Lately I have been working on a new piece in my Dancing in Fetters series. It is very different from my usual style.
It had been suggested to me that I use metal chain for this piece. However I found that this would be too heavy to hang on a wall. I bought this plastic chain which I thought would be easy to paint with acrylic paint. How wrong I was!
However after several coats of paint - I lost count of how many - I was eventually satisfied that they looked suitably rusty.
I am using my Nonet poem again. Each strand of chain has the number of links that matches the number of syllables in the line of poetry.
Much to my husband's bemusement - and that of the Evri delivery guy - I bought a piece of driftwood off Etsy.
The inspiration for having a piece of wood was this photo I took in Tasmania
It seemed to me that it was easier to buy the driftwood than try to distress a new piece of wood.
I wrote the lines of the poem on strips of fabric.
And wove the strips through the links.
I pinned the strip chains and then stitched them.
I heated some copper shim to discolour it and cut it into tags. I printed the words of each line on the tags.
I've yet to attach the tags to the chain.
The last thing will be to attach the finished piece to the driftwood.
Then on to the third piece in the series which will much less mixed-media and much more textile!
This week's Write Poetry with Sara-Jane Arbury had three poems where the link was that each poet had used people's names in the poem.
The first exercise was to think of a person I knew in my childhood. We were asked to write a poem describing a childhood memory involving them. And to include in the poem what happened to them later in life, if we knew!
Filched
Two cousins, each an only child; The nearest thing to sisters.
Our annual foray into Wales
Each set of parents taking both.
My parents took us to Borth
A seaside mobile home.
We slept in a double bed.
She turned over and I
Landed on the floor.
Her parents took us to Cornwall
Not Wales! And stranger still
To my young mind she brought
A friend who seemed much older
Than the two years between us.
Two of us vying for the attention
Of the third. My cousin. Her friend.
Who patted a horse which bit me.
The friend was replaced by a boy
And I was left behind.
No longer our annual shenanigans
As he became her life.
Years passed. Her children.
My child born so much later.
Our paths diverged. Distant
friends but always cousins.
Weddings, funerals, Christmas sometimes.
My memories are fresh as if
It happened yesterday.
But watched as her memories
Crept away until Hilary
no longer knew me.
And was no more
Artwork by Valerie Sjodin
The third exercise was to write a poem exploring the word music in your name or someone else’s. I'm not sure I actually followed that brief.
Oh and I missed out exercise 2 altogether!
What’s in a name?
Bernice rhymes with furnace
the heat of which burns
within me as those
who know me well and
those who don’t
pronounce it differently.
Bneice
(buh-kneesss) Even my Aunt
used this version when
she should have known better.
Then there are those who
when I say my name
speak it back to me
with a different pronunciation;
As if I hardly know
the sound
of my own name.
I’ve lived with it for over 70 years.
Berenice (Bay-ren-each-ay)
I once was called Berenice
The Headteacher spoke it out
in a whole school assembly. Imagine the giggles - not mine! But I’m not a Queen of Egypt or
even from an opera.
The Act 2 minuet used
as the entrance music
at my first wedding.
Berenike
Bringer of Victory
Greek source of my name
And Nike too.
Ironic for a woman who
Barely walks, let alone runs.
Bernice
rhymes with furnace
the heat of which burns
fiercely as mispronunciations
assail my ears.
Am I not worthy of my own name?
It’s too late to change
to something easier like Ann.
Or would there still be a problem?
With spelling rather than saying.
With or without the E.
Thanks for being here today Bernice (rhymes with furnace!)
The photography theme for the last month has been Nostalgia.
Old lampshades
1930s (or maybe 1950s) mirrors
Cowlips grew in my maternal grandparents garden
Primroses remind me of walks in Pembrokeshire. There was one particular lane where the verge was awash with primroses.
Cherry blossom always reminds me of the first pair of glasses I ever had aged 9. It was on the way home from the Opticians that I discovered how pink the blossom is. I hadn't known it was that pink.
The poem Adlestrop has been a favourite of mine since I was a teenager. It is very nostalgic. The sign is the only thing left of the original station.
On the rare occasion we visited my paternal grandmother there was always a big pile of Woman's Weekly to read.
Thanks for being here today. See you next time. Bernice
