Sarah’s Journal

31 Oct

Posted at 16:41h in Sarah's Journal by

Halloween is being marketed to us by corporations who want to sell mass produced synthetic costumes, plastic buckets, cheap chocolate grown where rainforests used to grow and sweets which encourage obesity. We are being sold images of this American confection through film, TV and social media. However, scratch the surface and you will find Samhain – the old Celtic festival to mark the end of harvest and the passage into winter. This has been celebrated for centuries on these isles. All Souls Day (the first of November) has been glued onto the old roots of this festival. I sense the profusion of “trick or treating” and dressing up in gothic styles as a response to our hunger for a connection with the circle of life and death. We yearn for a relationship with the ancestors – which we will soon be. Borrowing from the tradition of ‘Los Dios de los Muertos’, the ‘Day of the Dead’ in Mexico, a family film like ‘Coco’ (Pixar/Disney 2017) does just that in a way that includes children. “The English experience of death is apologetic. In Mexico it’s a celebration of the person who’s passed on.” (Stephen Wright, artist) After placing offerings for my ancestors, on Saturday I will be slipping on my skeleton suit and dancing at ‘Golden Delicious’.
http://www.rialtotheatre.co.uk/whats-on/events/golden-delicious-day-of-the-dead

29 Oct

Posted at 19:57h in Sarah's Journal by

Here lies an unpicked harvest. Nature’s bounty falls to the ground for wasps, now drunk on fermented fruit. Even the birds have had their fill. City people too busy or unschooled in nature’s kitchen to plunder fruit trees, let it rot. Trees rely on mammals and birds to eat their fruit. The seeds are designed to be returned to the ground in a neat parcel of manure to assist propagation. My poo – it’s fertilising power untapped – flushes from sewer to pipe under the city until it reaches sewage treatment works then canal or river before it flows down to the sea. The majority of crab apple seeds will rot and be swept

28 Oct

Posted at 20:01h in Sarah's Journal by

Tony, Pan-like with his goat legs and horns dances on the beach. Our feet crunch on the stones to the beat. The elements put on a show as the sun sets. Big wide sky swirls above us blue, pink and gold like a lava lamp. The sea is still, coated with a petrol blue lacquer. The pier is crusted with jewel bright lights, which melt colour into the sea as the sky darkens. We dance around a fire, watching the elemental performance. The flames breathe in the light salt air and bless us with wood smoke. Tess plays a track which speaks to me. I suck on spaciousness, loosen my limbs, feel gratitude for the beating of my heart.
http://www.wildmoves.org/waves-on-the-beach/4594154601

27 Oct

Posted at 22:58h in Sarah's Journal by

After a month of rain and grey sky draped like a blanket over everything, mushrooms are popping up. Stems grow like teenagers’ legs in a growth spurt when you’re not looking; they appear as adults overnight. Firm fragile fungal flesh a paradox of sturdy enough to break through soil, yet soft enough to fracture on touch. Beneath the grass a hidden world of mycelium grows and spreads, fertile soil for nature’s opportunists. I lie to squint at delicate gills of warm neutral tones. I stop to peer under bushes, examine small canopies. I notice teeth marks at the edge of one fleshy mushroom and wonder who the nibbler was.

26 Oct

Posted at 20:21h in Sarah's Journal by

Angry Dan’s bright and cheerful rainbow mural has been defaced by someone who sees Ikea in the colours yellow and blue. I want to reclaim them for sky, sun and sand. It made me realise how much I cherished approaching the rainbow as I walked down the path. To me it says “Hello!” queer or otherwise, with a nod to the variable nature of the weather. This morning it made me consider the fundamental nature of my queer identity. People who don’t know me well often assume that I am heterosexual. I notice how my nature – invisible for many years despite being called ‘Queero’ at primary school – is glad to be seen. Angry Dan – artist and activist also uses painted rainbows and clouds in his ‘blue dot’ series to remind us of the finite resources on this small blue planet.
www.angrydan.com

24 Oct

Posted at 22:01h in Sarah's Journal by

On the brow of the hill where the view is attention seeking is a simple bench. “In memory of Alan Holden 1924-2011…expertly monitored butterflies and helped create the nature reserve for all to enjoy,” reads the plaque. Eight years since his death, and here lie fresh flowers. The living rush about, send texts, busy themselves with infinite to do lists. This eight-years-gone man has time to remind us to sit awhile. I remember a holiday free from the tyranny of digital means. We sat on a bench on a hill to watch the passing of sunlight across a valley, and the movement of goats. We called it ‘goat tv’. I stop and remember at this place of remembrance that other view where we stopped and sat.

23 Oct

Posted at 21:55h in Sarah's Journal by

They see me with dogs, pram and often a man before I see them. “Arrrrhhh, arrrhhh, arrrhhh!” They fly down from high territorial perches – the pylon, oak tree or planes by the Old River Lea. The first wave announce my arrival with more calls, then hop from foot to foot excitedly on the ground. Two or three stand on top of the goal post in a row. Their heads bob down and up again with each call. I bring suet or seeds and sometimes a special treat like popcorn. They are especially fond of pasta. There are around 30 crows in my regular crowd, but when the whole ‘Marshes Murder’ come there are up to 120 birds. I welcome their smart beady-eyed corvid appearance. Feathers – some tatty, mottled, a little threadbare – swoop in, take sudden flight if I move too fast. I welcome these shape-shifting portents of death and change. I come most days and in the cold months they bless my offerings with their community and their calls of acknowledgement “Arrrhhh, arrrhhh, arrrhhh!”

22 Oct

Posted at 22:19h in Sarah's Journal by

I am sitting writing on a train full of solitary commuters. It is the rush hour, and we avoid making eye contact. Many people of these same gaze-avoiders will have digital selves who seek connections – for hook-ups, companionship, romance and marriage. Many of us seek intimacy and touch, yet it is only seen in glimpses in public places. We display our revealing selfies and write our explicit desires behind closed doors. I love the audacious al fresco canoodle of this long-ago-teenage couple. What does genuine affection and tenderness look like? How do we find the kind of attention we really want to receive?

21 Oct

Posted at 21:31h in Sarah's Journal by

Pavement shrines spring up on the streets outside the formality of churches to signify an unexpected death, an accident or a brutal ending. On this particular corner the end of the working week is announced with a gathering. A member of this club has died. His end is celebrated like any Friday with Wray and Nephew over-proof rum. A Jamaican flag, his name, a photo have been taped round the tree where they meet in honour – RIP it reads. Flowers and candles are placed here to remember him. A balloon is now slowly exhaling. Is this the Jamaican tradition of Nine Night happening here, on the street corner?

20 Oct

Posted at 21:53h in Sarah's Journal by

I often feel that my most radical act is simply being friendly. When I am in ‘flow’ I can feel like human lubricant – easing social encounters and rippling smiles into the neighbourhood. I enjoy the moments of recognition, chance encounters and random conversations with strangers. I want to live in a world where we greet passers by, where each “good morning” or “good afternoon” offers a well-wishing and an opening. These small acts of benediction glue communities together. With each nod of recognition, I feel as though I am woven – with my not-black clothes, plaits and dog in a pram – into the fabric of the Hackney streets I roam daily.