Andi ran a really friendly and poignant workshop at Trevoole, we spent time exploring and finding a location and object that resonated –
The long gone grandma
She climbs the stairs, ‘at the first turning of the second stair she turned and saw below’ a quiet room, dust motes playing in the still air, she holds her breath and then continues on.
In the bedroom she sits on the bed stroking the rolled feather eiderdown, soft under her touch, recalling the long gone grandma – “Hush, hush whisper who dares Christopher Robin is saying his prayers”. Her eyes come to rest on the bookshelf; she rises, moves across – a flicker of recognition. The terrier, lead in mouth stares back, as Christopher Robin strolls on deep in thought beside him. She reaches for the book a whoosh of early childhood delight and playful silliness tumbles off the shelf – “Hello Mr Twiddle!”
She gently opens the cover is delighted to find an act of childish transgression, an orange path leading on….she turns the page and finds another, ‘the qunne singing’, and then the next a many-ringed hand. She lays her own bejewelled hand over the drawing and two disparate lives divided by time float and hover. A portal back into the past; her past, an unknown child’s past who needed to draw and colour and leave her mark on a favourite story, unaware that a different retelling could happen through time to this first day of Spring – an unfolding, an opening.
And she sings the tune that has been playing in her mind….”This long gone grandma would put it in a bag labeled pieces of string to small to use…and what’s left is pieces of strings to small to use”
Eliot,TS, 1945, Ash Wednesday, Four Quartets, Faber and Faber, London
Milne, AA, 1923,Vespers, Vanity Fair, London
Diane A, song Pieces of string