I am currently getting ready for [drum roll] my first solo exhibition, and this is the boxed and unboxed chaos in the room that I work in. I am installing the work next weekend in The Front Room at the Anteros Art Foundation on Fye Bridge Street, Norwich.
We are having a public, Private View on 20th February starting at 7pm, and from 8pm there will be poetry readings from George Szirtes and myself, new prose from Ian Nettleton and music from Paul Finlay of Das Fenster and the Alibis, and Girl du Bois. The exhibition will run till 7th March, and as it’s right in the window it might be hard to avoid if you are walking past!
I was delighted when Flik Hemmant who is the new Director of Anteros invited me to exhibit there. I may start calling myself an ‘artist’ very soon. I’ve only just tentatively started calling myself a ‘poet.’ I like Gwyneth Lewis’s quote: ‘In England, if you say you’re a poet, it’s as if you have a personal hygiene problem.’ But mostly, I think it’s because where I come from, it’s like giving yourself airs and graces. But I do write poems, so I must be a poet. If I call myself an ‘assemblage artist’ this takes the pressure off the second word and leaves me with something I can maybe live with.
I’ve just begun to work on a collaborative Tarot project with the wonderful artist Tom de Freston. Like me, Tom has always loved the archetypes and the symbolism of the Tarot and we decided to work together on a pack. We are not entirely certain of the outcome of the project but I am very much looking forward to the journey. This is a (pretty amazing!) first draft of my Moon poem. I’m still going to be making my own collages and assemblages for the poems, but this particular pack might grow a lot faster with both of us working on it!
I’ve been busy honest! Here is one of my latest Tarot poems. This one is The Star and as you’ll see I am branching out into the three dimensional…
The plan is to make a whole pack of collage poems based on Tarot cards. This is as far as I have got with the collage part, though I have written twelve poems. I thought it was time to bring the visual art and the poem writing aspects of my practice together and it will give me something to work on project-wise now Bluebeard is (hopefully!) roaming the bookshelves.
The idea is still very much on the cutting mat as this picture demonstrates. The scalpel to the left is the one I bought when I began my Foundation Art and Design course when I was 19. I’ve changed the blade more than a few times of course, as needs must.
I haven’t been told officially yet, but it’s been in the Eastern Daily Press, and shared about on Twitter and Facebook, that Waiting for Bluebeard has been shortlisted for the East Anglian Book Award this year, along with Rebecca Goss (Her Birth) and George Szirtes (Bad Machine), so it must be true. I am of course extremely pleased to be in such company! I don’t expect to win, but I’ve never been on any kind of shortlist before, so to say ‘I already feel like a winner’, while reaching for the schmalz-cliche-sick-bucket, is an actual state of fact.
Because Bluebeard is such a personal book, I was taking quite a risk (as risky as you can get with poetry!) by putting it out into the world: Here is my life: please be kind. So far, I have had some wonderful online reviews, and there are some paper ones coming up too. People have emailed me and facebooked me and tweeted me with lovely comments and lots of women have come to me with their own Bluebeard stories and I feel so blessed that the book has not gone unnoticed. The word ‘blessed’ here, has me reaching for my aforementioned bucket. I do not use that word in everyday parlance, but somehow it’s what I arrived upon here.
(Dear reader, if you have just happened on this site and don’t have a Scooby Doo what I’m talking about when I say the book is so personal, follow this link to something I wrote about the writing of Waiting for Bluebeard for Michelle McGrane’s Peony Moon)
Back to my thread, if I had one…oh yes, I was getting all gushy…So, to conclude: I am enormously pleased that the book has been recognized in the world of prizes. It took twenty years to make and five years to write. More than half my life. It’s probably the best book I will ever write. *looks wistfully into the middle-distance*. Coffee time!
I said I was going to write something every week, and this has turned into a ‘what I did on my holidays’ type post. It’s what I found myself writing, so here goes.
In an attempt to catch the last light of summer, we borrowed a friend’s caravan for a couple of days on the north Norfolk coast. It’s one of those deals where the caravan lives on the site all year, and the owner tows it to plot when you want to use it and hooks you up to electricity if electricity is your thing. We decided to forego electricity and be closer to nature. Apparently electricity doesn’t go as far as the sea. We noticed on the way in to the site, there were a Crazy Golf course and a field of show-jumping hurdles.
There were a few dogs on the site, not any old dogs – pedigree creatures with a sharp intelligence about their eyes. Their humans had set up little fences around their vans, and more and more, the site resembled a dog compound. The thing about intelligent, beautiful dogs is that their audible mode of communication is barking, and to the untrained human ear this can sound the same as the mutterings of a lower-minded canine. Caravans are not known for their high levels of soundproofing and barking – barking growing by the hour as more and more dogs arrived – is not kept at bay by plywood and glass fibre alone, we found out.
By the second day we seemed to be the only unaccompanied humans on the site and it had transpired the previous evening that there was going to be a Dog Agility Competition on the site over the coming weekend. Suddenly the penny dropped with coppery clarity – the hurdles for ponies were in fact hurdles for dogs. The formation of these hurdles had altered into more complex diagrams since our arrival – presumably the early-bird dogs were being put through their paces in preparation for the trials ahead.
The barking didn’t travel over the dunes so we took a few beers to the sea, which was bigger than usual. I’d cut up some lime to go in the fancy beer as we sat drinking and gazing out at the horizon, we were joined by three very friendly Border Collies and their proud owner who told us of their rosettes and triumphs. The dogs showed no respect for my neatly sliced lime sections, which were now very just soggy sand-clumped somethings. The owner appeared not to notice how his trio had laid waste to our idyll, as he cheerily waved goodbye and they marauded off.
We packed up a day earlier than we intended deciding if you can’t beat them, run away. The week was rounded off in a more rock ‘n’ roll way by witnessing a friend jump, fully clothed into a swimming pool at a house party. I’ve since written two new tarot poems, none with barking in per se but the sea and immersion figure in both. I have also just looked up the term ‘Dog Days’ and should have liked to have woven it into this somewhere more neatly, but have instead tacked it on the end because I need to make a potato, tomato and tamarind curry.
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