Stories from anyone’s mind

The cold was stifling my ability to think, to wake, or to dream. I lay there, wrapped in a cocoon of duvets and blankets- I had all the necessary luxuries in life that one could need for comfort and survival. One of the lucky ones, out of the world, as a whole.

But still, I lay there, shimmering in my own unblanchable flesh, feeling chilled through to the bone. Cold was something i’d gotten used to then, a constant state in which I had to endure or forget. Functioning like a ghost, you crack on.

I remember a point: walking back from one place in town to another, with an old friend. We were talking, I think the conversation was trivial and non too demanding, but interesting. Enough for me to mentally curse the hands of mine, which had gone beyond numb, to physically exhausting in their ice. They were distracting me from the conversation, which was a low moment for me, because it was the first undeniable evidence, that at functioning, I was failing. Failing to even hold a conversation, trapped by the price i’d had to pay for commanding and distorting my own body.

I’d become too emotionally attached to the artwork I was trying to create. The point at which the artist becomes the victim of their own insatiable will to manipulate imagery and colour, in order to spill out of themselves, a never ending flow of constant change, and perceives it as ‘progress’. There comes a point, at which every painter has to make the decision that the final piece is indeed final, and it is time to soak the bristles. Hang up the apron, stand back and let the landscape be.

I was stuck in the mud of my own addiction to crafting. I’d actually stopped painting, drawing, singing and making, in the external sense. All of it came to a halt, when I embarked upon the new project of internal consequence; depriving and diluting my body, in an effort to sculpt it into a new shape, a shape of shocking contour, freakish distortion, and many many edges. There could never be too many edges. I got lost in my own little ‘treasure hunt’, to find more jutting edges, new lumps, new angles and their contrasts to bone.

It was, upon reflection, an abstract mission, kindled by surrealist yearnings, which necessitated the adoption of a kind of minimalism, in order to find solace through expressionism.

At least, that’s one way of looking at it. man-ray-brassai-and-gelatin-silver

 

First Glass Bauble

 

 

A glass bauble hangs first,

Itself, upon bristles flat, fat and green.

In relief, windows shatter the surface

of the dome.

The canvas is cracked,

into several shards

Illuminating on
the curve, where the shine

Peaks.

 

Green bristles, flat though they are

Exist in as a life in the current of living,

A Christmas tree extrapolated,

From it’s homeland, and shipped right in

Through European borders; past migrants,

Lapping up the water, a tree’s lifeblood

Keeps it living, in motion.

 

The evergreen fingers, thread

Hung suspended, black mirrors.

Tree looks at it’s self- a picture of health

Whilst the light trapping sheen,

Coat of decorative, glassed bauble

 

Reflects an illusion of shattering,

The twiggy, naked sleepers,

Beyond doors- Willow’s Weepers.

‘Letters’ to Twigg

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase ‘each other’ doesn’t make any sense.” ~ Rumi”

On a Tuesday, in April 2014, we said our goodbyes to a wonderful, awe-inspiring, beautiful friend, Emma.

Her soil was dusted in glitter, and the land under which her body lies, will bring new life to a tree, among many others. The memorial woodland is a forest (to be) of souls embarking upon new journeys in another life.

You could liken it to C.S Lewis’ ‘Wood Between The Worlds’, or a train station of trees- the branches intertwining and linking together like a vast network of railway tracks, where the souls can commute to new destinations, yet always have a base. Unlike most train stations, however; this one is obviously divine and beyond comparison to anything we really know.

While her funeral was inevitably filled with immense sadness, it was comforting to see just how many amazing friends and family members gathered bravely to bid farewell to Twigg. In a way, the multitude of a vibrant and colourful crowd, conveyed a reflection of the flamboyant, kind and brave individual she was herself. Let us all commit ourselves to ‘dance in the rain’ through the storms to come- it brings an unexpected euphoria of freedom and the shimmer of the wildness within ourselves, for those who haven’t already danced in the rain yet….

I’d reflected: Every now and then in life, we meet a soul who is truly wonderful and like no other in many ways. Emma Twigg- the first time I ever met you I was drawn to you with a powerful intrigue, admiration and electrical energy.

You have taught me personally a great deal through inspiring a kind of outlook upon all things, and a lust for living to the full, and to dance to my own rhythm of madness, sadness and gladness just as you yourself did so freely and beautifully. I find it really bloody hard to sum this up over a typed up post you won’t necessarily see yourself- but who other people who’ve had the great priviledge, of knowing you, will surely be able to relate to and recognize within their own memories.

So I write this for them- You my lady are so obviously deeply and vastly loved by so many other souls than just me, and our reasons are diverse in their contexts but so consistent in their content- We love in you the magic, the kindness, the adventure, the energy, the compassion, the taste and the rhythm to which you have always loved to dance, and the inexplicably bright spark burning within your soul which i’m sure has inspired many others to seek for within themselves.

Right now, i’m putting a lot of focus into planting new life where I can, and eventually a few of us are hoping to get an Ash Tree (you said you really liked these!) planted somewhere for you as promised- somewhere many of us can come and dance under it in your memory, and contemplate where your soul is going now- what life it will become this time and what kind of new experiences will it bring and receive? Maybe you’d be a tree this time anyway- since in the life we knew you in you traveled so far and wide, and perhaps your soul may now be seeking to settle as a new form, existing in one place for some time.

Who on Earth knows though- we cannot predict; all we can do is positively continue to cherish and to actively plant your memory around us in a way that even when we too, are moving on from this life, it will remain consistent in one way for the Earth and it’s creatures.

Like, for example- i’m sure eventually many a bird may appreciate your tree as a nest and a place in which they can hatch new life into the world, then watch with a kind of sad, proud joy as their young eventually learn to fly off from the twiggs (sorry about that silly pun thing) into new adventures of their own as they take to the skies.

I do not know where to end this post, for fear of ending up writing an actual novel, so i’m going to make the decision to stop it here; for there is too much to be said of you and I will not be able to do it justice no matter how long I write. Don’t ‘rest in peace’-live on elsewhere (wherever this may be) and continue being in peace! You can rest too if you like obviously, but you get my meaning! Keep on dancing.

I miss your sunshine many many days. I miss your dancing many days. Although there are many people in the world, and many yet still to meet, it frightens me a bit that I won’t meet another exact you, no matter how awesome, and interesting, people are in all their many unique ways!

There was so much more I wanted to talk to you about, so much more I could have learned about your whole philosophy of life, the little finer details about the travels you had, and the wonders within them. I know we already did share travelling tales, but there is no limit to the amount of potential sharing to be had with these things!

As you always knew.

I am glad you didn’t have to witness the disgrace the UK made of itself in the last general election and EU referendum, though. God, i’m looking forward to seeing something more positive politically I must say.

Never mind though, one shall dance it off, just shake it all off in the requiem of the rhythm.

 

me and emma at smiling ivy party