Thanks

I am so very proud to be part of the Armour Celebration event yesterday, a collaboration between veterans, people who have experienced homelessness and arthur+martha.
We started with a performance of the song Behind Brittle Barriers, co-created with singer songwriter Matt Hill and people from The Booth Centre.

Danny reading his poem

From my notes, I nervously shared my thoughts on the project- whilst Gavin, Danny, Anne Marie and Peter spoke about the impact the work has had on them, with passion, dignity, articulately and without notes! Then went onto read their poems. I have much to learn!

It was an emotionally charged day, two people broke down in tears when they saw their work, seeing a moment in their history, caught up in embroidered stitch, the pain of unresolved issues?  the relief of moving on? a sense of pride seeing their word shared? a letting go? There was lots of laughter also, and most of all a celebration of the amazing artwork, poetry and song created.

There are so many people to thank, The Booth Centre who hosted the project, Arts Council England who supported the project, The Imperial War Museum who hosted an outreach session, The Royal Armouries Leeds, Walking with the Wounded for their advice, the staff and volunteers from the above organisations, our guest artists/writers/singer songwriters, Johnny Woodhams and Matt Hill, and as ever most of all to our amazing participants.

To see the documentary film about this project please visit  ARMOUR

Artist Lois Blackburn and singer songwriter Matt Hill

Armour poem recordings & poem collection now on-line

Detail of the Armour artwork

I am pleased to share that recordings of poems from the project Armour are now on-line at Soundcloud written and read by veterans and/or people with experience of homelessness. 

Poems, embroideries and other texts made in self-defence

Armour is a project that uses words and stitches to explore the ways we protect ourselves. It is a collaboration with veterans of armed conflict and with people who have lived experience of homelessness. We asked people to describe their personal “armour”, physical and mental. Artworks inspired by gambesons, the quilted jackets worn under suits of armour, were made out of rust dyed fabric and embroidered with poems, and other writings.

Armour artworks on exhibition at The Museum Associations Annual Conference

Many of the poems are also on-line on our poetry collection arthur-and-martha-poems

We would like to thank the many people who participated for their bravery and honesty. We’d also like to thank our guest poet Johnny Woodhams and singer songwriter Matt Hill, The Quiet Loner, for leading some workshops, our wonderful team of volunteers, including Melanie Miller, Marc and Jessie. And finally, we are grateful to the Booth Centre, Imperial War Museum-North, The Royal Armouries Leeds, Gallery of Costume Manchester, Walking with the Wounded and Tom Harrison House for hosting workshops and the Arts Council England for supporting the project.

HOUSE WITHOUT WALLS - Berlin exhibition

MIGRATION OF WHALES = MIGRATION OF PEOPLE /
BUT WE CANNOT RETURN TO OUR SUMMER HOMES

HOUSE WITHOUT WALLS (EIN ZUHAUSE OHNE WÄNDE)

Press Release

House without Walls is an exhibition of drawings by refugee children in Berlin, made with British visual poet Philip Davenport, from arthur+martha. The exhibition opens 13 October, at Paul-Schneider-Haus in Spandau, Berlin, and continues until 23 November (Mon-Fri 10-6).

The drawings show a child's everyday, but with the sharpness of war punching through. A policeman with a truncheon hides in one corner of 'A normal day'. A mother walks through a field equally divided between trees and explosions. Several of the drawings have been made into "poster poems", with responses from parents and adults in their community incorporated into the designs.

The poster poems, made in collaboration with Syrian designer Deya Nemo, are a gentle, sideways look at the human cost of war, the subtle losses, including childhood itself. The text layers three languages together: Arabic, German and English, a diverse echoing of voices. The naivety of the drawings contrast with the questioning of adults. Sharp and cynical, though still child-like, these conversation pieces between children and adults continually ask: where are we now?

Exhibition poster

Davenport's workshops took place in the busy corridor of the Staakener Strasse asylum seekers' shelter in Spandau, Berlin. He directed weekly sessions, over a period of 6 months, getting the children’s energy down on paper, an act of creation and of release. They attacked the paper on occasions. One boy had such shaky hands that his drawings were almost those of an old man.

Davenport describes the workshops: "A blast of energy, full of delight, mischief - but a certain brittleness too. As I slowly got to know the children I began to understand the cost of the epic life journey they'd taken, to reach safety here in Berlin..."

Davenport also interviewed many older members of the community at Staakener Strasse, weaving their thoughts into the work. The interviews and a diary of the project are at this link. 

The 21st-century is a time of instability. Political change, climate change, economic change, bring unprecedented human movement. But some of the most sensitive witnesses have not been consulted...

Funded by The British Council/Arts Council England.

Supported by Paul Schneider Haus, Gemeinwesenverein Haselhorst e.V., EFRE, Gemeinschaftsunterkunft Staakener Straße, Spandau, Berlin, arthur+martha U.K. 

Translations by Deya Nemo, Lisa Langer and Aurelie Maurin.  

Thanks to all at Gemeinschaftsunterkunft Staakener Straße, Barbara Caveng and Dachil Sado at Kunstasyl, Wiebke Ehrenstein at Paul-Schneider-Haus, Elke Ritt at The British Council in Berlin, and poets Alistair Noon, Pierre Joris and Habib Tengour.

An arthur+martha international outreach project.

Fear

 

Detail of Peter Twigg's embroidery work in progress

Armour Project

Phil writes:

The Booth Centre: there was also anxiety in the air this morning, it hit like a shock wave as I came through the door. Someone was trying high level intimidation, with raised fists, loud shouted outbursts, staring competitions. He was dressed in black, he paced the room, moving erratically and occasionally launching into another confrontation, while the staff tried to defuse his anger. Because people in the Centre are very attuned to threat, their radar was on  alert. They looked over each other's shoulders while talking, there was an unsettled feel, objects kept being knocked off tables, people bumped into one another. It was as if an earthquake had dropped in for a cuppa.

Paula's 'Safe'embroidery, in progress

As is the often the way there, I spoke to some people I have known for years and some I'd only met this morning. Every conversation was fragile, lightly touched by the presence of fear, yelling its head off in the corner. The first person I talked with was fighting back panic, he said. The next was joking with me, but kept checking the threat potential. The last had been awake four days straight, out on the streets. He'd not been eating, because of grief. He looked shrunken, like a an inhabitant of an institution, with over-large, over-bright eyes.

But walking alongside fear, and just as powerful, was the feeling of being thoroughly, immediately alive, and the intensity of each shared moment. A day at The Booth Centre is like this, you can squeeze several hours-worth of living into an instant. There’s a surreal-ness to the fast-forward rush of it all. It came as absolutely no surprise that the footballer Ryan Giggs suddenly turned up with a camera crew to meet folk, sign autographs, and add a further manic element. Suddenly beaming smiles and a celebrity frisson punctuated the atmosphere.

 Footballer, Ryan Giggs visiting the Booth Centre

In the afternoon, making an oasis of stitching and poems, we read The idea of order at Key West by Wallace Stevens, a poem about reducing chaos. Its subtitle might be how to insure yourself against the effect of the world by finding safety in art. Or in other words, how to write your way out of fear. The writing was made sharper by the recollection of our morning demon, a malevolent drug dealer stalking his own mad shadows.

When I was fighting didn't think that was dangerous

When a knuckle duster knocked out my tooth

Didn't think that was dangerous 

And when I was driving 130mph, 

Didn't think that was dangerous.

When I hold a knife, that's the closest I come.

That's closest:

“If I'm not careful with this

In my hand

It is dangerous.”

Anonymous

fish and chips I like to order

I don't like the word chaos

it brings disorder

danger comes in all sorts

car, bus, tram

suicidal thoughts.

Peter Twigg

Paula embroidering for 'Armour' project

Solace from memory dark

‘When I was homeless, I used to put my head in a box- I was sleeping on a park bench, with cardboard to keep the draft from below and a box to keep the wind of my head. A box, a lovely form of protection - it works very well.”  Georgina.

Our third session at the Booth Centre, for the project Armour, and this time we were joined by artist/poet/performer Johnny Woodhams.

It’s a hard to explain in words sometimes, better to experience. As I have talked about in previous blogs, The Booth Centre does something remarkable, gives a safe space to some of the most vulnerable in society. And more than that, creates a tolerant, optimistic, creative working space that I feel privileged to work in.

‘Making art, takes your mind away from things.’ Garry

Shrine, part of the Armour project

With Johnny leading the session, the room took on a jovial atmosphere and somehow, at odds to the stereotypes of the pained artist, in stickered misery, the laughter and support allowed people to talk about some darkness, darkness that nobody would want to face. One man, living with his fiancée and son, recently dying in a house fire, created a shrine. A deeply personal brave piece, that effected all of the viewers.

‘Making art, helps an erratic mind, it stimulates, you’ve found the secrete to help homeless people.’ Dave.

Johnny had filled a two tables with an eclectic mix of objects, bones, wooden boxes, an old violin, books, tiny figures of people. Without pausing anon, (a veteran of the armed forces) choose a large piece of tree bark and started writing his train of thought onto it.

“The sway from your branches, to and fro, my home, not to share, my solace from memory dark, noice, panic, fear, tearing at my brain… you comfort me still, my house, my treehouse.'  

Quietly spoken, he explained to me later, that he had spent two years living in a tree house, only coming down to the ground in the dead of night.

Gary's artwork coincidentally picks up on another aspects of trees, their life cycle and the importance of trees/cardboard and wood in a homeless person's life. Taking us back in a circle to Georgina….

Lois Blackburn

Johnny Woodhams at the Booth Centre

I had no real idea what I was expecting to find and feel at the Booth Centre having never been there before. I was afraid that my concept for the session might be met with boredom or resentment...after all what do I know about what it's like to live on the street? What I found was the best 'family' of folk I've met in a long time....staff, volunteers and visitors alike...genuine, welcoming, comforting and inclusive....what an absolutely great place.

The outcomes of the session were raw and hugely emotive but the power of humour and strength were ever present throughout the day....I cannot wait to go back....I can see a hundred more things we could do! Writing is at it's best when it is honest  and rooted in truth...there are some bloody great writers here but often my favourite pieces are the most basic and simplistic because no language is wasted...it is as the person speaks....

This session was utterly touching, emotive and beautiful even in its sadest themes...it lifted my spirits enormously and reminded me how important the power of art is even more so in these current climes....

Any one of us could easily fall into this position...the mixture of amazing characters was complete testament to this.....

Johnny Woodhams

Pop-up exhibition at the People's History Museum

Next Tuesday the 16th May, The Homeless Library is visiting The People's History Museum for a 'pop-up' exhibition, between 11am and 4pm. 

The People's History Museum is the national centre for the collection, conservation, interpretation and study of material relating to the history of working people in Britain.

Artists Jeni McConnell and Lois Blackburn, will be joined by some of the Homeless Librarian's from the Booth Centre, to share the artist books and poems, and to invite visitors to the Museum to have a go at making their own handmade book.

The Homeless Library is the first history of British homelessness, told through poems, interviews, artworks and handmade books. Supported by The Heritage Lottery Fund.

To download our free ebook, please visit http://www.blurb.co.uk
For more information about the project please visit Our website

The First History

THE HOMELESS LIBRARY has come from many stories, and none of them were easy to tell. The courage needed to share is present in every single one. Everybody held within these little books worked hard to contribute. Thank you for this, and for trusting us with your words.

This is the first time that homeless people have claimed a place in that slippery thing called history. But this is more than a history book. It is a whole library, made of language and image and emotion. The poems, the artworks and the handmade books are things of beauty and of power. Because they're handmade, to pick one up and to read it is more like meeting a person, than touching an object. It has fingerprints on it, human traces left in ink and paint and pencil and words.

This has also been the most difficult project we've done. It's been hard to hear some of the stories. Both of us have gone away feeling very, very sad and sometimes very angry, hearing what's happened to people we've met. People who have been beaten, raped, urinated on, burnt, robbed, arrested, sectioned, betrayed by families and friends.

But as we've gone through this both Lois and I have also started to treasure these meetings and workshops. I hope telling these stories brings understanding and maybe some relief. Making the poems together is something I will remember all my life. I have never been more proud. We have come away thinking of people's amazing humour, kindness, generosity, ingenuity and determination. These are stories of human spirit and it has been uplifting to be part of them.

Philip Davenport, Speaking at the Launch of The Homeless Library, Manchester Central Library Jan 2017

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