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Walking in rhythms: place, regulation, style and the

flow of experience
Tim Edensor

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To cite this article: Tim Edensor (2010): Walking in rhythms: place, regulation, style and the flow of experience, Visual
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 Visual Studies, Vol. 25, No. 1, April 2010
Walking in rhythms: place, regulation, style and the flow
RVST
of experience
TIM EDENSOR
Walking in rhythms: place, regulation, style and the flow of experience
Following Henri Lefebvre, this article investigates the
distinct rhythms of walking and the ways that it intersects
with diverse temporalities and spaces. Because walking is
practised and experienced in innumerable contexts,
generalisations are problematic. Nevertheless, this article
identifies some of the ways in which walking produces
time-space and the experience of place. I subsequently
discuss how walking is inevitably conditioned by multiple
forms of regulation but possesses peculiar characteristics
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that always make these orderings of space and body
contingent, facilitating immanent, often unexpected
experiences. I further examine how walking is surrounded
by notions of style that reproduce particular rhythms.
Walking is inevitably, therefore, suffused with
contending notions about how and where to walk, by
ideals and conventions laid down by the powerful and
not-so-powerful. However, I pay attention to the multiple
phases and moments of walking. Both the conventions of
walking and its unfolding, sensual and contingent
apprehension are difficult to elucidate in academic
prose, and luckily there are several challenging walking
artists whose work highlights these issues and the
rhythmic dimensions of walking. Accordingly, I draw
upon the ‘textworks’ of Richard Long, Francis
Alys’s series of walks entitled Railings, and Jeremy Deller’s
2009 Procession to elicit some of the rhythms
of walking.
WALKING AND THE RHYTHMS OF PLACE
Barbara Adam (1998, 202) points out the distinct
formations of ‘tempo, timing, duration, sequence and
rhythm as the mutually implicating structures of time’.
In this context, rhythmanalysis is particularly useful in
investigating the patterning of a range of temporalities –
calendrical, diurnal and lunar, life-cycle, somatic and
mechanical – whose rhythms provide an important
constituent of the experience and organisation of social
time. As we will see, an examination of walking rhythms
also draws in these multidimensional, multiscalar
dimensions of time-space.
Tim Edensor teaches Cultural Geography at Manchester Metropolitan University. He is author of Tourists at the Taj (1998), National Identity, Popular Culture
and Everyday Life (2002) and Industrial Ruins: Space, Aesthetics and Materiality, and the editor of Geographies of Rhythm (2010) and co-editor of Spaces of
Vernacular Creativity: Rethinking the Creative Economy (2009). He has also written widely about tourism, class, rurality, football and mobilities, and is currently
pursuing projects on landscapes of illumination and urban materialities.
ISSN 1472–586X printed/ISSN 1472–5878 online/10/010069-11 © 2010 International Visual Sociology Association
DOI: 10.1080/14725861003606902
Lefebvre (2004, 15) begins his study of rhythms with the
premise that ‘everywhere where there is interaction
between a place, a time, and an expenditure of energy,
there is rhythm’. In drawing attention to these spatio-
temporal specificities, he contends that ‘every rhythm
implies the relation of a time with space, a localised time,
or if one wishes, a temporalised place’ (Lefebvre 1996,
230). Spaces and places thus possess distinctive
characteristics according to the ensemble of rhythms that
interweave in and across place to produce a particular
temporal mixity of events of varying regularity. Such
multiple rhythms are dynamic, producing an ever-
changing, dynamic time-space, or, where place appears
to be stable, they disguise its endless maintenance
through the serial reproduction of its consistencies,
through the reproduction of the changing same. In
considering the multiple rhythms of place we can
identify seasonal, climatic and tidal rhythms as well as
other non-human pulses of animal and plant life. In this
article, though, the focus is on the rhythms produced
through walking.
To start with, consider the routine, daily walking
practices of people in any one location: the pace and
route followed by children between school and home,
the rush hour of commuters striding across pavements
to catch the transport that takes them to and from work
(Edensor 2009), the urgent surges of shoppers
(Kärrholm 2009), the hedonistic throngs of evening
clubbers, the slow wanderings of the unemployed and
homeless (Hall 2010), the timed compulsions of drug
addicts and alcoholics, the leisurely stroll of the flaneur
(Tester 1994) and the timetabled activities of guided
parties of tourists. All add to the rhythmic totality of
place, mixing in the rhythms of their own particular
modes of walking. These walking rhythms of place
intersect with each other at particular junctures – for
instance, in squares and railway stations – and with a
host of other rhythms – such as traffic, shop opening
hours, lunchtime, seasons and weather, amongst many
other rhythms – to produce often identifiable temporal
patterns, adding to the complex polyrhythmy of place,
 70 T. Edensor
instantiating routine enactions and diverting from them.
Such patterns are conditioned by institutional
arrangements and the material affordances and
distractions of space that encourage bodies to follow
particular procedures at particular times in particular
places.
A complementary antecedent of Lefebvre’s
rhythmanalysis is the time-geography initiated by
Hagerstrand (1977). Its somewhat diagrammatic
schemes suggest that space is somewhat empty, and
individual rhythms are presented as rather disembodied,
and thus tell us little about how time-space is construed
or experienced. However, time-geography demonstrates
that individuals ‘repeatedly couple and uncouple their
paths with other people’s paths, institutions,
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technologies and physical surroundings’ (Mels 2004, 16),
becoming grounded in time-space and place.
Rhythmanalysis can develop a fuller, richer analysis of
these synchronic practices in space while also accounting
for spatial qualities, sensations and intersubjective
habits, allowing us to track temporal patterns.
While much walking literature and art focuses upon
certain exceptional walking experiences, most walking is
mundane and habitual. Familiar places are the
unquestioned settings for daily tasks, pleasures and
rhythmically apprehended routines, such as regular
patterns of walking, along with driving, shopping and
other routinised practices that are part of commonplace
spatio-temporal experience. These patterns are marked
by regular paths and points of spatial and temporal
intersection which routinise action in space and
collectively constitute the time-geographies within which
people’s trajectories separate and cross in regular ways.
Shops, bars, parks and cafes, for instance, are meeting
points at which individual walking paths congregate,
providing geographies of communality and continuity
within which social activities are co-coordinated and
synchronised. This ongoing mapping of space through
repetitive, collective choreographies of congregation,
interaction, rest and relaxation produces situated
rhythms through which time and space are stitched
together to produce what Seamon (1980) calls ‘place
ballets’. And the accumulation of repetitive events also
becomes sedimented as individuals, through familiar
bodily routines in local space, walk on tarmac
pavements, patches of grass and wood and absorb these
surfaces, forging ‘a primary rivet aligning body with
place’ (Labelle 2008, 189). By looking at the ways in
which individuals find ways of latching on to
environments through attuning themselves to musical
rhythms, Labelle further depicts how people walk
through space in time with auditory rhythms, or whistle,
sing or tap along, the rhythm simultaneously inside and
outside their bodies. This, he argues, produces a
personalised time that supplements place and body
rhythms, and this latching on to particular beats, or
simply in one’s head, aligns the body ‘with a self-defined
choreography’ that generates ‘links, stoppages, bolts and
rivets to the existing architecture of time and space’
(Labelle 2008, 190).
A mobile sense of place can be produced through longer
immersion by the walking body across a more extended
space. I have written about how regular endeavours such
as commuting (Edensor 2009) produce a sense of mobile
place, and this is echoed in Middleton’s (2009) work on
daily walks by Londoners. The speed, pace and
periodicity of a habitual journey produce a stretched-
out, linear apprehension of place shaped by the form of a
footpath or pavement. Serial features install a sense of
spatial belonging, including the shops and houses passed
– the street furniture – and routinised practices such as
the purchase of the daily newspaper enfold social
relations into the daily ritual. The daily apprehension of
routine features may thus provide a comforting
reliability and mobile homeliness. Through walking, a
distinct embodied material and sociable ‘dwelling-in-
motion’ emerges (Sheller and Urry 2006) as place is
experienced as the predictable passing of familiar fixtures
under the same and different conditions. But this may
also emerge through a mindful passage across unfamiliar
terrain through which the body adapts to land
underfoot, and the peculiarities of place are apprehended
at a slower rhythm than is offered through speedier
forms of transport. This stretched-out, mobile belonging
diverges from accounts that suggest that ‘places marked
by an abundance of mobility become placeless’ realms of
detachment (Cresswell 2006, 31), for such assertions
overlook ‘the complex habitations, practices of dwelling,
embodied relations, material presences, placings and
hybrid subjectivities associated with movement through
such spaces’ (Merriman 2005, 154). The rhythms of
walking allow for a particular experiential flow of
successive moments of detachment and attachment,
physical immersion and mental wandering, memory,
recognition and strangeness, blurring the divisions
suggested by much recent actor network theory between
representation and sensory and affective engagement
(Edensor and Holloway 2008). If understood as a
weaving through place (Ingold 2004), the walking body
weaves a path that is contingent, and accordingly
produces contingent notions of place as well as being
always partially conditioned by the special and physical
characteristics of place. Accordingly, the mobile
 Walking in rhythms: place, regulation, style and the flow of experience
homeliness produced through walking may be transient
and fleeting as well as associated ‘with prolonged or
repeated movements, fixities, relations and dwellings’
(Merriman 2005, 146).
Further, places are always becoming, and a human,
whether stationary or travelling, is one rhythmic
constituent in a seething space pulsing with intersecting
trajectories and temporalities. For instance, in cities,
walking bodies are rhythmic elements in a complex
amalgam of rhythmicities, as Robert Musil conjures up
in his oft-cited depiction of twentieth-century Vienna:
Dark patches of pedestrian bustle formed into
cloudy streams. Where stronger lines of speed
transected their loose-woven hurrying, they
clotted up – only to trickle on all the faster then
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and after a few ripples regain their regular
pulse-beat . . . the general movement pulsed
through the streets. Like all big cities it
consisted of irregularity, change, sliding
forwards, not keeping in step, collisions of
things and affairs, and fathomless points of
silence in between, of paved ways and
wilderness, of one great rhythmic throb and the
perpetual discord and dislocation of all
opposing rhythms, and as a whole resembled a
seething, bubbling fluid in a vessel consisting of
the solid materials of buildings, laws,
regulations, and historical traditions. (Musil
1954, 4)
People must fit into these multiple rhythms but, as I
argue below, there is a continual tension between
conforming to the regulations which are imposed upon
the walking body, and the incipient tendency to wander
off score.
DRESSAGE AND WALKING
Barbara Adam draws attention to how the ‘when, how
often, how long, in what order and at what speed’ are
governed by ‘norms, habits and conventions’ about
temporality (1995, 66), a host of implicit, embedded and
embodied forms of social knowing that regulate social
life and space. In so far as embodied practices are
concerned, Lefebvre identifies the regulation of
embodied rhythms through the notion of ‘dressage’ as a
means to train the body to perform and condition it to
accede to particular rhythms so that people walk
‘properly’, do not slouch, put their shoulders back and
firmly plant their heels down first. He foregrounds urban
walking as a key example of the breaking-in of the
individual to (re)produce what he calls ‘an automatism
of repetitions’ (Lefebvre 2004, 40). By enmeshing the
71
body within a complex assemblage of instructions,
spaces, uniform, architectures, classifications and
mechanical apparatuses, the performance of walking
otherwise seems difficult. Such regulations are therefore
all the more suitable for enlisting docile bodies in
required manoeuvres. After this initial process of
training, through what he calls ‘the military model’, the
walking body subsequently regulates itself via the
procedures that have become embedded in its
constitution and exercised in habitual, repetitive
practice: ‘In the street,’ he writes, ‘people can turn left
and right, but their walk, the rhythm of their walking,
their movements [gestes] do not change for all that’ (40-
41). Yet Lefebvre is clearly aware of how contemporary
pedestrians are only contingently regulated. Gazing from
the balcony of his Paris apartment, he notices the
distinction between strolling tourists and the more hectic
pace of peak-time pedestrians who succumb to the
regular pulse of the traffic lights (Lefebvre 2004, 29) and
thus acknowledges both these systemic orderings and the
particularities of place, which produce both regular and
irregular rhythms.
These attempts to impose rhythm on bodies by training
through bodily techniques, physical training and the use
of equipment extends across many fields, from military
and sporting applications to the reorganisation of
pedestrian practices of movement and perception with
the rise of vehicular traffic. In the latter case, Richard
Hornsey (2010) shows how in the inter-war years
pedestrians were encouraged to adapt to the quicker
rhythms of the growing number of motor cars on
London’s roads and avoid the blockages that were
emerging. Similarly, Bennett discusses how the
classificatory development of museums required visitors
‘to comply with a programme of organised walking’
(1995, 186-7), and in city centres, the denial of places
through which homeless bodies may dwell or rest
generates a condition of ‘perpetual movement’,
undertaken by the homeless not ‘because they are going
somewhere, but because they have nowhere to go’
(Kawash 1998, 322-9). More generally, there are
numerous urban strictures concerning where walking
may occur, ranging from a plethora of private sites that
restrict pedestrian entry to those in which restriction is
mobilised by fear. In fact, Richard Sennett (1994, 15)
pessimistically argues that urban space has largely
become ‘a mere function of motion’, engendering a
‘tactile sterility’ where the city environment ‘pacifies the
body’. Here, there seems little possibility of an
improvisational pedestrian rhythm, but rather the
ordered walking of the business person, consumer and
tourist. In the same vein, Boddy (1992) describes what
 72 T. Edensor
he terms the ‘analogous city’, a set of ‘new urban
prosthetics’, a system of smooth and sealed walkways,
escalators, bridges, people-conveyors and tunnels which
channel movement, encouraging privileged forms of
movement such as ‘browsing’ and ‘grazing’.
Yet, as I have argued elsewhere (Edensor 2000b), this
regulation of walking rhythms is not merely an effect of a
heightened regulation of urban space, but also extends
into the rural realm and the practice of walking. Here
also there are multiple restrictions about where walkers
may go and strictures about how the walking body
should comport itself in the countryside. For instance,
Williams asserts that hikers should ‘acquire an easy,
effortless walk’:
The body should lean slightly forward to offset
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the weight of the rucksack. There is little
movement of the arms and the hands are kept
free. The legs are allowed to swing forward in a
comfortable stride. High knee movements and
over-striding are to be avoided as they are very
fatiguing . . . the pace should be steady and
rhythmical and the feet placed down with a
deliberate step. As each stride is made the whole
of the foot comes into contact with the ground,
rolling from the heel to the sole. (Williams
1979, 94)
Duerden similarly advocates a particularly rhythmic
performance, counselling that one should maintain ‘a
steady pace with rhythmic strides . . . The weight of the
body should be moved slightly forward, i.e. a slight
forward stoop, with a short, smooth swing of the arms’
(1978, 12).
Despite the multiple procedures that attempt to discipline
the walking body, these are rarely totalising in their effects,
and are dependent on particular activities, spaces,
identities and contesting values. Yet, paradoxically, where
these are successful, they may also be understood as
facilitating a heightened walking experience, for the highly
trained body, devoid of the conscious self-management
required to continually monitor practice and progress, can
produce an easy, unreflexive disposition that may allow
moments of eurhythmy to emerge, wherein the body is
open to external stimuli and thoughts may turn to fantasy
and conjecture.
However, Hallam and Ingold disagree with Lefebvre’s
assessment of the repetitive nature of walking, which
they argue is ‘successional rather than processional’
(Hallam and Ingold 2007, 12), with each step a discrete
entity, part of a fluid dance rather than the metronomic
repetition of sameness. This understanding that ‘the act
of walking is a way of circumambulatory knowing’
(Ingold 2004, 331) is well expressed by Solnit, who infers
that the specific rhythms of walking generate a particular
rhythm of thinking:
Walking . . . is the intentional act closest to the
unwilled rhythms of the body, to breathing and
the beating of the heart. It strikes a delicate
balance between working and idling, being and
doing. It is a bodily labour that produces
nothing but thoughts, experiences, arrivals.
Walking, ideally, is a state in which the mind,
the body, and the world are aligned, as though
they were three characters finally in
conversation together, three notes making a
chord. (2001, 5)
Similarly, Winkler asserts that walking ‘is an activity that
nurtures and assists fleeting perceptions and ever-
recurring engagements’ (2002, 8), also highlighted by
Wylie in his depiction of the affective imbrication of the
walking body with place which produces a ‘shifting
mood, tenor, colour or intensity of places and situation’
(Wylie 2005, 236) in which ‘self and world overlap in a
ductile and incessant enfolding and unfolding’ (Wylie
2005, 240). This foregrounding of the flow of continuous
attachment and detachment to place is supported by
Labelle, who argues that ‘walking may be a site for a
radical placement and displacement of self, fixing and
unfixing self to urban structures, locational politics and
cultural form, locking down as well as opening up to the
full view of potential horizons’ (2008, 198), and the
potential to produce the unexpected and the contingent
is championed by Solnit, who claims that ‘every walker is
on guard to protect the ineffable’ (2001, 11).
It is important, therefore, to avoid assumptions that
managed normative rhythms possess an overarching
force that compels individuals to march to their beat.
Instead, people attune themselves to the rhythmicity of
the moment through breathing, gestures, pace of
movement and speech:
To locate one’s own time is to derive a personal
spacing within the built; it is to cut into the
standardisations of daily routine an interval by
which to fashion perspective, according to the
mutations and nuances of time. (Labelle 2008,
193)
In this sense, then, walking generates a range of
possibilities for putting oneself in an experiential flow
while simultaneously maintaining a flow of thoughts:
I offer myself to unpredictable occurrences and
impingements. The world flows past my body,
 Walking in rhythms: place, regulation, style and the flow of experience
which may block, pleasurably or
uncomfortably, some sudden cometary
intrusion and create a situation. But mostly I
can modulate the immediacy of random
intrusions for the sake of encouraging,
unimpeded, the ‘inner life’. (Robinson 1989, 4)
Besides this personal engagement with the rhythms of
place, putting one’s own beat in space, the effort
required to maintain rhythmic and temporal order
should not be underestimated. Moreover, in walking of
all kinds, the body can never mechanically pass
seamlessly through space informed by regulatory
strictures and habitual techniques, for the contingencies
of the body and the qualities of space ensure that in all
but the smoothest spaces, walking rhythms are
continuously adapting to circumstances. Here it is
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essential to acknowledge how the specific affordances of
place impact upon the walking body, guide it along
certain routes, disrupt and facilitate its progress, cajole it
into certain gaits and manoeuvres and in other ways
produce a particular rhythmic or arrhythmic beat.
In an urban context, and by way of providing a contrast
with over-deterministic and ethnocentric conceptions
about the sterility and smoothness of much urban space,
I have written about how the walking body must
continuously adapt to the contingencies, flows,
materialities and interruptions experienced while
walking down a street in a bazaar area of an Indian city
(Edensor 2000a). Here, the pedestrian must weave a
path, negotiating obstacles and maintaining an
awareness of traffic because of the not-only-linear
progress of numerous forms of transport, people and
animals that move along and cut across one’s path at a
variety of speeds. This arrhythmic walking is also
produced by the distractions and diversions offered by
heterogeneous activities and sights, the wealth of social
activities and scenes passed that cause the gaze to
continuously shift to take in what is happening to the
sides and in front. Middleton (2009) also highlights how
the different rhythms of the circadian cycle engender
particular walking practices and how particular rhythms
of walking engender ways of thinking, of reflecting which
enfold body, place and movement. I have also discussed
walking through a ruin where processes of continuous
decay produce an ever-changing materiality and space
(Edensor 2008). Walking here must be improvisational
because of the often-labyrinthine structure of such sites
whereby chance, intuition and whim guide progress.
Again, walking cannot follow a regular rhythmic gait
because of the variability of the surface underfoot, the
unevenness of the fixtures blocking a seamless path
73
which force high, small and extended steps, and the
necessity to accommodate that which may be dangerous
to walk upon. As with the bazaar, the walking body is
enlivened and challenged by a wealth of sights, smells,
sounds and tactilities that render walking arrhythmic
and staccato.
Though these may seem rather exotic examples, walking
is always liable to be disrupted by the qualities of space. I
have discussed how any ideal notion of walking – as
advocated by those who champion styles and techniques
of walking in the countryside – is always liable to be
thwarted (Edensor 2000b). The body is not a machine,
and hunger, blisters, sore muscles and numerous other
bodily interruptions impede advancement. Indeed, we
might consider the stages and successive rhythms of a
long walk where initial embarkation may feature
sprightly gait, later on succeeded by a more regular
‘getting into one’s rhythm’ and culminate in exhaustion,
sore feet and wobbly legs, inducing periods of rest before
doggedly plodding ahead to journey’s end. Moreover,
terrain forces the body to intermittently leap, climb, and
balance as streams and muddy patches are negotiated.
The different affordances of walking across rocky
ground, springy forest floor, marsh, heathery moorland,
long grass, smooth pasture, tarmac and autumnal leafy
carpets produce varied rhythms. Vergunst (2008) brings
out the necessarily improvisational character of walking.
Besides incorporating trips and slips, walking rhythms
accommodate the contingencies of the ground
underfoot, continuously becoming attuned to changing
gradients, surfaces and textures, whether this is a
habitual response, as with a familiarity with the slippery
winter conditions of Aberdeen’s granite pavements, or a
less commonplace engagement with the affordances of
an irregular ascent up a Scottish mountain. We must also
consider the different clothes and apparatus that walkers
utilise in their walking. The recent fashion for walking
poles produces a particular sonic and bodily rhythm at
variance to that where the hands swing by the side, as
does the kind of clothing worn – whether it is loose or
tight, the weight of backpack and the qualities of
footwear (see Michael’s (2000) account of walking
boots). Walking rhythms are, therefore, far from the
repetitious re-enactment of identical footsteps, but are
informed by a responsiveness that enables walking to
‘carry on’. They are part of a way of thinking and feeling
in a ‘world-in-formation’ that is both ‘rhythmically
resonant with the movements of others around us –
whose journeys we share and whose paths we cross – and
open-ended, having neither a point of origin nor final
destination’ (Ingold and Vergunst 2008, 2).
 74 T. Edensor
STYLES AND CULTURAL VALUES OF WALKING
Though embedded in the average human body’s physical
capacity to move about, and part of unreflexive praxis in
the world, walking is also an irreducibly social and
cultural practice that is learned, regulated, stylised,
communicative and productive of culturally oriented
experiences. Through walking, as Desmond argues,
social identities are ‘signalled, formed and negotiated
through bodily movement’ (1994, 34), through rhythms
and gestures which act as markers for gender, racial
ethnic, class, and subcultural allegiances. For example, as
the Bee Gees sing in Stayin’ Alive on the soundtrack to
the Hollywood movie Saturday Night Fever about Tony
Manero, the dance-obsessed main character, ‘Well you
can tell by the way I use my walk, I’m a woman’s man, no
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time for talk’. Indeed, walking is suffused with cultural
values, as Richard Sennett (1994) illustrates in his
discussion about how ancient Greek city-dwellers
interpreted styles of walking to identify character. An
erect, steady, purposive yet slow gait signified the high
status of the ‘well-bred’, whereas slouching connoted
inferiority and sexual passivity.
The cultural specificity of modes of walking is also
acknowledged by Lefebvre, who points out:
Old films show that our way of walking has
altered over the course of our century: once
jauntier, a rhythm that cannot be explained by
the capturing of images. (Lefebvre 2004, 38)
Csordas describes the body in the city as ‘primarily a
performing self of appearance, display and impression
management’ (1994, 2), and while this may be somewhat
hyperbolic, it foregrounds the performative dimensions
of walking. Here, we might consider the kinds of
rhythms embodied in certain kinds of urban walking, for
instance, noting the rhythmic distinctions between a
purposive stride to work and a meandering stroll
through a park, or a cocky teenage walk through a high
street and the deliberate plod of the police on the beat.
The more disciplined and inculcated forms of walking,
whether the coordinated march of the schoolchildren or
the parade ground drill of the soldier, are similarly
informed by values about what constitute appropriate
rhythms and styles of walking, with the chest out and
shoulders back advocated as the correct mode of the
walker’s bodily comportment in contradistinction to the
dissonant practices of loitering and dawdling, slower
walking rhythms open to suspicion.
These rhythms and styles of walking highlight the sheer
variety of modes of walking, that apparently ‘natural’
practice. A brief sojourn around the styles connoted by
verbs that distinguish modes of walking reveals these
rhythmic variations: footslogging, ambling, sauntering,
tip-toeing and marching in step. Wunderlich compares
‘purposive walking’ at constant rhythmical and rapid
pace with the more varied rhythm of spontaneous
‘discursive walking’, as well as with the ‘conceptual’,
critical walking mobilised by situationists and
psychogeographers (2007, 37-8). The contested
multiplicity of walking is not confined to the city. Kay
and Moxham maintain that ‘recreational walking is so
diverse and dynamic that it merits careful classification
of its many different forms’ (Kay and Moxham 1996,
174-5), broadly divided into two groups of walking
practices. They distinguish between ‘sauntering’,
‘ambling’, ‘strolling’, ‘plodding’, ‘promenading’,
‘wandering’ and ‘roaming’, modes that are non-
competitive and facilitate sociality and sociability,
and ‘marching’, ‘trail-walking’, ‘trekking’, ‘hiking’,
‘hill-walking’, ‘yomping’ and ‘peak-bagging’, more elite,
strenuous, competitive practices associated with the sport
of walking. As I have also discussed (Edensor 2000b),
division surrounds questions about walking in the
countryside concerning whether to walk alone or with
company, follow a particular trail or walk off path, walk
in coordinated fashion, at fast or slow speed, or what
kind of ground to cover, all questions which presuppose
the instantiation of particular walking rhythms. The way
we walk and move with others expresses our connection
to them. If the connection flows, you move together. If
not, walking with that person throws you off, quickly
making you feel out of sync, and uncomfortable.
Above I have outlined some of the rhythmic dimensions
of walking, highlighting stylistic conventions, contested
ideas and practices, the tensions between regulatory
rhythms and their transgression, and the production of
space through the mobile performance. I now develop
these ideas by looking at particular works by three artists
intimately concerned with walking.
RICHARD LONG’S TEXTWORKS: THE RHYTHMIC
FOLDING OF SPACE AND BODY
The interaction of body with environment, the
continuous folding-in of space and sensation, is well
captured in the work of Richard Long. I focus here on
what he calls his ‘textworks’. The notion of (walking)
rhythm as metronomic is further disavowed by Long as
he brings out Lefebvre’s contention that rhythm must be
understood as ‘an aspect of movement and a becoming’
(Lefebvre 1996, 230) and by his additional claim that
‘there is always something new and unforeseen that
 Walking in rhythms: place, regulation, style and the flow of experience
introduces itself into the repetitiveness: difference’
(Lefebvre 2004, 6). Indeed, Long claims that ‘despite the
many traditions of walking – the landscape walker, the
walking poet, the pilgrim – it is always possible to walk in
new ways’ (O’Hagan 2009). The temporality of the
journey is articulated by a pared-down selection of vivid
experiences – for to capture the totality of the flow of a
walk that lasts a day or much more is impossible. Above
all, Long locates the human walker as one element in a
seething landscape, a presence that moves from self-
consciousness and self-absorption to an awareness of the
presence of other energies and lives in which the rhythms
of the self flow with other rhythms during the journey.
Rachel Campbell-Johnson (2009), in a review of Long’s
2009 show at Tate Britain, argues:
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[Long] leads us on a voyage in which it is the
movement itself that makes sense. His solitary
human figure is like a calibrating mark on a vast
natural canvas. A mote caught up in that
fundamental flux between the formal and the
free, it helps to articulate relationships between
ourselves and wider universal forces. It
heightens our sense of attunement, speaking of
harmonies and rhythms.
Lefebvre asserts that ‘[there is] nothing inert in the
world’, which he exemplifies with a seemingly quiescent
garden that is suffused with the polyrhythms of ‘trees,
flowers, birds and insects’ (2004, 17) and the forest,
which ‘moves in innumerable ways: the combined
movements of the soil, the earth, the sun. Or the
movements of the molecules and atoms that compose it’
(2004, 20). These other rhythmic processes are ‘only
slow in relation to our time, to our body, the measure of
rhythms’ (ibid). In ‘Dartmoor Time’ (Long 1995), a
profound and beautiful piece, a testament to a 55-mile
autumnal walk over 24 hours, Long’s walking body is
accompanied and impacted upon by the sensual rhythms
of varied temporalities: the short sonic interruptions of a
bird, the weight of human history epitomised by ancient
relics, the phases of weather conditions, the physical
efforts to cross the rhythmic flow of a river, the residues
of past actions as evidence of one’s historical interaction
with place, the contrasting rhythms and temporal habits
of non-humans and the walking human body, the
shorter rhythms of the butterfly’s life, the geological
rhythms which dwarf the human lifespan and all of
human history, the anticipation of a future walk and the
history of Long as walking artist who continually devises
and enacts walks, and the circadian rhythm epitomised
by the eight hours of moonlight. These simple phrases
draw in the rhythms of moon, tides, winds, seasons,
birth and death, agricultural cycles, climate and weather
75
and the life cycles of plants and animals as part of the
swirling, rhythmic landscape.
Similarly, in ‘A Walk in a Green Forest’, Long (1997)
conjures a selection of some of the innumerable beats
experienced during eight days of walking in the
Shirakami Mountains of Aomori in Japan in 1997 in a
landscape that pulses with life and energy. He cites the
rhythms of weather, of the starry heavens, of the diurnal
cycle, of birds and other animals, of the walking and
resting body, rendered especially through sound as the
energies of life forms grow quiet and then erupt once
more in cacophony and repetition. A more physical
rhythmic interaction with landscape is best exemplified
by the stunning ‘One Hour: A Sixty Minute Walk on
Dartmoor’ (Long 1984) that highlights the flow of the
walking body and its interaction with, and experience of,
space. The walking body produces sounds (‘scrunch’,
‘squelch’) as it moves, slithers, becomes breathless,
jumps, lopes, twists and watches, sniffs and breathes.
Rhythm is produced by the active body as well as its
interaction with particular affordances of nature. These
internal and performative somatic rhythms are
interwoven with the sights, sounds and smells
encountered, the animals, plants, rocks, colours, light
effects, water, landforms, the composite of innumerable
elements that catch the attention, near and at a distance,
as the walk proceeds. Such a scenario, vibrating with life
and energy, demolishes any sense of a distanced,
romantic conception of the landscape, of any visual
imperialism. The lively, moving body beholds not some
passive, inert scene but a pulsing space. Thus walking –
as exemplified throughout Long’s textworks – is ideally
positioned to disavow objective, romantic notions of the
landscape as identifiable and bounded (Wylie 2006).
FRANCIS ALYS: BRINGING OUT THE RHYTHMS
OF PLACE
Francis Alys’s series of videotaped works, Railings,
feature the apparently mundane act of the artist walking
through London squares, parks and streets whilst
dragging a stick along the railings alongside the
pavements that he walks upon (for a selection of these
walks see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tC4-
op71sa4 and related YouTube videos). Yet the repetitive
and occasionally disjunctive sonic rhythms produced by
this act foreground a number of qualities connected to
walking in the urban environment.
First, Alys captures something of the character of place,
and indeed he is explicit in choosing this method to
evoke some of the distinctive qualities of London, saying
 76 T. Edensor
that this work uses ‘the sound of the railings and
represents the character of the place. That’s partly
because I can’t think of a city that’s got as many
railings as London does’ (Robecchi and Alys 2005). The
regency architecture, with its columns and railings,
constitutes visual rhythms brought to life through the act
of walking – the repetitions in the landscape that are
passed successively are turned into sonic rhythms,
revealing both architectural features and material
qualities – the hard metallic chime and clack of the
railings is sometimes followed by the duller stony chink
as stick makes contact with column: ‘the motion of the
walker creates a melody that records the architecture’
(Robecchi and Alys 2005). There are passages of even
rhythm testifying to the steady gate of the artist-walker
and the repetition in place, but also moments of
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fragmented sound as uneven features are passed, and
rhythmic shifts where different architectural
configurations produce different beats. This reveals the
multiple rhythms that arise as bodies move through
space, akin to the metronomic swish of the car speeding
down the highway produced as it passes evenly spaced
telegraph poles, and the kinds of urban interruptions
that divert and alarm walkers. The even clack of the
railings as Alys marches round Fitzroy Square is
accompanied by the recurrent, frantic chasing of a
pigeon by a small dog, and as he taps the railings of a
long row of regency houses, a car alarm erupts and
momentarily disrupts his constant beat.
Second, the railings, usually unreflexively apprehended,
are revealed as part of the apparatus through which space
in the capital is privatised, making a statement of
ownership and a barrier to the strangers who must keep
to their side of the fence. They thus testify to the
channelling and ordering of walking, debarring some
places from pedestrian access and instantiating specific
modes of dressage. Though Alys follows the prescribed
routes laid down by state and capital, he violates norms
about how walking should be performed by making a
racket, advertising his presence and possibly disturbing
the domestic and commercial businesses in adjacent
buildings. Though an adult, he also conjures up the less
self-conscious walking practices of children, who are apt
to engage more deeply with their surroundings –
collecting cobwebs in loops of privet stem, feeling under
ledges for chrysalises, tapping on gates and similarly
producing rhythms with sticks and railings –
consequently revealing how such practical dispositions
diminish in adulthood. Here, his walk seems to intrude
on propriety, disclosing the strictures that most walkers
internalise as dressage, and highlighting how rhythms
might be contested.
Finally, I have discussed how particular feet beat out a
sound on the surface walked upon, revealing qualities of
both body and place. Here Alys goes further by
extending the body beyond the feet – through using his
arms – to further highlight the rhythmic relationalities
between body, materiality and space. The metallic
qualities of the railing, the chime of their solidity, is
foregrounded not by the feet but by the gestures of the
arm, reminding us that walking involves the whole body,
not just the feet, as body becomes aligned with the
peculiarities of place.
JEREMY DELLER’S PROCESSION: MARCHING
TO A DIFFERENT BEAT
In July 2009, artist Jeremy Deller coordinated Procession
(2009) along a central Manchester street, Deansgate. The
objective, evocative of what Deller called ‘Northern
social surrealism’, was to create an event in which the
identity of Manchester was refracted through an
abundance of marginalised, pop-cultural, eccentric and
historical themes, performed by an array of walking and
mechanised participants. Whilst celebrating civic pride
and identity, the procession mobilised a more ad hoc
selection of contributors and a more expressive group of
carnivalesque performances than is usually apparent in
the more disciplinary (invented) modern traditions of
municipal culture, with their brass bands, religious
leaders, mayors and councillors, majorettes and
schoolchildren, occasionally augmented with a
sprinkling of costumed and carnivalesque participants.
This procession moved to a different, more variegated
beat than the quasi-military municipal parades that
linger in some British towns but are dying out in most
places. The prescriptive ritualised choreography and
sequencing of these events, with their exclusive
prioritising of only certain kinds of people and
specifiable forms of bodily conduct and comportment,
are akin to what Connerton (1989) terms ‘incorporating
rituals’ by which groups transmit particular reified
ideals, memories and identities of place.
In fact film extracts of these traditional pageants were
screened in the Cornerhouse exhibition related to
Procession, including the May Day parade of 1937 and
the Whit Friday walk of 1962, and these typified the
aforementioned array of dignitaries, Rotarians,
Women’s Institute members, brass bands, charities and
figures marching in step, although the Bury Carnival of
1976 featured a range of more overtly absurd costumed
characters and designed floats and was closest to
Procession in spirit. Procession contained more than
thirty groups or floats from a wealth of cultural
 Walking in rhythms: place, regulation, style and the flow of experience
backgrounds. Marginal groups included homeless
magazine Big Issue sellers, goths and drivers of
customised cars with enormous sound systems. More
mainstream groups included the Ramblers and mobile
libraries. Pop culture loomed large with the inclusion of
various participants: a brass band played melodies from
local band The Fall, a steel band covered songs by
renowned Mancunian bands The Buzzcocks and Joy
Division, the Sikh Shree Swaminarayan Gadi pipe band
from Bolton beat out traditional Scottish music, a group
of street musicians usually found on main shopping
thoroughfares featuring a West African kora played, and
a group of fans of the Happy Mondays carried a banner
with the words ‘You’re rendering that scaffolding
dangerous!’ from the song ‘Brain Dead’. Funereal
homage to Manchester’s past music scene was
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represented by a fleet of hearses bearing floral tributes to
legendary clubs, including the Hacienda and the Twisted
Wheel, and another ramshackle group mourned that
they missed the local group The World of Twist. These
musical elements provided a mixture of sonic rhythms
that supplemented the musical forms of the more
traditionally prescriptive marches whilst also paying a
respectful homage to these latter styles and the pleasures
of expressing civic pride. Other aspects of local history
were provided by a mini-musical celebrating the world’s
first fish and chip shop in Oldham (‘The Adoration of
the Chip’), a large float bearing the model of a cotton
mill (‘Last of the Industrial Revolution’) together with
some of its former workers, and a replica of the well-
patronised Valerie’s Café in Bury Market, together with
regular customers. More conventional participants
included a scout troop, an array of carnival queens, a
separate group of Rose Queens, and a group of primary
school children in fancy dress. Mascots representing the
region’s professional football clubs also larked about
along the street.
There was no overriding theme, there were no privileged
participants, and the rhythm of the procession, rather
than moving along according to a carefully timed, even-
paced progress, with most sections of the parade
proceeding in metronomic fashion, was far more ad hoc,
with the separate elements of the parade moving at
different paces. In addition, different participants moved
according to their own style and bodily dispositions. The
dressage apparent in many regular parades was absent
here, with more carnivalesque, expressive modes of
walking more informed by the spirit of Max Wall or
Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks than by the
dignified and disciplined gait performed in more
constrained parades.
77
Procession reveals the distinctions apparent within a
politics urban walking, referring back to the regulatory
processes which order bodies and urban space discussed
above, because the rhythms, styles and participants are at
variance with what we might expect to see in more
exclusive parades of civic pride. Well-known parades
such as the Notting Hill carnival and the Rio carnival
also contain transgressive elements that foreground the
sensual, the silly and the expressive. However, Don
Handelman (1997, 396) argues that, typically, even these
festivals have been ‘re-taxonomised, reorganised and
disciplined through bureaucratic logic’. In the case of the
world-famous Rio carnival, Handelman (1997, 401)
maintains that ‘rhythm, spontaneity and satire are being
controlled and constricted’ by bureaucratic power
through the forms of regulation that are imposed upon
the participating ‘samba schools’ in the climactic great
parade, in accordance with the political imperatives of
unity and order. Accordingly, themes chosen by dancers
must not be satirical or critical of national politics, and
marks are deducted by the judges if strict conventions of
time allotment and musical and disciplined rhythmic
performance are flouted. Seemingly, highly
synchronised, spectacular mass dances are replacing
improvisational and innovatory forms in an increasingly
controlled carnival, which is organised to provide a
spectacle for visual consumption as opposed to being an
occasion for physical experimentation and immersion.
In a similar vein, Peter Jackson discusses Toronto’s
Caribana Festival which, though it offers a temporary
escape into physical ‘abandonment’, has been
counterposed to ‘the dignified display of pageantry and
style’ (Jackson 1992, 139) wherein celebrations have
been marshalled and watered down into a respectable
expression along a set parade route. Procession, by
including certain conventional elements of civic parades,
places the event in a historical context and acknowledges
and respects previous forms of pageantry, whilst
simultaneously offering a critique to their disciplinary
orthodoxies, with their imposition of strict routines,
rhythms and regulation and their exclusionary ordering.
CONCLUSION
In this article I have drawn attention to the multiple,
contested and contextual rhythms produced through
walking. I have highlighted how rhythm is an identifiable
though dynamic characteristic of place and how walking
is part of the concatenation of rhythms through which
place is (re)produced. This is engendered by habitual
interaction with regular spaces, nodes and paths but can
also be extended to consider how walking, like other
 78 T. Edensor
mobile practices, produces a stretched-out sense of
place. I have also focused upon the regulatory strategies
through which walking is disciplined by what Lefebvre
calls ‘dressage’, as well as the material and organisational
production of space and the stylisation that may
straitjacket walking practices but also express collective
identities. I have also, however, suggested that walking
offers a particular tactical approach through which such
disciplinary practices might be transgressed and
subverted, primarily because of the peculiar flow
through which expected and unexpected events,
self-awareness and awareness of surroundings, and
sensual and mental processes become mixed. By drawing
upon the work of three walking artists, I have been able
to explore these dimensions of walking rhythms more
fully and highlight the nuanced and complex ways in
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which the rhythm and flow of walking folds body, self,
other humans and non-humans, time-space and place
together.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
Thanks to Kim Kothari.
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