noone goes home whistling the lights
Since my Dad got taken ill in 2020, quite suddenly in Spain, I have been writing to him, conversations that have been one way physically, a shedding of grief, a catch up with the person that is no longer there.
The piece in New Contemporaries that really resonated for me was as said previously to the fog. I can remember shouting out at the sea, and the letters to my Dad, kept int he folder, letters tot he birds on my devices was my way.
Above are some snap shots of three of the letters I have chosen to share to express my expereinces at teh time.
The piece has been developed becasue it makes me uncomfortable,
These pieces are writing have been copied over to word, from Notes where they are held.
I knew i wanted use them, to record them in my voice, or ghost the words across moving images .
I know image wise, the beach, the few from my steps, the dawn breaking and the wind and storms all needed to feature.
Bearing in mind that I haven't used Logic or Final Cut fro several years I knew it was possible but also that my skills are rusty. Still no place like giveing a try.
Below is the first tiem reading these pieces out-loud, its a strange thing, so important that the recording should not dramatise, or be a performance as such, just a me in-conversation with the birds, my Dad, the wind, the sky, whoever would listne at that moment in time, capturing that in language - raw, honest and heartfelt.