Last week I screened my short film, ‘Little Light‘, that documents the making of a paintbrush from my son’s hair (and then using the brush to paint each frame of the film). It was to a small audience at our wonderful, local volunteer Star and Shadow cinema. It was made in lockdown a year ago and has only been screened in installation form, or at remote, online festivals. So this was the first time I’d seen it on a big screen, and I was really struck by the film’s beauty, but also the obscure nature of its narrative. I was relieved that, in my introduction, I had decided to read aloud a poetic text that sits in parallel to the piece. It is not a description of it, but rather a reflection upon a moment. Minutes before I stood in front of the crowd, I changed line and I added a word, ‘sink’. By giving the world of the piece a location, I felt I had let a little light through.
After the screening I reflected upon my decision to read the text and felt excited by this urge to let people in. When working in collaboration with poets, I have always felt it important to sit back, and let the writer take responsibility for the narrated ‘invite’ to the audience. Artist Tom Konvyes describes a video poem as a ‘juxtaposition of image, text and sound’, and I have allowed my visual contribution to be a personal playground of visual ideas that runs in parallel to the text that allows for moments of alignment or poetic coincidence. It had started to feel like an increasingly guarded, distant way to work. ‘To Be Two‘ is my own. It is a careful exploration of how to preserve as well as discuss the private, the intimate and the stories that belong to other people. This tension, between sharing and protecting, is key to being a mum, as well as an artist. I decided I wanted this text to become a part of the film.
The new iteration of ‘Little Light ‘ is called, ‘HairBrush‘. Writing and then performing the text as well as drawing my new work means I am having to challenge myself to consolidate. A collaborative piece, for me, is a sum of parts. I now want to resolve those parts into something more definitive and singular. Adding my voice to my work feels like edging around an unknown corner following an unfamiliar sound, like a walk in the dark with a toddler who has just begun to understand the possibility of wolves, and the majesty of the moon.
‘HairBrush‘ is a meditative reflection upon an everyday activity – a haircut. It documents the laboured process of making a paintbrush out of a golden curl from my son’s head. The brush then being used to paint each frame of the film. Watercolour, instead of blood or DNA, becomes the metaphor and material for describing how we imagine and manifest our selves through each other.
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to be two 