One-Week Diary

A week of chaos, decay and trauma.

Crash: Homage to J. G. Ballard [Gagosian]
Sophie Ristelhueber, Deutsche Börse Photography Prize 2010 [The Photographer's Gallery]

I been thinking 'bout you ... HOPE

"Cynics object to treating hope as a virtue because it rarely bears fruit.  But that, say hope's defenders, is to see things upside down.  Hope is a virtue independently of its realisations, it is an intrinsic value, an end in itself, allied to courage and imagination, a positive attitude full of possibility and aspiration."

A.C.Grayling The Meaning of Things 2001

I needed a big dose of hope when I had a broken wing recently (as my friend K so charmingly described it).  I sustained myself by imagining all the marvellous things I'd do when the cast came off, and I spoke to friends who rallied my spirits by reminding me it was only six weeks of suffering.  Now that I've been patched up, my world is the right way up again; but I'm filing those hopeful wishes away for the next time I feel vulnerable.  

Here's what my hope is looking like... (hover over photos for sources)

Bibliology, Exhibit at Golden Lane Estates

Raised in a small Australian town with no building over five stories, I'm fascinated by the phenomenon of the British estate, and the way these impossibly tall, imposing buildings loom above the houses next door.  I'm unnaturally drawn to brutal modern architecture - making up for a childhood of waterfalls, rainforests and dusty camping trips perhaps - and whilst I know that life in these tower blocks can be alienating and dangerous, living in such close proximity to others can conversely inspire a sense of camaraderie.

Such is the case in the Golden Lane Estates adjacent to my favourite Brutalist piece of architecture: the Barbican.  Being located in prime part of East London, next door to one of London's most famous arts venues, some of the 557 flats were statistically likely to be occupied by a large number of creative types. 

Two such residents have tapped into the creative and communal spirit of the estate to establish 'Exhibit', a small art and design space that "aims to provoke awareness to design heritage of social housing with special focus on its ageing communities".   It's located at the foot of the estate, next door to a Barber whose furniture seems untouched since the estate was completed in the 1960s.

I ventured there this weekend for a Bookcrossing event at the current 'Bibliography' exhibition.  Photographer Kathryn Faulkner has been welcomed into the homes of the Golden Lane Estate residents to capture them reading in their natural habitat; lying on beds, relaxing in armchairs, sitting at tables. 

I arrived with my own battered copy of David Mitchell's Black Swan Green, had it stamped and recorded online, and was then invited into the estate to set it free.   After indulging in a voyeuristic peek into people's lives through Faulkner's pics, I was emboldened to take a few cheeky peeks of my own as I passed by!  And although I didn't see anyone reading, they may soon find a copy of Black Swan Green on a window ledge, and curl up in bed to lose themselves in someone else's story.

*I'll be tracking the progress of my book here.  Join the bookcrossing movement for free and set your own books loose on the world.

One-Week Diary

99 [Hackney]

'Promises, Promises', Soho Theatre

Promises Promises left me gasping for breath this week.  In the dark, tiny confines of the Soho Theatre Miss Jean Brodie, recently retired in disgrace from a Scottish school, delivers an intimate monologue from her temporary supply classroom. 

A full cast of characters comes to life during her tale, from a young headteacher jollying his staff along, to a small mute girl newly arrived from Somalia with a team of community workers trailing behind her.  They're determined to exorcise her demons and make her vocal again - in full view of her young classmates - and Miss Brodie appears to be the child's only defender.  It ends in a bloody drama far removed from my own supply teaching experience, where my most uncomfortable moment was being asked by a 16 year old schoolboy to perform an inappropriate act on him in a South London schoolground.

The play could have been titled Snip Snip, so vivid was the cutting imagery threaded throughout.  The threat of something sinister and unnamed is present from the beginning, with a marvellously realistic primary classroom setpiece enveloped in the shadowy darkness of the theatre.   As the play races towards its dramatic climax, figurative cuts both past and present - severed relationships with a sister and a best friend, stolen tailoring scissors to deny a father his fearsome power, alienation from the colleagues around her - become literal gashes.   

As Miss Brodie reflects on the promises broken by others in her life, she tries to keep her promise to her new student that she is safe in her classroom.  Her voice intensifies and sharpens as the young girl's self-imposed silence is revealed to be a reaction to a primitive, dangerous, but all too common slicing inflicted by older womenfolk to preserve the purity of their daughters.  

Miss Brodie has been a broken woman for most of her life, and the most poignant scene for me was not the confession of molestation by her father, the revelation of her alcoholism, or even her discovery of the abuse of the child.  It was instead the utter abandonment she feels when her best friend from her early teaching years runs off with a man. 

This friend's words were "straight out of the dressing up box"; she was a woman who took the words and ideas of others and cut, shaped, and sewed them until they fit her like a glove, much like the home-made outfits she wore.  Miss Brodie longs to be like her, but failing as a seamstress she instead seeks to uphold her friend's mantra that a teacher makes a promise to to keep her students safe and teach them all they need to know.

At the end of the play, the lecherous male community elder finally suffers a similar fate to that of the young girl, at the hands of Miss Brodie and her stolen tailoring scissors.  It is with terrible sadness though that we realise she does not protect the child out of love, but rather in an attempt to avenge older, more personal wounds.

One-Week Diary

Promises Promises [Soho Theatre]

Bibliology [Golden Lane Estate]

David Apted, The 'Up' Series [Frontline Club]

One-Week Diary

ADVANCE ARTS
NATION [NATIONAL]
5 DIALS BOOK SLAM