On your tod

It's hard to see both the big picture and the small picture. Here, a contributor to The Homeless Library tries to give a wider context for the problem of social housing and then puts himself into the story. Like many people we've met at homeless services, he isn't rough sleeping, but appreciates the support and especially the company to be found at The Wellspring.

Anonymous:

When our Prime Minister says he wants to put a cap on benefits, most goes to the landlords anyway, not the skint people, the so-called feckless. I don't know anyone who has a mortgage, a sustainable job, a family, etc. and says... "Oh I know, I'll give all that up." I don't know anyone who'd do that. The poor are feckless? I don't see the Prime Minister criticising the rich for being feckless.

There almost appears to be a conspiracy between the landlords who own the houses and government. Why is there a social housing problem when it doesn't cost anything to sort it out? If someone is homeless and if there is somewhere for them to live, the government pays the bills. That's humane. If the government's paying their housing benefit, that pays for the flat, the building of the flat, the land, the lot. So social housing hasn't got an extra cost to the government and there's no shortage of Housing Benefit. So why the homeless? The numbers I find really strange. Beggars belief. Why is social housing not being built? Who knows? It would probably save money.

monoprint for The Homeless Library

For every winner there's got to be a loser, that's the nature of the pie. Always winners and losers - and it's got to be the responsibility of the winners to keep the losers up out of the gutter. The non-doms (tax exiles) are winners, the losers are the people who aren't any good at earning a living. They balance each other out.

If you live in a village in the world where everyone has the same, it's usually the same nothing. They're all poor. Everyone's the same, all are happy. But we don't live in a village here, we don't even live in a democracy, we live in a monetary society. Everyone's clambering for money and the nature of clambering for money isn't conducive to helping people, in fact the opposite.

Private education, private hospitals, it creams the top off. Leaves less for everyone else. If you go to the local Comp in Merthyr Tydfil they won't get the nice extras they'll get in say Manchester Grammar. Imagine having the misfortune to be born in Merthyr Tyfil, or less amusingly, some parts of Africa. Those people don't get on a boat and become refugees for nothing.

Happens in all walks of life, when we start to look at things carefully we try to sort them out, put things in pigeonholes. We have to classify things, or else our brains can't work them out. It's those classifications that are often wrong. We try to anthropomorphise science, the world, to fit it into our heads. Because our brains are our survival mechanism, we only understand things in certain ways. The brain can't understand the Universe like a god. Ridiculous, what a load of bollocks. Science. It makes me laugh.

But politicians, they're the funniest of all, hilarious. I hear a lot of them on the radio. Politicians are always promising the future, but promising the future is an impossibility. The future isn't their's to give. It ain't gonna happen. It's just that people happen to believe them.

I had a lovely English teacher, read Orwell. He learned himself to read. My boy, my son, was also a voracious reader. He had a reading age way beyond his age. But it puts you out of sync with the people around you. One day when he was little, the Head Teacher was asking them about the moon from the previous night. The comments that were coming back were typical comments from children that age: "The moon was white." "The moon was round." My lad put his hand up and said: "It was a waxing gibbous moon." He just had the ability to read and understand from very early on. But he has the same social dysfunction as me. I have it.

I've only ever had one marriage - had nothing else. And she picked me.  Now I'm in the position of nothing. Empty. What's the point of doing anything if you can't share it? The days are very long on your tod. Weekends are a right laugh and so is Christmas. We weren't meant to be alone as humans. We share. Innately, that's what we're about. The best time of my life was when I was married.

I used to sell fruit and veg, I was very good at it. The customers loved it. But the Council didn't like it. My way of social interaction pissed them off. Ultimately, they got rid of me and everything came tumbling down. The bottom line was they hated me, the way I interacted with them. Although I had loads of happy customers, they shut me down.

I live in a council flat now. Billy no mates. That's why I come in here (The Wellspring) for company. The Council pay people to come around my flat and do jobs, maintenance stuff. If you complain about the job they don't like it, even if what you're saying would save them money. They don't like it. They'll attack your residency, say you're trouble. There's always an element of punishment.

I've been ten years on my own. Let's just say, I don't have a lot of hope that my life will change.

Monoprint for the Homeless Library

Interview with Phil at The Wellspring, April 2015. The Homeless Library is a project devised by arthur+martha to document the heritage of homelessness using interviews, artworks, poetry. It is supported by the Heritage Lottery Fund.

  

The crack (part 2)

PART 2

In this second part of our interview for the project 'The Homeless Library' The crack, the interviewee describes his end-of-days as a drug dealer and the long, long time spent rebuilding life after the fall. Substances are often around the homeless life and this is a counting of the cost.

Please note, this interview contains references to sex, violence, substance abuse.

Anonymous:

I was a junkie, a jack-the-lad drug dealer. I had everything and I blew it all for a woman. Actually, I'll be honest, I blew it for crack cocaine. That's how I got me head cut up. (Shows scars.) Mind you, the guy who did it to me was dead 6 months later, natural causes. Cancer of the testicles. Cut me to ribbons and he died of a big bollock. Couldn't have happened to a nicer man, swing low sweet chariot. He would've cut a baby in half. On this night, he had a sword in his hand. Like King Solomon, but stupid. It was blood up the wall, like a butcher shop. My blood. A slaughterhouse, is what the police said.

If something goes that badly wrong you turn to your mates and that's it. Can't turn to the law cos if you turn to the law you're a midnight.

'What did I learn? Anon, mono print on vintage book. March 2015

I was doing well. The police raided me and they kept missing where I kept the drugs. The most they got on me was for a bit of personal. Never had me and the drugs in the same place, I always kept those two things separate and they couldn't figure it out. But after the fourth raid I walked away from it.

The geezer who picked up my job, they rumbled him after two days. Proper hoisted him. He sat in a bus stop selling heroin for three solid hours. That's the laziest effort I ever heard of. One of the crummiest attempts at being a criminal. No pride in the job, personally I blame the parents.

When I was dealing I earned £500 a day, but I woke up each morning in debt. Crack, spend everything you've got on it. Once my boss left me with a big chunk and when he came back the next day I'd had it all. He said, "There was £3000-worth of crack there!" I said, "What can I say? It's just the way it is."

When it all fell apart I took this woman for a dirty weekend in Blackpool, bad idea. She was up for it, but she was my landlord's girlfriend. He was more angry with her than me. He said, "After all, I'm fucking her not you." On the same weekend he got arrested with my drugs on him. It was destiny.

When I left the life, what did I walk away into? I walked away into nothing. Got put into a hostel and I quit. Decided I'd had enough. Five years I was in the hostel, Project 34. I got on with the male staff, but I drove the female member of staff mad. She'll always remember me, and my little niggles. Women think they're the more intelligent sex, but they're easy to wind up, aren't they? She was most anxious I got put in a flat, before she got put in a cell. I'm in a flat now, though I nearly lost it in a minor dispute over electricity.

That's the story of how I got here.

(Interview with Phil at The Wellspring, Feb 2015)

Wagging it

We are gathering words for our project The Homeless Library, slowly and carefully. Soon, these words will be put into handmade books, but they also have another life, here on our blog. These are histories of people who are often unheard, or misunderstood, or simply ignored.We hope that by bringing together many such stories - and linking them with the past - we will do justice to many people's experience. 

Andy Morrison:

I'm from Hyde, Ashton area, Stalybridge. I was at boarding school from 9 years old upwards, til I was 15. Thing I was into was playing sports. I was a bit of a tearaway when I was young, got sent to the boarding school to teach me a lesson. Spent a couple of months at the school, then went back home two weeks, then back at school. Got kicked out of there and all. Got kicked out of two boarding schools. When I first went, 9 years old, I got bullied. When you get older you do back the same things that got done to you, but the school couldn't handle it.

school lines

One Christmas they had us killing turkeys. We were killing them, plucking them and gutting them, then they sold them, to the local village. I was 13 years old, place was like an abattoir. You pull the neck til it breaks, or hit it over the head with the end of a broom. Some people pulled too hard and the head came off and the bird's still flapping. Grim. The teachers would beat us up. Later when I was 22 the social services contacted me to see if I wanted to make a complaint about the school. I didn't, it was just the sort of thing they did in them days.

I got kicked out there and kicked out of another school. Just the once I had to go back there, sit in a locked room and do me exams. Luckily I passed. Then I got a job as apprentice mechanic, cos me dad did it. Following father's footsteps. Did it 12 months, got me City and Guild, but there was no job at the end in the company. They were running it as a government scheme. Then I started getting in trouble, nicked a motorbike.

Never used to go to school when I was little. Wagged it all the time up til 8 years old. The police would pick me up and bring me back to mum and dad's late at night. I'd just up and go. That's when they put me in boarding school. What did I learn? I just learned how to be tough. Look at me now, homeless, still in trouble.

I just get by, I know what to do. If something happens I know what to do. Rely on myself, there's no one else - and places like this (The Wellspring). If I was going to give advice to someone else who's homeless, I'd say there's housing options even when you think there's nothing, places like this help you with food, and housing advice. And you learn. I'm 48, know what I mean? It's not the first time I've been on the street. When I was first homeless didn't know. Thought I was on me own. But you're not.

I don't mind helping someone if they don't take the piss. I used to share a tent with a guy, Alan. When we first met, both knew the other was homeless straight away, without saying anything. I signed on, helped him out, with my money. He showed me The Wellspring; we used to walk it here from Hyde. We'd get to Stockport and kill a few hours, then onto here. Then back home to the tent. Used to buy him a breakfast. Then one day he disappeared, never saw him again. People go, don't they?


Interview with Andy Morrison, conducted by Phil at The Wellspring in Stockport, Feb 2015. The Homeless Library is a project devised by arthur+martha to document the heritage of homelessness using interviews, artworks, poetry. It is supported by the Heritage Lottery Fund.

Thank you that was very pleasant

We're working in partnership with Gallery Oldham to help rethink their reminiscence boxes as tools to stimulate art, writing and shared reflection.

We’ve recently started working in two care homes in Oldham, trying creative reminiscence ideas. Working with people with a dementia diagnosis, we're on the lookout for subtle breakthroughs, which mean an approach has worked and someone has changed their behavior for awhile. This is the story of one such moment.

The Big Wheel, Blackpool

The Big Wheel, Blackpool, Carbon Print

The reminiscence box we are currently constructing is called High Days and Holidays. It’s a powerful memory jolt because it brings with it associations of family outings, religious festivals, days out of the day-to-day. One of the slightest and yet most affecting things in this box is a set of old handtinted photos of Blackpool, the Shangri La of the North West. People were invited to trace these images with a pencil, onto carbon paper, making a copy of their marks. The drawings that came from this session have a dreamy beauty.

To make such a piece requires much effort, especially if you happen to have a dementia diagnosis. You have to recognize the picture, enter it, select the most important details, physically inscribe it with your own human labour.

A lady in our group today sings almost constantly, it’s a circle of behavior she rarely breaks out of. We of course didn’t know this. We simply saw a woman who sang a lot when we first met her become engrossed in drawing.

It turns out this was the first time she’d picked up a pencil and signed her name in two years, when her carer didn’t know if she could even write. It turns out she was a professional singer, and often worked in Blackpool.

It’s very tempting to make this last fact a neat ending to this story, because it appeals to logic. She was a singer in Blackpool – aha! 

I don't trust neat endings. Perhaps it was the rhythm of the physical activity, perhaps it was the particular colour of the picture, perhaps it was simply the daftness of our idea that appealed? But she stopped singing and we all kept smiling.

Tower Circus, Carbon Print

Holidays at home

Objects of Our Affection 18th June

A trip to the handling stores, allowed a relaxed encounter with the objects in the museum, unlike the museum stores, no white gloves were needed to reveal the collected objects. This collection is used by museum staff for workshops with children and reminiscence with older people, I felt like a child at Christmas unwrapping one box after another. 

I invited the participants to try and find objects in the handling collection that revealed something about themselves. Colin's eyes lit up when he found a Babies Gas Mask.

Colin and Babies Gas Mask

In 1938 the British Government gave everyone including babies gas masks to protect them in case the German's dropped poison gas bombs on Britain. The gas mask was for children up to 2 years old. The parents would place the baby inside the mask so that the head was inside the steel helmet, and the baby could see through the visor. I can't imagine the horror of having to put one of these on my children or even the 'friendlier' so called 'Mickey Mouse' gas mask for the older children.

"Mickey Mouse" Gas Mask, with Courtesy of Warrington Museum & Art Gallery

And yet for Colin the Babies Gas Mask just brought up joyous memories, he recalled using them as a boy after the war, as space helmets in dress-up play. A beautiful reflection of the space race and how children can turn virtually anything into play. 

Another strand in the sessions used the photos from last weeks trip to the Museum Stores, and photos from the Handling Collection mixed with writing selecting lines from their poems.

'Broken watch' photo/poem Colin

Flat Iron photo/poem, Sylvia

Participants found connections between museum objects (and sometimes their own eg. Colin brought in a broken watch belonging to his birth mother, the only object of hers he owns) and lines recalling memories about loved ones, or descriptions of their own lives. The group open up more each time we meet and gradually reveal some of the realities of the life as a carer, with the help of these art and poetry exercises. When I asked Sylvia to described herself in relation to an object she explained;

"a cog in a wheel, just keeps going, every things going all the time, going, going, going, when you stop, you go to sleep"

Like a cog in a wheel. photo/poem Sylvia

Carol described herself 'like glue, I seem to be the one who keeps the family together, I hold everything together... I never associated myself as a carer, I just fell into it, I didn't realise at first- you do a little bit, then a little bit more and then before you know it you're there"

Josie, monoprinting

Josie created some monoprints inspired by the beach hut she has created in the garden.

"me summer house. We don't go out, my daughter won't go on holiday, so we go to me beach hut. It's my thing, floating my boat. No radio or telly, me table cloth with seashells, its only little, double doors, fairy lights. You lock the front door and you don't hear anybody. My daughter 32 with learning difficulties, she's happy staying in, wont go on holiday- so we have our holidays at home." 

Holidays at home, monoprint, Josie

cottage in the wood

The project making memories is running over 2 years, working with older people in Oldham. Our brief is to develop 4 reminiscence boxes for creative use in care settings. Our subject matter for the moment is CERAMICS. This we are breaking down into smaller themes. 

Yesterday Phil and worked on Wedding Gifts, with the hope that for our group, many these gifts would have been in ceramic form. I took in a selection from my cupboard, things that I have inherited, or brought from charity shops, or been given as gifts... Including a 'tea trio set' which was my grandma's, to fine and breakable for my clumsy tea drinking.

With the help of the object and each other, the group remembered tea sets inherited from their own parents and ones received as wedding presents, to precious to be used- instead proudly displayed. Many of the gifts didn't have everyday use, a teapot in the shape of a house, a set of Apostle Spoons, fish knives and forks.... We discussed why when often they had so little material goods, did they have objects that had no use but to look pretty. Phil wrote up their conversation in the form of a poem, to be posted on the blog at a later date.

cottage in the wood, Denise Stephens, monoprint, 2013 

The second part of the session was a closer look at the objects, using the patterns on the plate- or memories of their own objects as inspiration to create monoprints. The joy of the monoprint is also the frustration for many- its difficult to control, the results are never the same twice, there are smudges and scrapes that you have to embrace. This encourages a looseness and a freedom that is harder to achieve with pencil and paper.

Everyone had a go, I've picked two examples here- I love the fairy-tale, summer day, quality of cottage in the wood, the more you look the more you see. And Doreen's portrait is so full of joy, exuberance and fun, it makes me smile every time I see it.

Doreen, monoprint Jan 2013

a homemade bogey

On Wednesday morning, Phil, Glenys (from Gallery Oldham) and I were at The Grange, in Oldham as part of the 'Making Memories' project.

Gleny's brought with her a collection of objects from the Gallery Oldham, themed around the Victorian Kitchen.  One participant commented when she heard we would be looking at the Victorian Kitchen 'I know I'm ancient but I'm not that ancient.' But as the morning went on, it became clear that the objects brought in where all still in use when they were younger. Participants reminisced about these 'antique' items, then followed by creating some beautiful prints which I share here.

'We used to race on bikes, and bogies made from pinched wheels, the Industrial North, the wealth of the country, the heart of the country.'

Used to donkey stone the Jambs as well as the steps, the stone strip used to come up lovely. That stuff would be difficult to get of your clothes. I didn't help, it was my job!

"Donkey stones, oh yes, give rags to the rag and bone man. Down South we were posh, put Red Cardinal on or scouring powder. Lovely pavements, all cleaner than now." 

The many uses of a rolling pin

I often feel guilty about the collections of objects I have gathered over the years - and the dust that they collect - however, yesterday a few started to earn their keep. Phil and I were in Oldham for the Making Memories project, working with older people at The Grange Supported Housing and at High Barn Day Centre. Reminiscence; loose poetic forms and printmaking were inspired by the objects.

The Old Fire Range, monoprint, Eunice Booth

Over the course of the project we want to look at how people respond to 'real' objects as opposed to photos of objects. Does handling an object, feeling its weight, texture, dimensions even smelling it, prompt a deeper more meaningful memory? My instincts say that a real object will be more powerful than a photo.

There will be other factors to take into account, each individual will have a different relationship with the objects shown, depending on their own histories. One day to another we can all respond differently to the same objects - additionally, each group  of people creates a unique dynamic which affects responses. Finally, each dementia is dissimilar and at various stages of progression, making another layer of subjectivity.


Yvette's measuring spoon, rolling pin, mixing bowl and board, monoprint.


In the afternoon I only used a small fraction of the objects I brought - all on the theme of cooking. The Turkey Baster inspired some interesting discussion around its possible uses- it seems that providing some more un-familiar objects in the box might be quite useful. The Palette Knife didn't get much response - except the desire to flick icing across the room! The object that got the most reaction to was the Rolling Pin,  a simple object that many people have in their kitchen, which sparked conversation and demonstrations. Irene commented: 'When you see things like this, it brings all sorts of memories, to hold it is totally different than looking at a photo, it brings back memories- I used it to stamp potatoes, roll pastry, wave at the children - that rolling pin came in quite handy.' 

The reminiscence seemed to help distract those participants caught in a loop of conversation or thinking, giving them a break and something else to focus on.

In the coming weeks we would like to try using some of the cooking utensils and make some scones, letting smell and taste become part of this exploration. And Phil likes scones, especially cherry scones...

What exactly is a kitchenette?

Making Memories. Oldham – Day 2


Our partnership with Gallery Oldham is a kind of meditation on time, using the contents of reminiscence boxes as a rosary. We're collaborating with the Gallery Oldham and local participants to add material to the reminiscence boxes. Boxes are full of carefully selected objects from the past 100 years, gathered into thematic mini-collections – School, work, Ceramics, Royal Family, etc. These are taken around the local area and used to stimulate discussion among older people, or school children.

Today I shadowed Glenys from Gallery Oldham, who has had 5 years experience of working with these boxes and has added many of the objects and ideas herself. It was fascinating to see another approach to workshops and especially to witness the generative power of these little items to make a spell of the past come back to us. Glenys very kindly let me make notes and question her about the thinking behind her two sessions today.

The morning was a 'taster' at The Grange Supported Home, with a small group of participants and Dorothy the manager; the first box contained twenty or so ceramic objects, mostly related to the royal family. The discussion wound out from a small candlestick through to the dubious genaeology of the royals, via the vexed subject of kitchenettes. (What is a kitchenette? Opinions differ – and who actually has authority over these words anyway, or more broadly these memories?) Glenys presided over a very sweet-natured conversation, weaving in her own childhood and a little specialist knowledge about the objects, to ground us.

The afternoon was at High Barn dementia day care centre, a very different group. Here, Glenys produced her Cotton box, packed with objects and photos from the days of the cotton-manufacturing industry, which once defined Manchester and the North West of England. Many of the people in this group had worked in the mills and so they looked at the bobbins and knotters and paraphenalia of making not as pieces of industrial archaeology, but as pieces of their own lives. It was especially moving to me to see people whose memories play cruel tricks on them come alive with their own pasts, triggered by this haphazard box. One lady consistently described herself as stupid, foolish, dumb – the dementia clearly a huge embarrassment to her. And yet, as she spoke she took these inanimate objects and reconnected them with life.

Join the NAFFI

Lois writes: Yesterday I was in Bakewell at the Age UK Day Centre for my project working memories. I had prepared material to discuss with the group around workers rights, Unions and working conditions. Members of the group took a typically matter of fact approach to working conditions: 

You stood up for yourself. As long as you did you your work you where ok. There was no health and safety, no union, you could be sacked- if you didn't work there was no money. We never went off sick, no sick pay, you had to get better as quick as you could. A doctor would say get home and take two aspirins! Flora

The only member of a Union was Herbert who worked in a Steel Forge in Sheffield:

Of course I was a member of a union, you had to be in those days. Transport and General Union first of all strangely enough. You were expected to be in a union, just a thing you had to be in. You took things for granted- paid your dues and that was it.

The subject moved onto uniforms, most people wore overalls of some kind, freshly ironed and sparkling clean...

Mary explained: in the NAFFI wore a uniform, blue overalls and to go out in khaki skirt, top and hat, all to match. You got your uniform, it wasn't uncomfortable.

monoprint (detail) © Lois Blackburn 2012

Was a housemaid to start with, then the war started it was either join the Land Army, or the NAFFI, so I joined the NAFFI canteen. I trained as a manageress, to go here there and everywhere. We preferred the army than the air force, the air force thought they were a bit up-perty, a bit of a snob shall we say. Used to start about 10.00am then to 2.00pm, then later on 7.00 till 10.00 we all had different hours. Only thing we didn’t like was getting up at 6.00am, because we couldn’t do anything… But when they started blowing the bagpipes and the horns it would echo in the Nissan Huts. That’s when I met my husband, in the H.L.I, (Highland Light Infantry) up in Northumbria.

The Sergeant Major would go round with his big stick and flip the kilts up, check they had the right gear on. (our windows where to high to have a look!) If not, got JANKERS… do extra duties, the main one working in the NAFFI doing all the washing up.

Food we gave them depended on the day, hot dogs and cakes one day, and sandwiches. Mostly cigarettes they went for, they weren’t rationed there.

Lost in the woods

Pinfold Centre Week 6, Spaghetti Maze

Our project at the Pinfold Centre in Bury is to work with people who have a dementia diagnosis, devising life stories for use as their memories are eroded by the disease.

We’re trying to find a space in life story work that speaks to the subjective, quirky, curious, complex mix that we all are. Life stories are of course forms of narrative and there are many kinds of narrative and narrators, including the unreliable.

Paula's family tree (detail)

The life-story books that are our guide are a wonderfully helpful resource for people dealing with dementia and who might need prompting in order to access their memories. The books contain lists of likes and dislikes, favourite people, family photos and much else. They are used by carers to get a sense of someone’s life and so that they’re able to talk with them and include them in activities. There is a side product of these books that is to do with legacy, the handing on of family stories and traditions and information.

However, these books can also be prescriptive and limiting. What other ways are there to tell these stories?

Our first explorations have been around the idea of family trees and the metaphor of trees more generally, with their subtle networks. Trees also bring along ideas of fairytales, renewal and growth – and being lost in the woods. It’s a kind of family tree centred around one person that we’ve in mind. Perhaps this could be a beginning for some people, from which all of the outgrowths of anecdotes, memories, artworks and poems can take shoot?

But families can also bring disastrous memories – of trauma and abuse - stories of which we’ve encountered in the sessions. And in other cases, the very fact that family memories are being displaced by dementia is upsetting enough – people don’t want to be reminded that memory itself is under attack. And so other shapes, other narratives are needed too…

Kathleen's family tree (detail)

Spaghetti Maze - participants' quotes

Participants’ quotes


Pinfold Centre – Day 5

We are running reminiscence and art/writing workshops at the Pinfold Centre in Bury, working with people who have a dementia diagnosis to build up life-stories. These will be used as their disease progresses and memories erode.

We've run five sessions in the Pinfold Centre and are starting to develop some delightful work. Because reminiscence can be a challenge for someone with dementia, we tread as carefully as we can. However, the very process of remembering can engender upset, as can the content of memories. We've had a wonderful response to the workshops, but this week wanted to check with people about how they felt about the project and our plans for it. This week we started to introduce artwork and next week we'll try some poems, which Gladys is looking forward to, as you'll see below.

We've been very fortunate in working at this particular centre because the care and dedication of the staff is remarkable. This makes the participants relax and impacts in a hugely positive way on our work. Because people feel happy and safe, they'll take risks and plunge into trying out new things. Staff member Tracy gives a summing-up at the end of these comments.

Ivy holding her printed postcards

Ivy

Some memories I like, some yes some no. It's surprising how it comes back. I like remembering back.

Jackie and her print

Jackie

Yes, sometimes enjoyable, sometimes not. Mum was so strict...

Barbara

Surprising what you can find as you go remembering. It comes to mind sometimes what we went through, fascinates me. Wonder how you manage to get through. It's one of them things you have to get over and build your muscles up. I've lived a serious life. A serious life, but I'd still do it again.

Mary and her print

Mary

I enjoyed everything, so I enjoy remembering. We all remember when we get together.

Margaret

The happy, happy times, from when you were young many moons ago. It's brought the memories again, the happiness. I think of it when I go to sleep at night. It's had me laughing.

Kathleen and her print

Kathleen

My son will love this. This will bring it back, make the point. It’s concrete, as I told it. I can show that to anybody. Thank you, this has been very good.

Gladys

Age, you accept. It depends on what you expect as you get older, whether you can do what you used to do. You might be an artist and not know it. Everything starts in a little way. For me, life's just going on as usual, the fact that I'm older seems to be a minor thing. I'd like to get going again with writing, it's rewarding if you can get something down in print. When I was at school I'd write stories – ridiculous of course, but a step on the way. You've got to get a nice sharp ending to make it readable.

Tracy (staff)

I love it, the reminiscing – and they love it too. It's really good for them. They get a lot out of it, getting their own time and space. Because we're pushed for time and because some people stay very quiet in big groups, we don't really get to know some of the service-users very well. But here, they can come out of themselves and be themselves.

salt and vinegar on the counter

"A few scraps on, I’ll have em open and eat em on the way home.’ Their not the same wrapped. We had a fish and chip shop. It was spotless." 


Lois writes: Day 2 at Bakewell Day Centre ran by Age UK. I'm testing or playing with the the proposal to draw other peoples memories. It's not that easy, I'm out of practice drawing, its like most pursuits, you have to practice to gain confidence and skill in it. So I took in my print making gear, and had a go at mono printing, there is no way  you can be neat or precious with the technique so its perfect to loosen up. With a stock of reminiscences from the previous sessions, some photographic images, and loads of paper I tried to illustrate the images from another persons head onto paper.

I worked with Irene trying to identify the shapes, colours, sizes of the salt and vinegar containers from the counter of her fish and chip shop. We also tried to re-work the outside of the shop. Its not such an easy job for the memory (I must look into the police's use of photofit!) images get muddled up in time. 

"Vinegar in a bottle, take em home if they wanted sauce. Counter had a marble front and top that was easy wipe down. Chips and fish or chips on their own, ‘leave em open please… served a few of them." Irene

get up and dance

Yesterday afternoon was spent at Parr Care Home, St Helens working on the project 'text from grandma' using the same themes and techniques from the morning. The atmosphere was different from the morning, we had a larger group and much younger care assistants. I found it interesting to observe the way the two generations responded to each other. 

Amy, (17) came with great energy and really got stuck in with the drawing and printmaking. Jamie had a really natural, instinctive and caring approach, genuinely wanting to help. Warren was called out of the group, as his services were required elsewhere in the home as 'the only care assistant who would get up and dance' It was great to see him back at the end of the session. As he left he commented: "I got upset hearing them all talk about their mums, knowing they've all lost theirs. I'm going home to give mine a hug!" 

Jane's 12 word poem describing her mum and printed postcard

Some of the group really didn't want to draw at the beginning, no matter how I sold it. Thankfully that changed once they saw their contemporaries having a go. They where often critical of their own beautiful drawings, but were all supportive of everyone else. Barbara seemed rather sleepy, but still produced a lovely profile portrait print, they remind me of Marc Chagall's paintings.

Barbara and her postcard

Alice's daughter sat in with us most of the session and was enthusiastic about the project and the idea of having reminiscence shared via the internet and text. She is the first recipient of one of the postcards.

Alice and her postcard

Mothers day postcards

Today's sessions were fantastic. I've been in St Helen's again, working on Text from Grandma.  This morning I was based at Mayfield Care Home, with the group from last week and the addition of Edwin.  We mixed formal assessment of the groups 'well being' with, reminiscing, drawing and printing.

Barbara's and Edwin's drawings and prints 

I haven't done any drawing with groups for a while, so it was a reassuring to find everyone willing 'to have a go'. It's nerve racking for many people being faced with a blank piece of paper and asked to draw, especially a portrait, so as ever I approached it like a game. The resulting beautiful drawings participants then adapted on the polystyrene sheet, which I used to print the postcards with. 

The postcards will be sent to participants relatives inviting them to view their work on-line, or to receive their memories via text. The postcard also asks the question 'what is your first memory of Grandma/Granddad? I eagerly wait to see if this will inspire a new conversation between generations. 

Edwin's postcard, and postcard back

With mothers day around the corner, I used the theme of mom, to inspire reminiscence. Group conversations were written down and used as source material for gathering 12 word descriptions. Such as the following from Barbara:

little

admiring 

interested 

helpful 

eager 

musical 

artistic

friendly 

smiley 

Norman's prints

Barbara said of the session: 'It was interesting and educational, learning things we've forgotten about. You don't stop to think about these things till you sit down and the question comes up.'

Edwin explained: 'I enjoyed someone talking with me, and to me, instead of ignoring me.'