In an unmanageable world, canals are contained - a stretch of water just a few yards across, a narrow, manageable strip of accessible earth on either side - but the boundaryless sky above and its reflection in the water ensure that they never feel enclosed or limiting. They have a gentle, complex aesthetic with oft-repeated features, characteristic constructions and vegetation, constantly varying with the light - a light that is always muted and subtle. They have a history that's intricate, defined and melancholy: labour, industry, transport, deindustrialisation, decay. They've emerged into a present that's a kind of a low-key happy ending - cleaned and rehabilitated to a basic level for bourgeois leisure boats and bohemian houseboats, for walkers and cyclists on the towpaths and for dwellers - mostly young and transient - in fashionable waterside apartments. I'd like to go, one day, and walk the length of a canal with my camera, then turn and walk it back with all the views reversed. In the meantime, a few more photos from Leeds.