An interview with Chester Hubble, instigator of the “Heavy‑Metal, pan‑city, blindfolded perambulations” form of fine art. ****DO NOT IMITATE CHESTER****
Interviewer (I): Chester, thanks for speaking with us. Your current project—walking blindfolded across cities while listening to heavy‑metal podcasts—sounds intense. What draws you to this?
Chester Hubble (CH): Hi, it’s good to be here. I’m fascinated by tension: the clash between freedom and control, the vulnerability of being unsighted in urban environments, and the adrenaline rush of danger—like crossing busy roads blindfolded . The heavy‑metal soundtrack amplifies the emotional rollercoaster.
I: You record the things you “walk into” during these perambulations. Could you explain that process?
CH: At the end of each day I transcribe everything I’ve accidentally walked into—poles, bins, people, dogs, telephone boxes, etc—onto canvas. If I’m injured—say, knocked over by a super‑car on Park Lane, which has happened eleven times—I restart that day’s walk after recovery, so I capture a full consistent record.
I: Wow—knocked over eleven times on one street? How do you manage that risk?
CH: It’s part of my fine art practice. Risk is integral. I used to do free-running, but it needed that extra addition of blindfoldedness. I ensure I can recover and record. If I’m hospitalised, that day’s walk is nullified and retried once I heal.
I: You’re taking these walks across London. What’s your diary like during the project?
CH: Not just London, any city that catches my fancy. Each morning I wake with a strong urge to “feel the city.” I then walk—usually blindfolded—for hours, guided by instinct, heavy‑metal energy, and urban sounds. My diary is sporadic—sometimes a philosophical note before departure, sometimes a simple list after.
I: Are your installations solely the canvases with transcriptions, or does the walk itself function as a performance?
CH: It’s both. The live, unsighted walk through city traffic is the performance. The canvas becomes its physical residue—objectifying all the collisions and near‑misses into something to study and experience vicariously.
I: You mentioned walking on stilts in Camden while blindfolded. What kinds of rituals or props do you use during your walks?
CH: One idea is blindfolded stilts, halfway between absurdity and spectacle. I even hired someone to shout “HE’S NOT MAD, HE’S MAKING ART” at people who get too close.
I: That’s theatrical! What happens if someone intervenes while you’re blind?
CH: Interventions become part of the performance. Someone tries to help, I record that too. The city reacts to my vulnerability—it’s all material.
I: What does your next walk look like?
CH: Tomorrow I’ll be in Southend on Sea. Still blindfolded, maybe on stilts. I’m testing my limits, and the local drivers’ tolerance, again.
I: Finally, what do you hope people take away from your project?
CH: To feel the tension of trust—trusting yourself, the city, and the random. And to see art in hazard: the danger we walk through daily, often unthinking.
I: Thank you, Chester. Best of luck on your next escapade.
CH: Thanks.
