her hair still dripping wet, the scent of chlorine wafting through the vents as she poked ‘B’ then ‘6’ and waited for the little packet to tumble down from its perch into her waiting hand*. This chink of nostalgia is something that I

have learned to exploit, and I now look forward to a weekly Chupa Chup once the watery ordeal is over. To be fair, the toys at swimming aren’t bad. The teacher, Brian, likes to chuck a few rubber hippos around to distract me from the fact that there are several hundred cubic metres of cold water floating around my feet. Sometimes, I admit, it does work. Especially when he shoves a pink rubber crocodile in front of my face. Those ones are the business. ‘Watch it go,’ says Brian. ‘Catch it! Whee!’ And when I forget I can’t actually swim, and paddle over to catch it, it’s almost exciting – my Dad thinks so, anyway. Worth it just to see his proud beaming face. Then I

remember I CAN”T SWIM! DADDY! And his grin dilutes to the usual patient, slightly worn-out smile. ‘Go on darling, kick those legs…’ he says. HOLD ME! WATER! CAN’T SWIM! SPLEUURGH! ‘Kick, kick! You can do it!’ All around me there are more capable four-year-olds, hell, even three-yearolds. They’re grinning and paddling as if they’ve been swimming all their days. Some of the kids jump off the side, just like that, without a second’s hesitation. I don’t know how they haven’t figured out, like I have, just how deep that water is – and why it makes so much more sense to cling like billy-o to good old Daddy’s neck. Why else would the teachers let us bring our parents

As the weeks went on, I slowly began to trace a direct correlation between swimming and sweets into the pool? There are these crazy floats, too – long, stringy affairs called noodles, onto which Brian expects me to launch myself. Well, I don’t know about you but a cylinder of cheap foam isn’t enough for me to unclamp my feet from Dad’s thighs. Sure, it looks like I’m holding the thing. But Dad’s there the whole time, just underneath. I’ve got it covered. Last week, however, we had what Mum calls a breakthrough. It had been almost a year since I’ve been schlepping down to the pool each Sunday morning (give or take the odd week when Dad’s had too much beer the night before), and I figured it was about time to mix things up a little. Besides, I’d got a bit sick of my pool pals cruising past me, perfect breast-stroke every time. Just to humour Brian I singled out a particularly bright and rubbery toy dolphin, released my toes from Dad’s rock-solid thighs, and let my legs float up behind me. The noodle somehow held my weight and all of a sudden I found myself at the other end of the pool – Dad still standing back where I’d started, looking slightly dazed. Ha, I thought, that showed him**.

Brian chucked another toy – a beezer this time, a multicoloured shark with proper scary teeth. I went for it and made it back down the pool by myself. Buoyed by this success, Brian gets it into his head that I can take a bit of underwater action. He picks me up and dunks me, no warning, under the surface. FWAAAH! Pockets of pool-water rush up my nose and into my eyes, stinging my throat and feeling very different to the benign little bubbles I know from my bathtub. ‘A bit soon, maybe, for underwater,’ Brian muses. Damn right. Where’s Dad? There he is. I turn, grab his neck as if to an anchor and for the next 25 minutes I don’t let go. Think of the Chupa Chup, I tell myself. Think of the Chupa Chup. *I have since learned, and Mum did NOT tell me this, that she didn’t go to swimming lessons until she was at least eight. **I have also discovered that my Dad cannot even swim! Impostors, both of them.

Illustrations: Bridget Collin (p18) and Bethany Thompson (p19) Photos: Aoife Marie

a brief cartography of baths While it is still common to wash children in a bath, taking a bath is now primarily perceived in Western culture, at least for adults, as a relaxing luxury â&#x20AC;&#x201C; healing, comforting, restorative. This article is a brief exploration of some relationships to baths held among myself and my friends; bathing for cleanliness, bathing as luxury, and bathing as an intimate social phenomenon. Words: E Jamieson Picture: Susie Purvis

The bath as function

The bath as luxury

Where else to start but with the bath’s original, honest cause: hygiene. A 2014 study from researchers at the Universities of Manchester, Lancaster, Edinburgh and Southampton found that “bathing [in the UK] seems to be almost extinct as an approach to cleanliness, people having baths often only when constrained to do so” – in effect, when there is no available shower.

Never having been truly subjected to the horror of a working life without a shower, however, I am firmly of the opinion that a bath is a glorious pastime. Capable of alleviating so much pressure, enveloping you in warmth, allowing you some time away from responsibilities (it’s hard to work in a bath). The “bath as luxury” trope is firmly embedded in societal consciousness.

I once romanticised this experience, during one warm summer week with a broken electric shower and nowhere urgent to be. I boiled soup pots full of water to transfer to the tub, and elegantly languished in the resulting puddle. However, Kay Lovelace experienced a true shower-less period in their first flat after graduating. They developed a routine in which they would run as many/few inches of warm water as the boiler would allow, before preparing breakfast (two bagels with peanut butter, a Berocca and an instant espresso) which they would subsequently eat in the bath before completing the routine by washing their hair from the tap. They completed this routine every morning before work for around eight months, and, as it turns out, relying on the bath for functional cleanliness removes much of the pleasure. “I would never take a bath again. I wasn’t particularly big on baths before. But now… they hold no interest for me.” Recommended reading Christina Clark (2007) “Bathing” The Massachusetts Review 48(3) pp. 455 Imtiaz Dharker (2006) “Women Bathing” The Terrorist at My Table Amy Lowell (1955) “Bath” The Complete Poetical Works of Amy Lowell

However, luxury bath fans’ ideas of a good bath vary; personally, I like my bath to be so hot I have to take breaks in order to remain conscious. I don’t watch or listen to anything. Radox Muscle Soak is my poison. I often lie back with my ears under the surface and let myself be silently suspended in the water. Elly Hocking is a fellow bath fan, who regularly texts me with updates of her most recent Lush bath bomb purchases and pictures of the emerald green water she is at that moment submerged in. Entirely unlike me, she likes to read in the bath. She doesn’t want the water to be scalding, and she doesn’t like to get her hair wet. “I only wash my hair when I shower. For me showers are functional, baths are for relaxing. A good bath usually makes me feel very clean, very sleepy and relaxed. It’ll take the tension out of my muscles, it’ll help me calm down a bit. It’s quiet time, basically.” Recommended listening Björk “Bath” (from Drawing Restraint 9, 2005) Iamnobodi “Bubble Bath Dreams” (from Elevated, 2013) Air “Bathroom Girl” (from The Virgin Suicides, 2000)

The bath as social The final angle on bathing I want to explore is the idea of the bath as a social experience. Of course, public bathing is not a recent phenomenon – however, here I will focus on the very specific shared bathing experiences of young people (mostly, but not always, women) and their friends: think Girls and Broad City. I have never experienced a social bath in this respect, though I am a regular recipient of positive bath discourse, as can be seen in the messages below. Some messages I have recieved about baths: “I am having a bath and I am very happy about this so I thought I’d share this with you” CS 17/07/14 “Feel like taking a 3 hour bath but feel this will endanger my work/ social life/ life in general/” AM 06/12/15 “Guess where i am rn?? I’ll give you a clue. Most of me is underwater.” EH 01/02/16

Girls’ baths were also important for Chloë Smith, who told me that she loved a particular scene in which Jessa (Jemima Kirke) climbs into the bath with a sad Hannah, citing the way in which taking a bath with a friend can make you feel closer, but also can simply be more fun. Chloë studied choreography and visual art at university, and found that “social baths” developed for her because baths in themselves were healing when she was aching after a long day of dance. “Alice, Sophie, Dee and I would pile into the small room with the bath, one of us would be in the bath and we would gossip. Often we would drink those mini bottles of wine… I would highly recommend it.”

Recommended listening Ginger and Rosa (2012) (dir: Sally Potter) The Dreamers (2003) (dir: Bernardo Bertolucci) “The One Where Chandler Takes a Bath” Friends S08E13

My flatmate, Zoë Leung, informs me that there is a scene in Girls which Hannah (Lena Dunham) is in the bath and Marnie (Allison Williams) sits in the bathroom chatting to her – this is Zoë’s idea of “peak friendship”: sharing a level of intimacy and freedom between friends that may otherwise be reserved for family or romantic partners only.

Modern Studies Interview: Sam Bradley Photo: Jannica Honey Modern Studies, a collective including Lancastrian singer-songwriter Rob St John, chamber folk artist Emily Scott, cellist and arranger Pete Harvey and drummer Joe Smillie, was a project that began when Scott began working with an inherited Victorian harmonium. We went to interview Rob and Emily the afternoon before their first ever show in Brighton.

Counterpoint: You were in Finland when I emailed you about this interview. Why were you in Finland? Rob St John: At the moment Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m working on an island on the Finnish archipelago that has been a military base for a century - itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s right out in the Baltic - and is now decommissioned and is going to be opened as a national park. I was there as part of my experimental cultural geography work, to kind of understand and narrate a landscape through creative art, through field recording, narrative writing, photography and film. I was doing things like putting hydrophones under

the sea ice, recording water freezing and so on, and later this year there will be an installation and a publication. It’s a common thread to all the work I do, whether music or academia or anything else, there’s always this relationship between landscape and creativity, as has played out on this Modern Studies record. CP: How does the new record explore landscape and creativity? Emily Scott: It all started with the harmonium – it’s a big carved Victorian harmonium – I’ve had it for a long time and it’s really rather large and I thought I needed to get rid of it. So I took it over to Pete in his studio, and it fell to bits – so we needed to make a record on it to kind of honour it. It’s really quite broken; it wheezes and sighs and it just made me think of old seaside towns and most of the songs I wrote using it had a connection to that, a connection to the sea. Somebody had poked little cigarette cards down between the keys… Pete opened it up after we eventually finished the record and found loads of old dust balls and bits and pieces. RSJ: But it’s a beautiful old thing though. It’s got a very human, or non-human, I suppose, quality to the way it breathes and wheezes. ES: It’s definitely like a person, it has a character. CP: Like another band member? ES: Totally. It has inspired every song just because of its sound and feel… We used it on every track, and it starts and ends the album as well. CP: What was it like recording an album, given that you’re all based in different parts of the country? ES: It was a really easy process. The easiest thing I’ve ever done. Everybody just seemed to be on the same page. I’m a bit of a control freak, and I’m

used to doing everything by myself as a solo artist, and it was nice to have other people to work with instead of being in my little cupboard all the time. RSJ: It was really great to get to play again with Emily. It’s funny making a record like that, your thinking about it builds up over time. The sonic resonances of the harmonium, which themselves have some resonances with coastline, sea, things like that, they really affected the instruments I picked when I was overdubbing stuff. I chose these really nice seventieskind of analogue synths and really made them work in a way that was sympathetic with the harmonium. And in doing so we’ve ended up with a new, landscape-inspired sound. ES: I didn’t know what to expect, but it did kind of just develop and acquire a life of its own, a personality. You couldn’t have set out to make that sound, it just happened. CP: Have either of you explored that relationship with landscape in your previous work? ES: Not really, I’m definitely a visual writer, so there’s always a sense of place in what I write. But it’s not a conscious effort to incorporate that into things, it’s just the way my brain works. RSJ: I grew up on Pendle Hill in Lancashire, where the famous witch trials were, and there’s lots of paranormal stuff associated with the area. I’m a cynic and pretty ambivalent towards the spooky, paranormal end of popular psychogeography, but at the same time I’m interested in the way a landscape can be regarded as paranormal and its particular effects, whether that’s making you feel good, scared, apprehensive, whatever. And I’m interested in how sound is bound up in all of that.

saving sĂŁu paulo For the residents of Latin Americaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s biggest city, clean drinking water is a luxury - but our correspondent in Brazil found that community activists have begun to create their own solutions. Words: Annabel Britton Picture: Kirsty Hunter

Despite being a metropolis of some 21 million people, São Paulo remains a wonderfully green city. Its trafficchoked blocks are punctuated by all manner of foliage and streams of water run down the steep margins of the wide streets. February is the apex of the rainy season, so each night the hot, highly-pressured skies break into biblical downpours, under which dance carnival-goers, glad of a shower to wash off the sweat and glitter which they’ve accumulated during several days and nights of dancing in the street. But away from the block parties, many paulistanos are not so concerned with finding their next beer as with getting hold of an even more necessary beverage: water. A “hydric crisis” has gripped Latin America’s biggest city as well as many others in the world’s rainiest region - for the last two years and as with many crises, those hurt most are also the poorest. Residents of Favela do Moinho, squashed between two railway lines not far from the Tietê river, subsist off a shaky supply of water siphoned off from the network of SABESP (São Paulo’s water board). Some 600 families drinking, washing, cleaning and eating from a feeble pipeline a few centimetres below the warm dirt - indeed, those at the end of the pipe don’t actually receive any water at all. Certainly, life in the Favela do Moinho was much worse before they secured a ‘supply’ in 1995, but the fact that SABESP loses 30% of the supplies in their network via theft, leakage and these clandestine connections points towards bad infrastructure and mismanagement. This is widely held

A ‘hydric crisis’ has gripped Latin America’s biggest city for the last two years

as the main cause of this crisis - and something which academics in ecology and hydrology at the Universidade de São Paulo had warned of since 1977. A policy of putting shareholders before stakeholders, and profits before planning, was ratcheted up a notch in the 1990s when SABESP was partially privatised; 49.7% of its stock is privately held, split between the São Paulo and New York stock exchanges. What would they need to plan for? Well, most obviously, a growing megalopolis and the world’s third biggest city (when both urban sprawl and population size are taken into account). Producing 11% of Brazil’s GDP, it is the economic engine of both the country and the continent: its industries, including agriculture, are responsible for immense water usage. However, beyond this, the biotic heart of Amazonian watershed is threatened by deforestation. In layman’s terms, trees take in water via their roots and

“This is not a crisis. I believe this is an opportunity”

then perspire, emitting water into the poetic-sounding ‘rivers in the sky’, which are blown around the continent before falling as rain onto a far-flung American city. Fewer trees means fewer rivers in the sky, and fewer rainy days in São Paulo. This is why the Cantareira system, which supplies roughly half of the city’s population, shrank from 96.2% in 2010 to just 27.2% in 2014, when the crisis was at its apex (it is currently back up to 47.5%, though we are in the middle of the rainy season just now). A third, more long-term factor has been mooted: a culture of ambivalence towards how resources are used. As freelance journalist Mari Galante put it

In the absence of the government keeping a proper grip on the situation, citizens have begun to take action for themselves

to me, “Brazil has never been through a war”: a make-do-and-mend attitude never proliferated here or came into the national consciousness as it did in Britain. Natural resources are not scarce, least of all water, so Brazilians are not accustomed to using them with care. Benedito Braga, president of the World Water Council in São Paulo, also pointed towards this cultural factor: “Brazilians leave everything to the last minute. Only when the situation is absolutely critical do they start making arrangements, economising water”. However, in the absence of SABESP having a proper grip on the situation, citizens have begun to take action for themselves, with social entrepreneurs creating initiatives to help paulistanos take charge of their own water supply. Vinicius Pereira, a local musician, has started “Movimento Cisterna Já” (“movement for water tanks now”) to promote the capture of rainwater in private residences for purposes such as watering plants and cleaning - which can be up to half of a household’s water usage. Flying in the face of a pessimistic assessment of Brazilian attitudes towards natural resources, he claims that “this is not a crisis. I believe this is an opportunity”. Other community movements, such as “Existe àgua em SP” (“water exists in SP”) and “Rios e Ruas” (“rivers and roads”) aim to map out São Paulo’s almost 500 waterways - not all of which are visible on conventional maps - and empower citizens to renew and look after them. The manifesto of Rioes e Ruas laments that the paulistano population has

A poster promoting Vicinius Pereiraâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s household rainwater capture concept

People power, social enterprise and collective action have made a difference to many paulistanos been led to believe that the city’s waterways are far from a blessing, but in fact “enemies of the city, bringing bad smells, illnesses and floods”, a belief which has justified the burial of the rivers until they resurface again in the rainy season, sloshing down the streets. Together with EcoHack, Rioes e Ruas created a map overlaying the city’s rivers and roads so that citizens can locate them, and clean them up together. Existe àgua em SP is more of an amateur effort, led by Adriano Sampaio, a man imbued with passion for guerilla urbanism. Sampaio has explored the city from its affluent centre to the impoverished periphery on his quest: “It’s vital that the different springs and water sources around the city are tested and labelled, so that people know what use each source can safely be put to.” Indeed, following an expedition to Pirituba in the north of the city, Sampaio drank some water so unsafe that he ended up in hospital - he is clearly dedicated to his environmentalism.

back to life not just as sources of water but as sources of urban conviviality. Sampaio was first inspired after digging through muddy ground in a park in Pompeia, the neighbourhood in which he lives. Seeing water springing from the ground, he and his friends began to use materials lying around and eventually created two ponds over as many years, which are now brimming with fish and have also imbued the park with new civic life, as it has become a much more pleasant place to hang out. However, Sampaio’s trip to the hospital following the Pirituba debacle demonstrates the limits of citizen-led environmentalism: - the everyman may be able to locate a water supply, but he is not necessarily capable of grading or filtering it for human consumption. Furthermore, though each household being responsible for itself and using a cistern to collect rainwater may be a great idea in theory, stagnant rainwater provides a lovely breeding ground for mosquitoes bearing the old favourites, dengue fever and chikungunya, as well as this season’s newcomer, the notorious zika virus. People power, social enterprise and collective civic action has made a difference to many paulistanos before the water crisis and now - but if SABESP and the city, state and federal governments don’t also begin to take seriously the falta d’àgua, citizens will continue to suffer in São Paulo, rainy season or not.

Beyond the location of these hidden waterways, these organisations also wish to exploit the self-cleaning nature of rivers and streams to bring them

Words annabel britton + clare harris + e jamieson

Pictures

Editors

bridget collin sam bradley kirsty hunter aoife marie + kristine petersone willem purdy bethany thompson susie purvis bea shireen

Getting involved Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re always looking for new contributors to Counterpoint. If youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d like to submit content for our next issue, send us an email at counterpointeditor@gmail.com.

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