Writing in the Hayward Gallery

· November 17, 2013 · Writing in Galleries · , , , , , , , , · 2 Comments

I spent a fun and creative writing afternoon writing in the Hayward Gallery. The writing was guided by exercises provided by Shaun Levin, and inspired by the works of Dayanita Singh and Ana Mendita.

Dayanita Singh: Go Away Closer

Danyanita Singh is an artist and book-maker who works with photography. Photography is just a language: in her work images become texts.

Twilight shifts the world through shades of blue; haphazard lego-brick shapes with snaking pipes and orange maws fill the frame. Each light is a focus for conversation, for contact, as fingers and thumbs dance over glowing screens. Faces bend close; eyes narrow and then widen with delight; lips press together before stretching into a smile. Fingers flick, stroke and scroll. A sudden laugh, head thrown back, a momentary disconnect. The world rushes in: rumpled sheets and the smell of sweat and sex, the bite of hard chairs on the backs of legs, the familiar ache in hunched shoulders. And just for an instant, a glimpse of jumbled rooftops through the window, stretching to the shadow of hills and an empty sky.

Ana Mendita: Traces

During her brief career Ana Mendieta generated an inventive visual language. Using her own body, together with materials such as blood, fire, earth and water, she created visceral performances, which she captured on film.

Traitors’ Rock: a place for the clan to gather to witness the cleansing fire. A place for Marti and me to sneak back to at night, or in the drab grey of dawn, to sift through the charred debris, hoping for coins or trinkets that survived the flames. Sometimes we got lucky; mostly all we got were black-streaked knees and dirty fingernails.

That never stopped us; there was something compulsive about the place. It shouted secrets.

Marti cried sometimes, rubbing tears and snot across her face when I dragged her close to the Rock. I would have to shake her, and hiss that if she didn’t shut up the spirits of the stone would snatched her into the dark. And then I’d give her a piece of jerky to chew while she searched the outer rim of the burn. I had to remind her to give thanks when her grubbing fingers turned up a shiny, as she called it. Facing the Rock, we would touch soot-stained fingers to our foreheads and trace the sacred symbol, silently mouthing the words that bound us to this place.

Stillborn, I watch you. Hollowed out; smiling on the outside. Feel my skin. Don’t I feel solid? You smile and turn away, leave me rough and grieving: a scorched outline. Trace me—smooth fingers along rough surfaces, unwelcome bumps and lumps, caught on the cusp of becoming. No, don’t turn away. I exist only in your gaze. I stand in a frozen attitude of attention. Perceive me; consider me. Give me legs to stretch and walk away… from you.

Tree of lifeIf I stand here long enough, maybe you will see me. Or maybe you won’t. I hold my breath, torn between the two possibilities; not knowing, now, which one I want to come true. Don’t be stupid, I tell myself. Isn’t this why you have come? To be seen, noticed. To move in the same space, breathe the same air, taste life in the same way as you.

I hear the steady hum of voices, breaking into a staccato of shouts and laughter as you draw near. I take a breath, ready to step out, to enter your world. But limbs refuse to move, muscles lock in place. I’m a statue, slicked and pasted and moulded into the background. You saunter past. The moment is lost. Again.

World Fantasy Con 2013

· November 9, 2013 · Event Reviews · , , , , , , , · No Comments

The Hilton Metropole, Brighton. October 31st to November 3rd 2013.

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This was my first World Convention, and by golly was it crammed with great, the good and the very, very interesting! In fact, there was so much going on that I’ve decided to split my posts between what were, for me at least, the key areas.

Let’s start with: Author Readings

There were over 75 separate author readings scheduled over the four-day programme; with such a packed programme of panels and interviews, I had to agonise between competing interests to get the most out of each day. Author readings are my favourite part of a convention. I love listening to authors reading their own work, especially when it’s new and the writer is genuinely interested in the questions and ideas of their listeners.

Joe Abercrombie, fun and entertaining as always, read from his upcoming YA novel. Yes, YA, now that’s a surprise! His foray into the young adult market will hopefully garner new readers into the fold, and yet still appeal to his solid adult readership. The piece had that same gritty, in-the-face quality that makes Abercrombie’s writing so compelling. When asked if he’d really toned his writing down for younger readers, he replied: well, there are a lot less ‘fucks’. The book, which will be out next year, is the first in a trilogy.

James Barclay read a piece that in his own words was a ‘very, very early draft’ of a new book due out in 2015. The premise was new and interesting, featuring the uneasy relationship between Drakes (a dragon-like life-form developed from alien DNA) and their pilots/riders. As always the depiction of battle, in this case an aerial one between rival ‘drakes’, was well paced, keeping us all on the edge of our seats. James was keen to elicit the opinions of the group, and talk about the background and ideas that inspired this latest book. I can’t wait to see this book in print.

I was very excited to attend my first ever reading by Peter F. Hamilton. He gave us all a real treat—starting with a new Paula Mayo piece (one of my favourite characters!), followed up by a sample from his new children’s book Queen of Dreams. This book includes his daughter, Sophie, as sky dancer princess (not a faery, he said, as that would make him a faery king). Hamilton finished the reading with another cracking story, which was cut short as time was called by one of the ever vigilant ‘red coats’. With just two pages to go, he offered to finish reading the story outside the Reading room. Most of us gathered happily around a table to listen to the concluding section—it was well worth it!

Apart from scheduling-in my favourites, I attended a few readings from authors that were new to me. One such, Lawrence C. Connolly, was of the old-world storyteller mould. He told three stories, from memory, in a vivid and captivating manner. An enjoyable and unforgettable experience. At the end he posed a number of riddles to the audience, and gave away copies of his books to the first to shout out the right answer (I wasn’t quick enough (sigh)). Lawrence C. Connolly is one to follow, and I will be hunting down his collection of short stories, This Way to Egress, as soon as I’ve finished this post.

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