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I made a donation for a white poppy knitted in sparkly wool. I lost it before I could commemorate it with a photograph. I wanted to make a gesture of remembrance that spoke to peace. The red poppy leaves me feeling a little uncomfortable, that it can be easily bound up with jingoism, or mistaken for my support of a specific cause. Often in family constellations where the silence of those returned from conflicts or genocides are played out by the next generations. I feel our world wounded by the failings over and over again to recognise and hear the consequences for those at the receiving end of violence and also for the perpetrators. All of this undigested grief continues to play out in our collective unconscious. I want to say sorry for harm caused by me, by my forebears, by my nation. I want to apologise for gaps in my empathy and understanding. I don’t know how to land these words, which seem hollow. I have only my awareness to offer to the graves marked and unmarked of complex histories, as I listen to the voiceless.

This feels like a moment of profound contentment. The suckler and the feeder both generate oxytocin in this primal act. My own mother’s milk slowed down and I was weaned at six months. I defiantly refused to exchange cow for mother’s milk. I have remained an avid lover of oral soothing from thumb sucking to kissing. I devour non-dairy creaminess – coconut yoghurt, oat cream and Ombar Mylk chocolate. I continue to be a fan of breasts. Holding the baby later in a sling, she falls asleep on me and I feel the intimate connection of our hearts beating alongside one another. This is one way to grow love.

I picture hearts connected by arteries and veins. It is an imagined biology, an extended metaphor from the blood connection between mother and baby. I wanted to create a map of the bonds between us – limited in years, but significant in influence. My letter to this unborn child aims to convey a summing up of all I have learned so far, and the whole cycle of life and death. I hope it will be received as a blessing from a good fairy, although it includes signposts to the gold in the shadow. Ancestor, living and child of the future, each hold a place in the line.

My second hand book arrived in the post. I love pre-thumbed pages, corners turned and if I’m lucky a margin note or dedication. To my delight an envelope fell out. “Open in case of zombie apocalypse” it reads, in green slime-like lettering. I have seen ‘Sean of the Dead’, so I know what a zombie apocalypse looks like. I take the Overground at 5pm where bodies cram close without communication. Pouring off the train at Highbury there is a collective movement towards the Victoria line. I see the signs – unsmiling faces (blank with dead eyes), that don’t connect, stiff limbs, movement that lacks verve, drab clothing in grey and black. I feel the intolerance as I reach out my arm in an individual action. It’s time to open the envelope…

In the 2021 census trial I fill in the questions about us, and the space we inhabit. I notice my irritation as my sense of identity – a complex and evolving spectrum of tendencies is reduced to ‘yes or no’, ‘this or that’ answers. I also hold in mind the fragments of the lives from my Victorian forebears in censuses that reveal fascinating family and societal changes. My great great grandfather Joseph Taylor was a ‘hatter’ in 1861 and by 1891 had become a ‘sanitary inspector’. The question about religion bothers me. Some of this household are Jedi. They regularly use the force to overcome the dark side. My faith is central to who I am, but it doesn’t easily fit a check box. I honour nature. I chant the Tara Mantra, offer thanks to my supportive guides and ancestors. I light Tibetan incense, venerate goddesses from several religions, as well as plastic figures. I connect with birds and animals, walk in nature as a spiritual practice. I am surrounded by sacred images to inspire and in the magnolia tree strings of fading prayer flags are blowing prayers into the wind. I ambivalently tick the ‘Buddhist’ box.

Confronted with this brutal image, my inner detective constructs a crime scene. “Who decapitated this pigeon?” she asks, evaluating potential suspects and motives. I enjoy crime documentaries, police procedural and courtroom drama because I fear and am fascinated by death and criminal psychology in equal measure. I want to look at the darkness, to understand it. I spend my days practicing for ‘the good life’. But after 10pm I sink into the strong arms of the sofa to relish delving into the disturbing, traumatic and psychotic through long-form drama and documentaries – ‘Unbelievable’, ‘Mind Hunter’, ‘the Jinx’, ‘Chernobyl’.

Hanging just out of reach are yellow quinces. Their skin is tattooed with spots and marks. Neither round nor pear shape, they have character. I see the pattern of branch, twig and leaf against sky with William Morris eyes. Not palatable raw, they are recommended for jams, jelly or ‘membrillo’. Andy drops by to discuss practical things, and in his hand a jar of his homemade Quince Jam with Star Anise – a well timed gift.

I read the poster in my head with Grata’s monotone intonation. “Change is coming, whether you like it or not.” It is posted on a hoarding in Shoreditch, where another new building will no doubt spring up. Wave upon wave of change has chased investment down this old Roman highway. Nineteen years ago I used to bring our Ford Escort to a backstreet garage here to be serviced at Holywell Motors. I discovered there used to be a Priory here on the site of a sacred well. It was renowned from 1150, then “much decayed and spoiled” in John Stow’s London survey 1525-1603. There have been countless changes in the centuries since Holywell Priory was dissolved; but Greta’s warning points to a far greater transformation than the city skyline. “Change is coming, whether you like it or not.”

One diagram might chart the spectrum of creative work between Fuller (see previous post) and the print-makers of North Korea. Fuller describes life as an artist as “a curse, a compulsive problem”. He paces, researches and explores his subject working over long periods in isolation to create extraordinary ‘maps of the mind’, which synthesize the aesthetics, culture and geography of places. At the other end of the spectrum are the print makers from the DPRK who work as part of a team, follow rules that cover subject, style and load references within each image. Art production is structured within a studio system. The highest level of attainment in this system is ‘People’s Artist’. Nicholas Bonner is a lively cultural ambassador, both informative and entertaining. He conveys the philosophy behind these idealized images. As Kim Jong-un states, “Revolutionary art awakens people to the truth of struggle & life & inculcates in them rich emotion & verve”. Bonner explains some of the meaning behind the dynamic, vibrant, yet often visually lyrical wood and lino cuts. He also shares some of his experience of the humanity of the people in the DPRK and the everyday life that these prints portray.
www.vam.ac.uk/event/2nvll3KZ/printed-in-north-korea

A physical map of my day would be linear from Hackney to South Kensington and back. You might add in the place I thought I was going, (Alexandra Palace) and the place I wanted to go (Sandown Park to see Amma). A map of the human interactions of my day would look more like a bee’s flight path with hotspots for pollinating conversations – serendipitous meetings with inspiring people including Shelly and Rachel Rose Reid. Another representation might include my visual preoccupations, ideas or beliefs. The golden arm and hammer is a symbol of the God Vulcan and of industry (gold-beating in particular). Under this hammer and muscular arm (echoing a revolutionary stance) in the V&A precious metals hall I meet Fuller. We mingle amongst a cornucopia of crafted metal objects including a literal silver bath-sized cornucopia then the crowd move to the pub. A map of my conversational journey with Fuller starts with art disciplines, eddies through artists’ rituals, books to inspire, meanders through places seen, lingers in destinations and possible futures. Later I check out his beautiful stylized portrayal of Pyongyang’s architectural landscape which revolves around its key landmark – the Juche Tower, central to DPRK philosophy.
www.fullermaps.com