Wet Wednesday

7.01 am ( sat slumped on the sofa)

I am confused. Ever feel overwhelmed by what work there is to do? I have made a massive project M(other) Stories, it is full to the brim of words  and thoughts and ideas and images. A proliferation of images. So how do I tackle that, how do I develop it, what do I do with this container?  Does it become a kilner jar on a kitchen shelf, gathering dust and filled with a grain or a cereal that hardly gets used. We have loads of lentils in jars that sit worthy but uneaten.

Syd is just out the shower, I heard his heavy steps come down the stairs then back up. I have polished his shoes and his brothers. There was love in my shine. Its still dark outside, wet and miserable. This time of year is about hibernating and escaping into the imagination as the reality of the damp is depressing.


I am going to spend a day reading from my M(other) Stories. Come and listen if you want it will be on Sunday 6th December 11am-4pm, The Linden Art Studio, Linden Mill, Hebden Bridge. I thought that would be a start in thinking about what to do next. I would get the opinion of others. I need some feedback. I need some listeners and responders. Art needs an audience.

I still haven’t read To the lighthouse, or done something with that pram. I keep thinking of the scene from the Suffragettes movie of the pram full of stones that were used to smash windows on Oxford Street in London. I keep thinking of the scene in Battleship Potemkin where the pram with the baby in it is launched down the steep steps. I keep thinking of pushing an empty pram full of potatoes up the buttress road towards Sylvia and her grave in Heptonstall.

I keep making magical pilgrimages with my pram.

With my pram we walk through the streets of Berlin, we walk from east to west, past the remnants of the wall. With my pram I walk to Jerusalem and the wailing wall and my baby and me push a rolled up piece of paper containing our prayers and wishes in a crevice . With my pram I walk the Great Wall of China and contemplate how small me and my baby are and how big nature is. Yet how amazing mankind is and that the wall can be seen from space.

With my pram I get onto a boat and we travel into the congo and the Heart of Darkness. With my pram I walk the entire boggy length of the Pennine Way calling into pubs on the way and drinking ale. With my pram I walk across the Brooklyn Bridge and I see all the sites of New York and push around the helter skelter of the Guggenheim museum. With my pram I walk the streets of Kings Cross in London and trace the steps that I made with Syd when I lived there. My pram takes me to all the places that I have been and want to go.

Me, my pram and my imaginary new born baby.

The baby is my daughter. My imaginary daughter. Who is my imaginary daughter? I will concur her up. She is strong. She can climb trees and sew and kick a ball and draw neat lines with coloured felt tips. She can cuddle you close and she can  get very frustrated and bad tempered and shout at you. She pushes her feet inside my shoes. She is fascinated with my lipstick and green eye shadow. She wheres a dress and crazy coloured patterned tights and twirls around and around like a dervish. She pushes small blue flowers into dirty brown mud pies. She breaks off branches from a willow tree and carves a bow and arrow with a pen knife. She makes a fire and toasts fallen walnuts on it. She races newts across the surface of a water trough. She swims through deep water. She tumbles a somersault in the air and balances on a beam. She swings from a tyre on a branch.

Its time I made sure that Syd was coming down stairs in his uniform, he has been an age upstairs and sandwiches need to be made and breakfast eaten.

Today will be another studio day, I have decided to escape into my imagination this week and pretend that I don’t need to panic and look for a job and that the world is all just fine………..




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