May 1, 2018 § Leave a comment
This blog post has turned around in the writing – all because Tamsin Parker has a truly remarkable voice. The voices of autistic women, how they are appropriated and contained, is the theme which runs through my post.
What’s becomes clear in her case, I feel, is that the socially constrained female voice and the issues of ‘masking’ autism combine, making autism a feminist issue.
But learning about Tamsin’s horrific experience at the BFI on her 25th birthday yesterday, was the final straw after a difficult few days.
I’ll be honest, hearing about it has been one of the rawest moments since my autism diagnosis in March 2016.
I rarely talk about being a mum because my children (now young adults) haven’t wanted me to, but the sheer cruelty and injustice of this act pierced my mother heart.
Coincidentally, last week I joined an impromptu group of autistic women using the hash tag #AutisticMotherhood. I’m not a joiner, so this was quite an event in itself, but I felt my voice as an autistic women had been appropriated.
#AutisticMotherhood was born on Twitter in response to Kibo Production’s play about a cold autistic mother character (who it is now claimed by producers is not autistic but has post natal depression). We even have a website where two open letters to Kibo can now be viewed. The play was written by a man who is not autistic, and you can read my views on this in my last post.
It felt important to pin my colours to this cause, but I also ended up feeling tossed about and quite at sea as a result. I reached a low point.
Sinking my energy into #AutisticMotherhood coincided with this cruel attack on Tamsin, and kaboom!
It felt so close – and not only from the point of view of a mother. I can also laugh uncontrollably in public. When this happens my shoulders shake, I wheeze and snort and make a ‘spectacle’ of myself, as well as crying ‘too easily’ – my other party trick. Some of us are emotional and expressive, but I guess I ‘mask’ enough to get by – but this masking constrains me.
Because I am autistic I do also get things socially very wrong sometimes – despite best efforts. The other day someone ran away from me in the supermarket (!) Yes – quite literally, he ran. I thought that was quite rude and showed a distinct lack of social skill, to be honest. Perhaps he was scared of my autism, which I had told him about in an email.
But the cruelty of that scene at BFI runs on a loop in my brain. What cuts deep is the native intolerance shown, and the insistence of some audience members to their viewing rights above common decency. They seemed to find it perfectly acceptable to round on a vulnerable young woman, one man yelling an abusive sexist comment, and others applauding her ejection from the cinema.
The hounding of an unconstrained female voice (as well as ableism) is what I see.
What haunted me was that Tamsin might be alone after this ordeal, and I’m relieved that she was with her sister and was able to go home in a car with her mum.
I’m also doing the best I can as a mum – but honestly, sometimes the scale of intolerance in the world breaks my heart. We have such a long way to go on invisible disability.
But then Tamsin’s mum Lydia posted a film by Tamsin and her powerful voice gave me hope again. I love her energy, which won’t be contained. I love how she sees the world and what she has to say. Tamsin is a strong role model for young autistic women (and indeed for women of all ages and neurotype).
Tamsin deserves so much respect for her love of cinema and her talent in filmmaking. One way to make up for things BFI (if you’re listening) is to put on a screening of Tamsin’s work.
Tamsin, if you read this, I have a diagnosis of Asperger’s too (though I like to call myself autistic). I think Force of Habit is one of the best advocacy films I’ve seen and very inspiring. If people are unforgiving, like the man in your film, then I think they probably aren’t worth knowing (unless they can change their minds).
Thanks so much for reading xx
April 27, 2018 § 8 Comments
I’m breaking a rule by writing about a play I haven’t read or seen, called The Big Things, by Mike Heath, which has recently stirred unease among autistic people, autistic mothers in particular. The Big Things, is ostensibly about autistic motherhood but from what I hear this subject is never truly examined in the play.
Yes okay, I’m going on hearsay (from autistic women who’ve read the script and one who’s seen the play) but this is more than good enough for me. I feel I’ve given both playwright and production company (Kibo) more than enough of my time in the past few days.
Autistic motherhood, in contrast, is a subject I know intimately from the inside, unlike Mike Heath.
Mike Heath, and Kibo Productions have stumbled into a PR nightmare in taking on this subject (it seems) without sufficient knowledge or research. The real shocker for me is that this play should be Shortlisted for the BBC Alfred Bradley Bursary Award 2016. Culturally speaking, no-one in the room sees autistic women. Let alone do they see us as creatives who might want to (and do) write our own plays about ourselves.
But I think this play slipped through the net, as it were, because it’s not really about autistic motherhood (how could it be?) No – this play is about how frustrating a fictional neurotypical man finds it to have a relationship with an autism stereotype. She’s a cardboard cut-out, dude. No wonder….
I should explain that as an autistic mother my greatest fear about this play is that it could gain success. And that the portrayal of “Grace” (ironically named as she has no grace?) could develop the legs of a Rainman or a Christopher (Curious Incident in the Nightime) and go walk about. Such figures stick and we are landed with them, unable to shake them off for decades. I literally shudder at this thought.
I wouldn’t suggest that a neurotypical man should never write about autistic motherhood, for what is fiction if not the work of imagination?
But I admit I’m not keen on the notion of neurotypical men writing about autistic women at this point in our cultural emergence (for reasons of historic and systemic ableism and patriarchy). But if they must, at the very least they should do the homework (which means consulting actually autistic women who are mothers, and hiring us as sensitivity editors).
If they must, they should do right by us and avoid writing harmful stereotypes. But this sounds like a horrible play, which does exactly the opposite.
At one point in the heated Twitter debate things went a bit dark. Were some of us trying to force their creative to do something against his will, Kibo Tweeted, somewhat petulantly I thought. Er, NO.
Up until this point it had seemed they would do their utmost to put this living howler right. They’d seemed hapless and merely ignorant (although they had tweeted inaccurately that the National Autistic Society had read the script for them). No-one was calling out malicious intention (that I could see) or being in any way coercive – not at all. It’s my experience that autistic people rarely feel they have power in such situations – this is the whole point.
Somehow as a group we had overstepped the mark for Kibo, and trust was on the wane on both sides. This irony shouldn’t be lost.
A group conversation online can go in many directions, and meanings misunderstood. But we’re rightfully angry about The Big Things.
I wish Mike Heath had not had the sense of entitlement to write this play. He was, of course, free to write it – but no one said autistic mothers had to like it, or quieten down while others mop up the mess.
Autistics are a minority group who don’t have cultural representation (although we’re edging forward) – the point is that we don’t yet have a voice. The voice we’re presently conferred by others thus becomes crucial – each time. Each time someone who has a platform writes about us and gets it wrong we’re pushed back.
This is vital for autistic women who are mothers too. We have been even more overlooked as a demographic. We’ve been either unimagined (as not possible) or maligned (refrigerator mothers – autistic causation seeping from our frozen nipples to our unloved infants!)
I felt the shadow of Bruno Bettelheim in the descriptions I read of Grace by the autistic women who act as my first hand witnesses. Is it any wonder that this conversation is so uncomfortable for us all? It should be.
If you want to support the voices of autistic mothers, please read this marvellous open letter led by Katherine May. You can ask to be a signatory in support, and you don’t have to be an autistic mother to do so.
Thank you so much for reading this post.
April 15, 2018 § 10 Comments
My name is Sonia Boué and I’m an autistic artist. I’ve had a lot of luck in my career lately – which has largely come about using my own autistic methods and working with two truly wonderful mentors. On the face of it I look pretty networked in, but most of my opportunities have come from sharing my work and ideas online. At the end of each project I have to start from scratch, and I have no idea how to ‘use my contacts’ or network neurotypically. The sheer scale of the social labour involved in networking neurotypically is beyond me. This is why I have created a new kind of network called WEBworks, which is autistic in conception and in all it’s various manifestations. It’s for autistic artists and has a focus on professional development and creating access to opportunity. It’s a small pilot project – manageable and yet ambitious. It’s about empowering us all to become more visible and gain parity in the arts.
People are probably attracted to my work because of the intense autistic focus I am able to give to it – my attention is directed at what I do and not who I know.
So it’s been a jolt, and a hugely painful experience to be told by someone from Arts Council England at a recent conference (in a room full of professionals) to just “get networked in.”
Invisible disability is a box you can tick on a funding form to indicate who might benefit from your project, but it remains invisible in terms of just who might be present in a room full of professional people all grappling with the diminishing funding pot in the arts.
Autistic people are invisible as players. We’re so invisible that I’ve unearthed a major inequity in the funding requirements for those like me who aspire to be players. You see, I need big funding for my project, which includes support for WEBworks. Under present funding rules I need to prove why I can’t compete on a level playing field to match fund my project – and make the case that disabled people should not have to match fund their own access needs (and in my case that of my autistic colleagues). Perhaps no-one has thought of this, because no-one like me has ever applied to be a player?
(NB. I have been told ACE rules don’t demand that we match our access costs, and that exemptions exist within the present system – but this is simply not reflected in the mixed messages ACE give to it’s funding interface users).
When I found myself quite by accident at an ACE funding surgery in my local area and brought up the possible problems with match funding for disabled people in general – I was told this would have to be proved. If you just have a foot missing we wouldn’t be convinced.
I let this ableist comment go at the time, but made a mental note – this person needs training – and I (and all my autistic colleagues) hold much of the the missing knowledge.
A missing foot (if you will call it thus) could imply almost any level of impact in a person’s life (invisible disability such as PTSD, chronic pain, fatigue…we just don’t know and shouldn’t assume) which could affect their ability to raise the signifiant sums of match funding required if they are also not networked in. We’re not talking peanuts, we’re talking resource rich networks from whom signifiant favours can be drawn into a project – for which you have to be resource rich yourself to earn them (in ways I, and those like me just can’t be).
I shouldn’t really be blogging. I have my Arts Council application to finish, but this is way too important not to bring to light.
You see something profoundly (if unwittingly) ableist just happened to me, so aspects of Arts Council England’s disabling funding system have literally fallen into place.
I tried to speak about access in the system at a recent arts conference where Arts Council representatives were present.
For context, I rarely go to arts conferences because I find them inaccessible and they often don’t tend to speak to my experience. I don’t generally go about with a large ‘A’ stuck to my forehead, or a, hey, I’m autistic! t-shirt on either. In fairness not many people knew my status (though I did make a point of telling everyone I spoke to). If I go again – as I now feel I must – I will break all my own sartorial rules and wear the t-shirt (with flashing lights if needs be).
But when I raised what I consider to be a very real problem of access I have myself encountered and blogged about on the a-n blog site, I was just not taken seriously by the Arts Council representative. In the time it’s taken me to cut and paste this link I’ve received a comment from another artist. I know I was speaking for many.
“Yes, yes, YES! Keep going! I didn’t know there were diversity officers. Thank you for writing about this.”
Yet when I did speak up I was assured that everyone could have access to this particular service – just like that!
One person who heads a National Portfolio Organisation agreed. We have a regular meeting where you can talk to an Arts Council relationship manager (people who hold key information and can help with an application process) – as though I should perhaps have known about it.
Like the Alf Prøysen character in the illustration above, I immediately shrank to the size of a pepperpot! But something made me go on (I’m autistically stubborn and all about justice).
But you have to be networked in to have this access, I pointed out, without stopping to reflect that this might seem rude. I was contradicting someone who had (oh, to hell with it) contradicted me. As I look back on it now – they were essentially making my point for me.
Well, get networked in! the Arts Council rep replied, as though this were the easiest (and most equitable) thing in the world. That appeared to be the end of my ‘non-point’. I was to join the NPO groups’ monthly meetings, job done.
I felt the room close in on me. I had both humiliated myself and been silenced.
In the break that followed, there was no processing time. One kind person offered to send details of the NPO group meetings, and another told me they too had struggled to get access to a relationship manager.
Then darkness – a film presentation to end the day. An unexpected event. Tears rolled suddenly down my face. Have you noticed how obvious tear wiping can be – so much rustling and grabbing for tissues, and elbows wiggling as you surreptitiously dab at your eyes. I let them roll.
But why tears? People had been nice to me, and the moment had passed.
I cried because the film was just so beautiful. Broken lives were being made whole again through the arts. I cried because I had been disabled by taking a risk and speaking out. The profound silencing of autistic people is historic and deeply painful within each one of us.
I want to talk to all the regional directors of Arts Council England. I want to talk to the director. I would like to tell them about our struggle, and the bias of their systems.
I want them to know how art redeems every aspect of my life and keeps me connected. That I and others like me have so much to give – that we can be players if the playing field is levelled. What’s more we bring authenticity to the table. Truth is that Arts Council need us as much as we need it.
I’m not networked in, I will probably never be so in a recognisably neurotypical way. I rely on people to ‘get’ me and meet me half way. What interests me is how to make the system open and fair.
I want people at the very top of the organisation I apply to funding for to know how hard it was for me to stay in the room at this conference. How hard I have to work to be present, and what it took for me to raise my voice. So here goes.
One of the presentations just goes on and on. Everyone in the room is loving it I think, but the stage lighting sends an never-ending series of blows across my retina. I’m sitting too close to the stage. And the voices won’t stop. So many voices.
I’m caught by surprise. This shouldn’t happen now – the conference is in its opening stages and I have all day to manage. I struggle to find a strategy or any kind of relief. I begin to wriggle in my chair conscious that I mustn’t do this too much or someone will notice. Surely it will stop soon I think, so I try to hang on. But no, it just carries on and on.
I dig into my bag for the the soft tangle brush I sometimes use to rub across my palms to regulate the build-up tension, but by now I’m honestly near screaming point – the option of screaming occurs to me but I fully understand this would break an unbreakable rule. I realise after the event that the voices were too loud – the mics were set at the wrong level for someone with my sensory issues sitting so close to the front of this theatre space – I received information from the sound system which others can filter out. I’m desperate but rooted to my chair. The brush is as effective as a wet sponge. I dig it into my palms but it may as well be in my bag for all the good it does me. The voices just won’t stop – I close my eyes but not for long. Drawing attention to myself is the last thing I want to do. As the presentation draws to close I suddenly remember to pinch my skin under my sleeve and I step out of the storm.
The lighting shifts again and we’re brought back into a room I can regulate myself in more easily. I can appear ‘normal’. There is no visible sign of my distress or the energy it took for me to survive this level of unexpected sensory onslaught. I’ll know in future to sit at the back with easy access to an exit.
I want everyone at Arts Council England to know that telling anyone who begins a conversation by saying that they have struggled with access (in any context and for any reason) to get networked in, is simply not equitable. And I’m sorry, but for invisible disability it’s like telling a wheelchair user to grow a leg.
If you listen bottom up to authentic voices you’ll also discover why not everyone can just speak to a relationship manager.
It’s time for social currency (and who’s got it) to rise up the Arts Council diversity agenda.
An Arts Council award can be a profoundly life changing event in the professional life of an artist. This is what I want for all the artists who are involved in WEBworks.
In fact, I might just attach this blog post to my application. Why not – it sums up the need for my project perfectly.
March 27, 2018 § 5 Comments
I’ve been quiet on matters autistic – taking a break and inhabiting pastures new.
But it feels to me that late diagnosis is a process, with a pattern to it. Like with any process there are stages, and one day we’ll know what they are and books of the self-help variety will no doubt be written – I hope by autistic people. And books are being written – of all kinds – by autistic writers, which is wonderful. It’s just that presently we don’t have an overview because as a culture we’re pretty new.
I feel myself edging towards a new stage – one of certain detachment and reevaluation.
I did want to ignore autism awareness week but I find myself writing a blog post instead. How random it that? As random as a week in which to be aware of autism, I expect.
As random as getting caught up in online arguments, feeling triggered and generally being more stressed (like at Christmas) because humans in some number have decided now’s the time to be aware that autistic humans exist.
So my blog post is not intended to become part of all that. On the contrary, what I offer is a possible antidote. I’ve nothing against randomness per se, it’s just that I feel I’m not obliged in anyway to engage with what I see as randomly orchestrated events, especially when they have such potential to create turbulence in our lives.
I propose to deal with the problematics of autism awareness week autistically, by (in my case) deploying my unusual lack of calendar awareness – yes, for me calendars are quite surplus to requirements, as I navigate through time and space by other means. Calendars can be helpful but who needs all that detail!
Sensory navigation is far more enjoyable (and quite effective generally). Okay it does mean that you miss an awful lot – including for example when Easter is due. I know it’s coming up soon, but the precise timing of Easter is foggy. So it shall be with autism awareness week. We may be in the middle of it but by the power of autism within me I can forget this VERY easily.
Okay, I’m lucky. I’ve never knowingly ducked the issue of privilege in my writing but it’s worth restating for newcomers. Some of us can’t avoid autism awareness week – maybe it invades online spaces which act as a life-line. Now that is serious. What to do?
Well, we may be able to chose not to scroll through comments getting more and more triggered. We may be able to resist comment – thereby avoiding being drawn in further. This sounds so very Zen – probably it is. But honestly, after getting seriously burned more than one time chasing down triggering material I’ve developed an aversion to it. I learned that those who comment online often bait, or can have inordinately closed minds, that this is frankly exhausting to counteract, and can lead precisely nowhere. Worse, it can make us downright miserable.
I’m not talking about potentially fruitful debate (sometimes we just don’t know if the other person is genuine), or countering misinformation – to be clear – I’m aiming at the flotsam and jetsam of internet life (the crud which surfaces and does the rounds).
We’re a righteous people – of course we are – and we’re often maligned and misunderstood. I’m learning how easily we can be drawn in on a wash, spin, repeat cycle, but also how this can represent a constant return to familiar trauma sites.
Obviously, each one of us must make our own choices on how we manage this. I’m not preaching.
I’ve been asking myself honestly if I want to spend my time doing this, and the answer is that I don’t.
Putting out positive messages suits my temperament so much better. SO I’m trying an experiment.
Can I be critical and positive? Can I find ways to infiltrate where I can influence more?
Let’s see what this week brings. I’ve already been more vocal today than I have been in months. Perhaps the value of such blighted awareness campaigns are that they can make us think about how to do something differently.
March 23, 2018 § 5 Comments
It’s not a programme to do your ironing to, my producer, Anna Scott-Brown, warned me minutes before the transmission of, The Art of Now: Return to Catalonia (an Overtone Productions programme for BBC Radio 4), which you can listen to on iPlayer on the link above.
I’d spent the previous three days feeling like I was trapped in an elevator shaft with the lift about to drop on my head from the tension of waiting to hear it!
With such a short run up time I’d thrown myself into the project and relied on hyperfocus to develop the creative concept and refine every detail needed to retrace my father’s exile journey from Spain to England in 1939, making creative responses along the way.
We finished our recording in Spain, and my part was over. Anna and (co-director) Adam Fowler, then toiled at the edit and sound design to craft the woolly mammoth of material we’d created into a 28 minute programme ( we generated so much material in fact that the editing software groaned, registered full, and would take no more!) I just couldn’t imagine how they would do it.
During transmission I was transfixed. I honestly sat staring at the radio with my ears cocked like a spaniel – I really did – as a dazzling geology of sound whizzed about my ears seeming to stop time.
It is the most extraordinary radio programme I have ever heard – due entirely to Overtone Productions artistry. I’m incredibly proud to be part of it. It’s a rich, immersive, sophisticated listen – the imagery piles in from moment 1.
My extended family sat 60 miles away gathered around the radio, listening intently together as families once did. My teenage daughter surprised me by slinking onto the sofa unbidden to hear it.
Messages flooded in. Enhorabuena! The layering is really beautiful! Your voice sounds wonderful….
A poet watched patches of sunlight dance on the wall which she said looked exactly like the sound of my voice as she listened. She sent me a video – it really does.
The following day I heard from friends who’d toiled up the mountain of listening (like the exiles crossing the Pyrenees) to unpick the intricate soundscape. Hearing is not always a given we must remember, and in this case a husband lent his ears to transcribe it from iPlayer for his wife. An act of love and dedication (on so many levels) echoing the love which went into making this programme.
I’m immensely grateful, and somewhat in awe – I feel I’ve reach a summit. This was my dream job – an artist can ask for no more. To open up my soul on Radio 4 has been quite extraordinary – to have shared this journey with Overtone Productions is even more precious.
The genius of their work is that in each listening (and I keep on listening) you hear more layers. It took 5 times for me to catch my own voice lowered and playing under the sound of me digging in the sand – ¡Buenos días, dictator! I intone…the title of my recent exhibition, which is so so resonant in this moment of my ritual.
Having murmured into a recorder almost every day and sent endless files through WeTransfer, I realise that few people will understand my work better than they. They’ve heard me talking down my demons on my walks around Oxford, and know that I have all my best thoughts in the shower. It has been a revelation to record myself – something which I will continue to do as it’s such a useful creative tool. I will miss talking to Anna though – she has been such a wonderfully encouraging and receptive creative companion.
If you haven’t heard the programme yet I urge you to give it a listen. An art piece in itself, it’s a portrait of creative reliance in the face of inherited trauma. This has so much to say to us in present times.
A great deal of the visual output from this project can be found on my website.
March 19, 2018 § 2 Comments
This blog post was first published on the Overtone Productions website on March 2nd.
My journey to Catalonia with Overtone Productions for Radio 4’s The Art of Now has honestly been the trip of a lifetime. I set out with some trepidation (for the first time) to trace (in reverse) my father’s exile journey from Barcelona to England at the fall of Spain to the Franco dictatorship in 1939.
But I’m coming home with a deep sense of reconnection, and new insights into the profound value of a creative practice in confronting a most painful history, and I’ve been able to shine new light through some of the darkness.
Having carefully planned my artistic journey through the sites of two infamous French concentration camps of the period (Le Barcarès and Argelès-sur-Mer) with a stop-off at the Museu Memorial de l’Exili (La Jonquera) to make a personal donation to the archives, I was, nonetheless, anxious that my work could be met with hostility in some quarters.
The Catalan independence referendum of October 1st 2017 appeared to have heightened tensions in the region. As friends and contacts on the ground back then began to send me news and impressions (including video footage of police violence at the ballot box) I feared these horrifying scenes held echos of the Franco dictatorship, and I felt a new uncertainty. Since 2013 I have been creating work about the Spanish Civil War but I have never had the opportunity to show my work in Spain before. Whether I could do so now became a burning question.
Returning with the programme also involved breaking a family taboo, and a history of silencing through fear and trauma. Aspects of what followed feel a little dreamlike, bordering on the remarkable. I can’t wait to share some of my encounters in the broadcast.
I learned that the memory of Civil War in Catalonia was never truly erased (because ‘the people’ remembered), and that there has indeed been a proud history of protest and resistance in the region. The somewhat infamous policy of ‘official amnesia’ has not been swallowed by the populace necessarily – though tensions about it remain, especially where Francoism lives on.
But to my delight, I was met with an overwhelming welcome for my project at each stage of the journey, including an invitation to exhibit and talk about my work from Queralt Solé at the history faculty in Barcelona University, which has opened up the possibility of a whole new creative dialogue.
Making this programme has enabled me to find my voice in Catalonia, and to hear the multiple voices of all those wonderful friends old and new I met along the way.
My special thanks go to the Alsina family in Barcelona whose long and profound friendship to my family (dating from before the Civil War to the present day) inspires and sustains me. My deep gratitude also to Helena Buffery for her steadfast support and guidance on vital aspects of this project.
As I journey home I’m already longing to return once more to Catalonia.
The Art of Now: A Return to Catalonia is on BBC Radio 4 at 4pm on 19th March 2018.
An Overtone Production by Anna Scott-Brown.
February 16, 2018 § Leave a comment
(Still from my new film called, With You, featuring my father José García Lora & the gardener’s son at the Old Prebendal House, Shipton-under-Wychwood.)
Life’s a bit full on at the moment, but in infinitely good and exciting ways. My work with Overtone Productions for the Radio 4 programme, The Art of Now: Return to Catalonia, continues apace and is all consuming, partly because we have such a short window in which to make it. It’s also a compelling piece of work to be making at this time of high tension and uncertainty in Catalonia.
I am loving working with Overtone who make this easy for me, and are infinitely encouraging about all the sound pieces I’m recording ahead of our trip to France and Spain next week. The process of recording myself is in itself fascinating – a new form to learn about and enjoy from behind the scenes.
Mainly, I find myself thrown headlong into an intensely personal creative exploration where family history, the recent conflicts in Catalonia, and the opportunity to extend (embody & flesh out) the visual language of my practice collide. I’ve been scared at times that this could get messy, and I still don’t quite know what my journey will bring, but I feel so well held by Overtone and the various people now supporting this project in Barcelona that I’m mostly reassured and have begun thinking about my work in terms of transmission and reception. Amid the fear engendered by buried trauma (a second generation inheritance called postmemory) there is a new sense of welcome which opens out possibility. This is deeply inspiring on the importance of welcome and receptivity in both cultural and human terms.
The title to a Nora Jones song – Strange Transmissions – has worked its way into my brain in relation to recent conversations with Dr Helena Buffery (probably only the title to this song is relevant). Helena works with me on my father’s plays and together we try to make sense of his creative project in the context of Spanish exile. She has also facilitated the reception for my work in Barcelona. It’s immensely beneficial to the preparation to have a sense of arrival for the project once we hit Spain.
Intense processing has led me to what I hope will be a coherent outcome in terms of the art-making side of the programme. I now have a plan, and it’s a pretty tight one at that. With so few days on the road – traveling in quick succession through the camps of Frances at Argelès and Barcarès, over the border at La Jonquera and then on to Barcelona – I’ve needed to think this through in the finest of detail possible.
Last week we recorded the English leg of our journey at Shipton-under-Wychwood. It was a cold and soggy day with enough time spent outdoors to thoroughly soak our feet and test out our waterproofs – mine being newly acquired for the purposes of this journey. It was a good excuse to equip myself properly and has paid for itself already by enabling me to film on location and capture footage I’m incredibly pleased with. It couldn’t have gone better I feel, and rain added a perfect melancholy and depth to the work.
So I’ve created a new film to take with me to Spain called, With You – the still capture (shown above) has been taken over a transition. I’m excited by this effect and the way in which it says exactly what I want to convey about the layers of my project by superimposing one image over another.
Yesterday I cracked the piece for the final leg of my journey in a momentary flash of inspiration on acquiring a new and unexpected object. I can’t wait to share this with listeners to Radio 4. Tune in on the 19th March at 4pm and all will be revealed!