journeying backwards
Journeying Backwards (2022) brought friends together to gently explore themes of memory and childhood. Seemingly simple prompts and questions led to deeper reflection and conversation about the moments that have shaped us into who we are today.
The project was an experiment of form - introducing people to the work through a guided walk and sharing food together. I had been thinking a lot about the accessibility of white walled galleries where people often speak in hushed tones, and how artists can bring their creative practice into different settings and scenarios, and in doing so, how mundane moments can be transformed themselves into art - walking a familiar path, cooking something different for dinner, the simple act of drinking a pint, or lighting a match.
The poem was a by product of the event, based on the nostalgic words and images collected from guests throughout the day.
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The project was an experiment of form - introducing people to the work through a guided walk and sharing food together. I had been thinking a lot about the accessibility of white walled galleries where people often speak in hushed tones, and how artists can bring their creative practice into different settings and scenarios, and in doing so, how mundane moments can be transformed themselves into art - walking a familiar path, cooking something different for dinner, the simple act of drinking a pint, or lighting a match.
The poem was a by product of the event, based on the nostalgic words and images collected from guests throughout the day.
My mother taught me to tell the time with a dandelion to ease the seeds away with breath / one o clock two o clock three o clock / but there were always bits left so we never really could tell what time it was / not really / but I’d pick a dandelion whenever I saw one anyway / the silver ones with seeds like silver thread / and I never realised my mother was teaching me about the fragility of time that breaks like silver in the wind / I never realised my mother was showing me the power of my breath to capture time / to hold the time / becoming time / and time and time again / / /
These are the seeds of the dandelion: the smell of onion and garlic on the stove / cigarette smoke in my dad’s car / McFly playing on the CD player / my mum standing at the school gates / bonfire night and the taste of jelly.