A tour of the exhibition

I spent the last week as one of the artists at a community-based arts festival organised by this fine new local organisation, the Southampton Chamber of Arts - here's a tour of the work on display...

Deep in the heart of heritage

Chain-heavy, iron cobra’s caught mid-strike,
Halloween-themed stove spits sparks
from once-discarded engine-parts
and the shepherds’ skull and trident flies
above a split black cat, LED-red-eyed,
cyborg skeleton inside,
guards a charred-black infant, never cried,
dustbin perch, peeled-back hide,
while sharks chit-chat with flamingos
gold-chain style, watercoloured curves
beckon me and sigh, lick fingertips,
turn their faces coyly to one side
to bat their lids at stained-glass poppies,
portraits, skies and symbols back-lit
as the rare cog-headed butterfly
alights upon the pulpit and the chop-shop motorbikes.
Across the aisle, oblongs shine out at me –
images of Tuscan countryside
boardwalk shadows, misted seas,
sunsets, sunrises, winter trees,
way-back-when St. Denys scenes,
and happiness is boxed
by a smirking purple dame,
turquoise feathered hat on top,
looks knowing at a Merlin motor in a frame
and the seasons’ turning burns like flame,
a lyrebird sings angelic strains,
strings strummed and humming on church columns,
piano hammers hung on silent springs
awaken tigers, lilypads and poison frogs,
happy ‘see my bits’ blue dog,
layered skull and octopus,
half-a-Dalek, Ganesh dances,
Hanuman makes mischief on a plinth
and a plus-size waxwork hand
with giant whorls and arches
reaches out to teach us –
what might come of this?
Nothing’s ever lost by asking.

Ponds, rellies and makeshift tools

Reading my brother-in-law's facebook post about the weather and garden flooding from the perspective of an everyday family situation (and some DIY), I was taken by its almost prose-poetry style and the trio of trios found within. With his permission I edited it into verse form.

In threes

As I brush my teeth,
I look out of the bathroom window
then go back to the sink
as the minty foam is on the point of escape.

I've not been down to the bottom of the garden for quite a few days
but the silver of the sun-lit ponds seems to have become bigger.
Tom (my youngest son), Dad and I go down to check –
the top pond has burst its banks
and there is a stream running over the top of the dam
into the second
and leaking
into
the third,
and
out again –
water,
water everywhere.

The overflow for the top pond is easily unblocked –
the water flows freely,
whooshing straight into the other two ponds.
Also blocked,
the overflow pipe for the third pond is twenty feet long.
The longest things we can find –
a special spade,
a handle for something,
a stick,
are taped together
and we fight our way through the undergrowth,
bloody brambles, sodding holly,
into the stream below.

We feed in the long, unwieldy thing,
push-pull, push-pull,
then more whooshing –
on reflection,
it would have been more sensible
to unblock the lowest pipe first.

Vicarious performance

Inspired by a 2-hour performance by Louiza Hamidi in Southampton, 26th April 2013.

Vicarious performance (mask)

I am scared and crying,
The slab-cold meat
Hangs cloyingly upon my face,
I sicken at its stink,
Its bloody mess
Will not let me see,
Out through the glass in front of me.

I am scared and crying,
I know the passers-by are staring,
In from the street, uncomprehending,
But I’m blinded by the flesh,
All I can do is stand, impassive,
A test of strength –
‘No reaction’ equals power
Over obstacles and fears
And any inability to access, connect, engage.

I am scared and crying,
But the rawness hides my tears.