sark

The Island where I told my sister that I loved her and my weeping took me by surprise.  

long time, no see

Its been a strange old time lately, a time of no address and moving from friends house to friends house while I find my feet and relocate in London. What I've learnt is I dearly want a home and am committed to making this happen, and SOON. Home will provide me with a stepping stone to move forward into the next chapter of life, how exciting. I've also learnt that I'm blessed with friends who give a shit, who opened up their living spaces to me and this has been a gentle reminder of belonging. In all unsettling experiences there are lessons and this one has allowed me to understand on a deeper level what I need and to summon the momentum and energy to make it happen. I'm adept at packing and moving on but the time has come to challenge myself to settle and be part of a community. 

Today I was out walking with a group of young people as we are working on a project inspired by Richard Long and his meanderings around and about. This had nothing to do with our project but of course caught my eye, as memorials tend too bring out the mournful magpie in me. For a man who drowned I was told. Plastic flowers and synthetic ribbon, a tree carries the message of remembrance. I'm sorry for this man and his family.

park hill

Last weekend I finally climbed the hill behind Sheffield train station and saw British Modern Remade in the Park Hill Estate. Met a Creative practitioner colleague from Hepworth and swooshed upwards in the lift to the 12th floor to see painting, sculpture and collage (missed the film bit...) from the Arts Council Collection. Felt like an intruder as we snooped around the empty flats oohing at stripped back surfaces and smooth sliding doors. The view of Sheffield was astonishing: nestled between tree covered hills, the city laid out like an architects model. And of course there was the art, beautifully staged and appearing as if it had always existed within the space. The work mirrored the permanent collect at The Hepworth Wakefield, and one of the sculptures will be winging its way to the gallery from this show.

I'm on the brink of leaving Sheffield and returning to my pined for London, city of my birth that has invisible threads tugging and pulling me back. To see Sheffield laid before me reaffirmed how little I know of this place and I'm looking forward to returning as a visitor, with time to take in, be in and explore this city.

My colleague/friend Liz then took me to Sheffield Museum for a treat of tea and cake, so all in all this leaving lark has its benefits! 

I'm very glad I moved to Sheffield, I'm leaving with different understandings that wouldn't have been gained if i'd not taken the plunge and I'll carry this knowledge into the next chapter. I've also gained a brace of Yorkshire friends who will provide their own threads to draw me back in the future.

lost and found

This warmed the cockles of my heart today.

waste not

On monday I had a marvelous day in London with my sister. We visited The Hayward and saw the David Shrigley and Jeremy Deller shows. Loved the shopping list etched onto a gravestone and snorted over many of Shrigley's clever drawings. Tea united the exhibitions and in Deller's space I enjoyed a beverage in Valerie's Snack Bar while watching the snack bar trundling down the street in a video of a procession in Manchester. The exhibition felt very familiar, nostalgic even as I was presented with a past I'd been part of and a present I inhabit now. Back in 2005 Deller's show Folk Archive was a revelation to me and continues to be source of inspiration, the accompanying book is one of my favorite possessions. 

Song Dong's installation in The Barbican was affecting. Systematically arranged for our viewing were the contents of his mothers home, she hoarded all items thinking they would be of future use. This was a cultural and personal response to her life experiences and looking at her possessions laid bare was intriguing. While mooching through the stuff of her life I considered loss, value and the complexity of family relationships.

upperthorpe

Today I wondered the boundary of Upperthorpe in Sheffield. Walking anti clockwise with Upperthorpe to my left, meandering along paths and streets that were new to me, quietly observing the edge of the neighbourhood. A man told me, 'there are dogs up there, they may growl but don't worry, they won't do anything'. I trotted on, heart thudding and upon seeing the pack attempted to project a casual attitude. This lasted seconds before I clocked the dogs had friendly eyes and was rewarded with wags and strokes and dog hairs on my navy jacket. Later while trudging up hill sweating, I yearned for the flat (note to self - get fitter). Near the end of my boundary walk I found a yellow post it note stating 'Who Why', sensible questions if you ask me. 

This wandering has been inspired by the Occursus Project, led by Dr Amanda Crawley Jackson (University of Sheffield) in collaboration with Bloc and Site Gallery.

owlerton

Last week I jumped on the number 66 bus from Sheffield city centre and traveled to Owlerton, an unpromising journey to the side of a busy road, out of town casino and dog track and Hillsborough College with cannabis smoking youth outside. Crossing the A61, I walked up Livesey Street, over a bridge across the River Don and climbed stone steps to a dirt path surrounded by trees. Unmarked on the Sheffield A to Z is a cemetery in a patch of slopping woodland. It climbs up to and is contained by a train track, and crisscrossed with well trodden paths. While a handful of people passed by as I snooped about, it is an unpeopled spot and I kept my wits about me. I experienced that odd sense of feeling alone while next to the traffic hum, police siren wail, clatter of industry and prickly pylon buzz. 

Picking my way between the headstones I was in my element, woods and graves combined! I'm fascinated by the stories the headstones tell of Mary, Thomas, Clara and George and the unfortunate roll call of dead children carved into slate. While wandering graveyards I think about the current population being interred, Kyle's and Kylie's one day taking their place by Edith and Arthur - these current names, one day holding nostalgia of times past.

I found a newly dead pigeon, colours still vibrant, flies beginning to land. I found trees hugging headstones, branches wrapped as a comforting arm, a steadying hug and in some cases an overwhelming embrace. I talked to a man with a dog and he told me, 'these are war veterans these'.