Not long now …
In a couple of weeks, I will be Artist in Residence with Matt Hulse, a fellow filmmaker in Reading Museum. I am returning to continue filming my dolls who will be celebrating May Day.
I began making and filming my dolls a few years back when researching for my MA in textiles as a project for my professional practice. It was surprisingly successful, and I am now recognised as a Stop Motion Animator and Costume Designer. That is not to say my other creative skills are no longer required on the contrary my needle work, drawing skills and storytelling have developed and feed into my filmmaking and relative merchandise.
I am taking all my dolls to the museum so they will form an exhibition while I film with a select 20 or so. They will be characters who will enact short episodes that illustrate a story of May Day festivities as they may have happened in the mid to late 19th century.
I will post daily so please drop by.
The important things of life …
In a few weeks I take up residency in the Turbine House at Reading Museum. I have done it before and well aware that while it is a beautiful building it is not the ideal place to exhibit and work, as it is without any mod cons, so preparing for every eventuality is a good idea but not feasible. So, I have to do the best I can. My studio space at home has all bases covered as a textile artist, print maker, illustrator, and sound maker. I am reluctant to call myself a musician as it suggests the sounds I make with my piano and ukulele is music. I usually make my films in a studio in town as it is better equipped. Nonetheless, the tools I need to be an artist or at least create the work I enjoy is huge and to transport it on public transport or on Shank’s pony is no mean feat.
I have over 100 dolls all needing staging even the most basic structure needs to be several metres long, with legs and stable. They will need to be in perfect repair, so a sewing box is vital. I will not be writing or making books but writing and drawing equipment is required for storyboards etc. The aforementioned film equipment is vast and substantial transportation is a concern. I will also need a sales table I am not good at marketing, but it seems that fund raising for the expense of this exercise alone is huge and can no longer be overlooked. So, while I agonise over the list of things to be done … I rest assured that my dependency on tea will be catered for fully.
Artist in Residence …
In a few weeks I will take up ‘residency’ in the Riverside Museum at Blakes Lock in Reading. Not actually living in but spending all my waking hours for one week only, in the Turbine House as an ‘Artist in Residence’
Although, I have been preparing for this for many weeks the task has been on my mind since last summer when I previously enjoyed the opportunity to work in such beautiful public space.
Then I began a journey with my dolls that has become a joyous obsession.
I took 12 dolls in costume who were to become characters in a story that was set in a community beside the Kennet and Avon Canal a little way from its junction with the Thames. The stop motion animated film made in tiny sequences tells the story of a family and their friends as they prepare for a picnic. I was joined by a local film maker and producer of note who also filmed the preparation with the intention to join our works into a ‘proper film’ to celebrate the rich culture of Blakes Lock.
Due to time constraints the film wasn’t completed.
However, the interim time has been fruitful. I have self-published some booklets that explain and complement the proposed film. As we consider the next stage conveniently in early May, the emphasis will be on previous May Day celebrations. Perhaps 150 years ago when the industrial revolution had bought much change to rural life and that of my imagined Shepherd family. Changes that were not conducive to a community who could see their age-old skills and traditions eroded and forgotten.
Of course, there was much to celebrate many people enjoyed better working conditions and a regular income. However, others were less satisfied. On May Day while some encircled the May Pole and celebrated on coming spring and furtivity others were waving banners for improved workers’ rights, equal opportunities, and votes for women.
I am not sure how my Coat Hanger Dolls will cope with such a convoluted situation … they are just dolls who can dance a bit!
Better late than never …
There has been a hiatus on the blog posting front lately. For which I could name number of likely causes. Perhaps, my mental health, however with the best will in the world there are only so many blogs I can post that feature my ups and downs and wavering in between and since ‘medication’ the fluctuations have been less interesting!
Then I could suggest that my Jury Service was the culprit (the pun was very much intended) Very soon after I got the demand to attend, I went into overdrive much as I did when I was expecting the a visit from the in-laws. I cleaned the house and completed all outstanding tasks, so that I could devote my time and mind fully to the judgement of the defendant.
Which was going to be difficult for me, as I my criminals need to look the part, with a swag bag and a handy crowbar. Before me stood a fresh-faced young man, who had not harmed anyone physically but had done much damage with the misuse of a computer. What become apparent was a web of technical jargon that was pretty much like listening to a foreign language, fortunately we were provided with a glossary and an iPad so we could keep with the proceedings, but the case was complex.
Nonetheless all this doesn’t explain my lack of interaction on the ‘socials’ and otherwise.
During lulls in my public duty and other events I have been thinking of ways to engage more fully and promote my work, particularly my films. Professional production and corporate intervention seems possible but the former needs money and the latter, along with talent much luck.
While I enjoy me outsiderness and non-reliance on aforementioned professionals I still have to reconsider ways to promote my work that doesn’t cost the earth.
I have made enquires and even bought iPad that I might use at local events to show my films. While the screen wasn’t huge it was bigger than my phone. Sadly, it didn’t have the technical capacity to do what I needed, so, it had to be returned to the supplier.
So now I am back to square one taking the dolls, books, and relative merchandise to events, while the films just hang out on YouTube and blabbing on socials which raises a titter I suppose.
Joking aside, with mental and physical health stable I am perfectly able to create and promote (somewhat) and spring is on its way … with a fair wind lets see what happens.
Visible Mending and the Scrap Man
As a child I learned much about life, academically and practically at school but mostly at home. The methods used to expound that knowledge was not always kind and or comfortable. I could dwell on lasting effect of lack of kindness and the overuse of discipline, but today I will focus on the entrenched value of making do and mending.
My mum had an old and reliable Singer Sewing machine. That had been acquired in the 1950s from a scrap yard in Southampton.
My father was a frequent ‘customer’ to the Scrap Yard which was a vestige of the old days before household waste was collected from our front gates by the Corporation Dustmen. Scrap men or Rag and bone men would trawl the streets with a horse and cart calling for villagers and townspeople to bring out rubbish and unwanted belongings. He would take the items back to his yard to be sorted and sold on to dealers. We lived by the river beyond the realms of rubbish collection, but my father would take his scrap in a bag on the bus to sell to the scrap man. My dad was a boat builder and also salvaged sunken vessels to rebuild or sell for scrap. I also was able to help in the meagre money-making exercise while I was searching for driftwood for the fire and I learned about the different metals and their value, racking out the remains of the fire was a good way to find portable nuggets.
My mum was delighted with her sewing machine when my dad returned from one such visit, on another occasion, he came home with camera which my mum put to good use when she was able to develop and print her photographs that documented river life for many years to come.
However, I digress I was, beside gathering firewood, making do and mending. Undertaking such tasks as turning cuffs and collars, lengthening and shortening dresses and trousers, turning bed sheets side to middle, sewing on buttons and there was much darning. While my mother’s workmanship was neat and tidy and often invisible mine was less so. However, I did improve and continued to ‘enjoy’ prolonging the life of clothes and household items overlooking the cruel methods and learning the necessity of making ends meet. Sometimes forgetting that mother also taught me fine needlework and embroidery so lately I am inclined to be grateful for that … especially as there seems to be a revival and a need for us to consider the way in which we fill our wardrobes and decorate our homes. The world’s natural resources are at risk and the production of non-natural fibre is becoming increasingly harmful to the world and its atmosphere.
I think my mum would approve of my first attempts at visible mending it gave me much pleasure after a recent infestation of moths! There is still remaining holes I see …
Can I Rock ?
About 18 months ago I began to teach myself to play the ukulele which proved to be more difficult than I thought. So, I found a teacher. Although the lessons and subsequent practice was no less arduous, having a kind and supportive teacher is giving me hope. About the same time, I decided to return to piano lessons. Years ago, I did begin to learn to read music and play the piano but like my learning experiences over the course of my life it was not pleasant and therefore short lived.
I am often asked, and I ask myself ‘why? ‘I want to undertake a new learning experience so late in life. The reply is often brief, and subject changed.
However, I need to address this once and for all. I love music, to sing and dance. As a child l listened to the radio on the Light Programme, Junior Choice, Worker’s Play Time, Family Favourites, Sing Something Simple with the Cliff Adam Singers etc. I loved to listen to the Top Twenty on Radio Luxembourg late at night and write down the names of the records. Hoping one day that I could buy them or listen more fully. I did not have record player (or electricity), but my best friend had a Dansette record player and a growing collection of records to which we sang and danced to Neil Sedaka, Pat Boone, Frankie Vaughan and Alma Cogan etc. Later another friend had 2 older sisters and a huge record collection that included some by the Beatles and Rolling Stones, which was a bit controversial, as I was neither a Beatles nor Rollings Stones fan but it seemed then you had to choose your favourite.
By this time living in a house (not on a houseboat without mod cons), with electricity, a radiogram and TV and a paper round I was in a position to attend art class every Saturday morning in Southampton at the Art College. Furthermore, seek out coffee shops with a juke box and buy my own records in W H Smiths. Providing of course I was able to return home, get on my bike and deliver the Evening Echo and the football results! My choice then was Bob Dylan, Troggs, Them, Small Faces, Manfred Mann and the Animals.
When I left home on 1967 to live in Southampton, my work mates and I listened to the very first track on Radio 1, presented by Tony Blackburn, Flowers in the Rain by the Move. The music we heard from that day was the backdrop, alongside the current fashion, of daily life. From here I was able to go to see bands at the Pier and Top Rank such as the Small Faces, Herman’s Hermits and Spencer Davis Group. Coffee bars too, not so many with juke boxes but now I was able to go to Discos and dance to Tamla Motown, Soul, Ska, Blue Beat and Rhythm and Blues and a friend played Folk music on my wedding day December 1970.
I like all music there has never been a preference as long as it tuneful and has a story. I have grown with a melody in my soul even though the world around me is pretty horrible, I am enchanted by a good song.
I even believed I could sing tunefully or not, with my friends or alone. At school singing was a big part of the scholarship in assembly or at singing classes and I even enjoyed being the local church choir. However, developing that further was out of the question if one did not have an influential parent or musical background. General education in the 1950 and 1960s was not kind so I did not pursue my singing ‘career’. Until much later when I considered joining a local church choir when musical knowledge was required along with an outgoing gusto none of which I could claim to. I was turned away again.
So, here I am suffering the effects of a traumatic early childhood and education, still finding solace in music mostly on BBC Radio 6 and a vast collection of records and some local live events, this may be all I need for the rest of my life. However, there is something missing, something I ached for nearly 70 years ago, to sing, dance and frolic to a tune with no one looking, no one criticising casting doubt and forbiddance. I have established a visual creative world about me, now I want to rock.
Around the corner …
This work by Sally Castle is in a frame on the wall at the top of my stairs and a constant reminder that life is in a state of flux and we never know what or who is round the corner …
In my many years of mental illness, this recent malady bore no surprises. In this time, I have learned that alongside adequate and well administered prescribed medication, placebos do have an effect some more than others. Sometimes a doctor merely saying ‘I understand here is a prescription’ brings a glimmer of hope. Words or a kind implication can go a long way to soothe a trouble mind, clearly this not always true, long lasting or a cure. I am talking about mental ill health and from one who knows, a wrong word, whether kind or not, at the wrong time can have an adverse effect on a person in a heightened anxious place. This latest phase of 6 months I have been down to dark places where life was not worth living. Restraint from self-harm and medication was required I was reluctant and angry and there were ugly scenes in the doctors waiting room, and pharmacy. I was warned two or three times about my inappropriate behaviour. There was no chance that I would listen to kind words or good advice. I was not prepared to wait in line for a long-awaited appointment or understand that the wrong medication would be corrected. I was a 6 year old self-centred girl stamping her feet and spouting profanity, that is not a pretty sight.
Being in a position to look back to this now after a few weeks of medication and a recent assessment and a promise of some further consultation and with an element of humour I think I am out of this black hole and somewhat strengthened. Not cured that will not happen I am a perfectly sensible woman of age but from time to time that abused, neglected, and lonely 6-year-old girl puts her hand up and asks for some kind attention if I ignore her then there will be tears before bed time.
Be careful what you pray for …
I have had a very busy summer, particularly when I took my studio from home and Jelly Reading to reside in the Turbine House at Blakes Lock in the town centre. I had been planning it for many months understanding that a residency means … just that. I had to up every stick of my practice and take it to a redundant Turbine House, on the edge of and extending over a furious weir on the Kennet and Avon Canal. Here I lived and worked from 10am ‘til 6pm for 7 days. There was no plumbing or living accommodation, so I went home each night. It was a most extraordinary experience and beyond explanation. I hope the results of which will be revealed next spring when I return. As I said, I was prepared with 13 characters and the bones of a story, but I wasn’t confident that my skills would portray them fully. The story was far too bony and my skills negligible. In my trepidation I gazed into the seemingly purposeful waves of the weir and prayed …
The Turbine House is a museum and open to the public and popular with sightseers especially during the school holidays. So, while I pleaded for inspiration, I got visitors, not exactly what I needed but they proved to be my saving grace. Especially ‘the man with a camera’ about whom I will talk more fully later, he, like the interested visitors kindly prodded and poked exposing my raw unknowingness. Providing vital questions that while I was able to answer immediately (because I was somewhat prepared) but more importantly I was able to address them more fully later and since, when time and space allowed. I was able to imagine and write more complex stories for my flawed yet well intentioned dolls, or superheroes as they had become in my stories and little films in their home beside the canal where it mets the Thames.
Being an artist-in-residence …
Next week I take up an artist’s residency for a week in the Turbine Room, at Blakes Lock. A very challenging opportunity in more ways than one. Being an artist is one thing. Transporting my studio from home and my space at The Jelly at first looks straight forward but may be tortuous as regards its volume and transport across town. I am organised so hope I won’t forget the vital mechanics or items of structure. The dolls are ready to go but the other materials I require are another kettle of fish. I will be in situ from 10 until 6, for 7 days that requires a lot of useful equipment to fill the time between visitors and filmmaking and is proving a logistical nightmare. It is the ‘residency’ bit and my personal requirements is bag of worms … a poor metaphor. I will be going home at 6 o’clock but I function best with regular meals and while I am sure the Bel and Dragon nearby has a menu of delights it will be expensive and not compatible with my particular diet. Liquid refreshment is important too, but I only drink Chinese tea until gin o’clock and that needs careful brewing. So, each day I will be bring a hamper of goodies to sustain me fully until a gin and tonic at home time.
Meanwhile, due a medical condition, visits to WC are frequent and not always planned and often urgent. Therefore, being out of my comfort zone takes on another meaning and requires decisive action. Transporting all home facilities is not an option, nonetheless after years of experience of this malady, I have learned to cope.
On a lighter note … there is my apparel, I won’t be dragging my wardrobe on the bus that won’t be required. However, those who know me will understand, even with all the previous mentioned constraints, my outfits including hats and shoes with have to ready for all weather and all eventualities and considered as carefully as those for my dolls.
So while being an artist-in-residence seemed and remains a good idea there is so much more to think about …
… new beginning …
Yesterday I received my books, from the publisher who had very recently received them from the printer, bound and beautifully presented. This delightful event, shared with friends, marked the end of 6 month long and steep curve of drawing, poem writing and learning to design a book. However, that joy, pales into insignificance when I consider the lifetime’s experience enveloped in this little wire bound booklet so it marks the beginning and not the end ….
Coat Hanger Doll's House 