Feeling in need of space, sea air and the ritual of a morning coffee I head to the cafe at Shoreham-on-Sea Airport.

To me an airport is a unique kind of space; at once exciting and nomadic and yet static and unchanging; and this is an old, municipal airport. Tucked away, this listed art deco building straddles a busy four-lane bypass, the rural hills of the South Downs and the blistering sea coasts. There’s not much about; a neo-gothic public school here and the odd shopping centre there. Sea birds shriek and wheel overhead. It could be in a desolate film noir, and I, the blousy heroine.

We sit in a long 1930s terminal building, and the artist in me relishes the Bauhaus architecture; all rounded corners with a dome, modernist clock and a small curved balcony out in the foyer; it feels solid and purposeful. I always think it would be a very good place for a party on a summer’s evening.

On the café walls, peeling posters advertising flying lessons are the only links to consumer modernity. The food here may not be award-winning but the atmosphere is more than alive! You can sit at the large viewing windows and watch the to-ings and fro-ings on the airfield. The planes are small and old and new; a spitfire languishes by a helicopter and handsome pilots amble up to the café in full aviation gear like Hollywood heroes, imbuing a sense of far away, exotic destinations.

Text supplied by visual artist, Lucy Newman

Image courtesy of Vintage Owl Boutique and howzy on Flickr