DEAN VILLAGE

SPACES BETWEEN

I have always been fascinated by those spaces that exist in a kind of in-between. Back in art school, I made two small studies on the notion, and conducted original research by walking around my hometown to find those in-between spaces: a hidden garden on an island in a golf course; a small bench beside the river behind the University buildings; a walkway linking two streets, passing through the old churchyard. I love that these places exist only because of the negative space created by the buildings around them. They seem to be cut off from our own world - walk into one, and you pass beyond a barrier of time. 

My search is ongoing.

One of the most glorious spaces I have encountered was the tiny town of Dean Village. Walk only five minutes past the shops of Princes Street, and turn down the right road, then you may find the village. It is hidden from plain view, behind a jumble of roofs and bracken.

LINLITHGOW

CHIVALRY'S TOMB

It is December, and a cold wind shrieks through the town, 
unheeding of the walls and windows that once formed
such a noble
Palace of Queens. 

Not a soul but my own
to wander the passageways, 
to walk the rounded stair
till I reached the place where the roof caved in, and the sky
had formed a dismal second ceiling.

All the time in the world, I had
to read the signs of chivalry
carved up-on the portal and all about the fountain.
Pondering my most recent classes which touched on the use of Chivalry
to order and control a society, bringing it under one symbol,
one allegiance.
Where before the clans had paid fealty to none but their own,
they now stood proudly under the Order of the Garter.
The thistle.

It is a wild thing, no?
The thistle, I mean.

But the castle had fallen, the wild enters in again,
in the forms of tiny weeds,
which blow their seeds into the cracks
and crannies
of the paving stones.

Is there any difference now
between the inner courtyard,
and the lake around the outer walls?
The same rain falls in both.

I sat a while, 
talked to an older gentleman - a grandfather,
about the town and its inhabitants.
there were sheep grazing on a hillside
and there were swans.

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EPIC FRIENDS

IN HOMAGE TO

REBEKAH | ALICIA | & YANA

I met Rebekah at the University's Harry Potter Society. After seven months in Europe, I had only twice met another New Zealander, and it was refreshing to be able to chat with a person who understood my cultural mores. I remember laughing with her about our shared experiences, things so commonplace as mince pies and the Goodnight Kiwi.

It was Rebekah who introduced me to Alicia and Yana, thus inducting me into a powerful circle of feminine friendship. 

One hardly ever reads of strong female friendships, and women are often depicted as a self-hating bunch, always bickering, always finding the friendships of men easier to bear, using the word 'dramatic' to describe other women. When women are depicted in close friendships, they often talk of men, as if they have nothing better to do. Think Carrie Bradshaw and her bunch. But, here in my life was an example of close female friendship that defied all preset boundaries. 

I would take the bus out to Leith some nights, to hang out at the apartment where they all seemed to live (Alicia being an honorary flatmate of sorts), and we would stay up long into the night talking, watching old musicals on a crappy laptop and pausing it every ten minutes to check on the muffins or cookies that were baking. I loved these times! The other girls were inspirational to me, as we conversed about social issues, and they introduced me to such wonderful movies as Rent, The Phantom of the Opera, and Elle Woods, the Musical. I was also introduced to the Murder Mystery Society, and a plethora of other awesome people. 

My strongest memory, though, is of the week leading up to Yana's birthday. We schemed in secret, meeting at Alicia's small flat to make a glorious cake creation - a musically themed tower, filled with tonnes of buttercream. We watched Doctor Who, as I formed icing sheets into folds and swirls, to create the dress of Glinda the Good Witch. One particular episode we watched scared the bejesus out of me: involving angelic statues that would move when one blinked or turned away. When I said goodbye that night, I did not walk, but ran all through the dark streets of Edinburgh, whilst constantly checking over my shoulder for angels.

The party itself was amazing, an accumulation of all those things that made these three women awesome! Yana had shown incredible amounts of imagination, in asking us to create ourselves into a super-hero character for the occasion, and Rebekah and Alicia showed their expert finesse and loyalty in their costumes and party decorations. I think I hadn't laughed that much in months.

Before I left Edinburgh, Rebekah gave me a Christmas present of a book: The Little Prince. I read that book in the airport, in one sitting, and I cried a shit load. It was so poignant at that moment of my life.

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The word homage has been used in two ways. One: to define the making of an oath of respect and honour between a ruler and his subject, during feudal times. Two: to describe an artwork or idea that has some other origin; whether intentional or not, the creator often pays homage to their inspirations. 
 

I wish to pay homage to these three ladies: Rebekah, Alicia and Yana, as I greatly respect and admire them for their qualities, and I have also been inspired by them in my life and in my works. 

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