Inside, Outside

Off I go, keen detective that I am, hunting out my examples of the language practices that form my urban environment, when a set of orderly signage catches my eye.

Interesting! Standard-sized postcard shapes laid out in columns and rows, bordered by a set of window frames the window glass in a mix of frosted and clear panes; the cards are placed deliberately and carefully in an intentional grid. Here are signs facing the street as if laid out in a grand public magazine, each window a double-page spread.

And as I walk closer to see what these inviting pieces of paper hold, I see, on them, there's absolutely nothing. Cards and cards of no text, no graphics, no pictures, no instructions, no injunctions, no prohibitions and no multilingual intrigue. Nothing at all.

Because, of course, I'm standing on the wrong side. I'm the outsider, looking in. These are the windows of the Christian Foundation, a charity established in 1985 by local churches to work across faiths in the community: 'The intention of those from the Christian Community is not to proselytise but to work in ways that express our belief in a God who is passionately concerned for all life and particularly for the communities within which we all live'.

What's the message to me, identified by my street ways, as the outsider to this window-framed signage, the messages, pictures, text and information reserved for those on the inside?

But there, to the right of the door, on the hinge side, is the signage for me, street passer-by, casual looker, tidily kept to one side of the entrance.

If I want to see what signs are written on the other side, for the insiders, we know what I have to do.