Assignments Four and Five (Option 1): What is my chosen ARCHIVE?

So that there is no confusion as to what my chosen archive is, I wanted to visually convey what it is.

I had many ideas through Assignment Four, however this appeared as my strongest to carry forward:

Links between my grandmother and I

This body of work, hones in on my grandmother (Narg) and I’s relationship.  Focus on her storytelling (my favourite being Red Riding Hood, thus the many references within my work) and the fact she cannot read, due to Macular Degeneration.

There are other bits I have added along the way, due to their connections.  It is important to note them up front so that clarity is given to all observing my work.

My Archive:

Image (67)

Above:  Page from one of my sketchbooks, amalgamating imagery of myself when small, alongside my own drawings.  Far right, dry point etching print, made for a previous time, inspired directly by myself as a child and the fact that I was often dressed in a very Red Riding Hood style; i.e. defining marks being the red coat and black boots.

image-66.jpg

Above:  Collected items from my own possession, including jewellery and a purse with the Red Riding Hood theme.

IMG_5226Above:  A2 board, designed in a collaged fashion to encompass all of my chosen archive material.  It is my intention that this board give transparency to my work.

As you can observe, on this board I have displayed:

  • Images of myself when young and older
  • Images of my grandmother (Narg, which is gran spelt backwards and my pet name for her)
  • Own drawings and print making outcomes.
  • Items which link my grandmother and I, such as the scarf which I lost and Red Riding Hood Earrings.

IMG_5227

Above:  The back of my previous board, with a carefully worded contents listing to the left and print outs of two poems, self penned.  The poems document my grandmother and I’s relationship through prevocational memories.  The words within the prose, build mind imagery which will help my physical outcomes within this body of work.

(This board amongst others is available to view through my physical body of work for Projects 3/4 Assignment Five Textiles 2:  CP)

The poems are as follows:

Poem One:

Red Ties

Lines that bind us,
The colour of blood,
A story that’s stood,
The test of memory,
What was once yours,
Is now mine.

We have had so much time,
I promise it’s all kept,
In my mind,
The story told,
Sold,
To me,
In so many ways,
That pathway,
Your pathway,
Defines me,
Underlines me,
Who I am.

I trudge on,
I’ve met my grandmother,
I’ve dealt with the wolves,
A father there to guide me.

When you were once,
What I am now,
You walked the red line,
To become mine,
Time was all it took,
For your vocal prose,
To collide with my hearing.

We have walked the woods,
Held our baskets close,
Scares have come,
Yes in different guises,
We make our own bed.

Thank you,
For giving me your voice,
Yet it is my choice,
Paths collided,
Journeys the same,
Now it is my turn,
To tell the red stain.

Red Ties,
They mind us,
Aline us,
Your memory,
Tucked in,
Imbedded as a duvet.

Poem Two:

Our binary narrative

Stories my grandmother told me,

Never did she scold me,

When my mind wanted read again,

What she was never able to write,

By pen.

 

An ever changing,

Developing mind was I,

Never happy with her version,

Another change in her tale,

Pending.

 

Now I make my own paths,

Tales,

Travel abroad,

Tall structures seen,

Architecture stored,

Yet down these narrow streets,

It is not the buildings,

That my gaze meets,

But the tiny shop window,

With my grandmothers story,

Held on two black hooks.

 

In this place,

I remember her more,

All the words,

That were given verbally,

Stored,

Passed from her mouth,

To my grasp.

 

And now I want her,

To sit and tell me her story,

That ever changed,

Yet the ending always remained the same.

Peace and a happily ever…,

Was all I ever after.

 

She crafted words,

That have become such strong memories,

That even in this foreign place

I am at peace.

 

I now carry them,

In a visual form,

On those black hooks,

That adorn my ears.

 

I shed I tear,

For the girl I once was,

For the little girl,

In the red coat,

Yes,

I once was.

 

For the wolf that is now locked up,

Dormant in my bed of childhood,

 

I must make my own story,

Yet her words remain,

Just outside my listening parts,

They have left their hole of glory,

 

Grandmother,

What a big mouth you have,

Thank you for telling me your story

 

My archive as shown, will be what influences my subsequent work.  It is my intention to build new ideas and samples, inspired by it.

 

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