Unspoken Words
A gathering of significant objects and pieces of work, a composite that formed itself into an installation.
A celebration of life, mine and the short life of my brother. My recognition of life’s fragility, impermanence, though the enduring quality of relationship, connection and love, signified by the a found ring he gifted to me.
A history of years, kept and recorded in my diaries: the changing seasons spanning decades, in handwritten pages. The mundane domestic events and tasks alongside notations of births, deaths and traumas. By me and for me.
My astonishment and gratitude that I survive, flourish and go on.
The installation was presented over a few days, beginning on the anniversary of my brother’s death.
The space was a room in my home.
The invited audience gathered in my living room, chatting over cups of tea. In ones and twos, people were invited to enter the install room. Quietly looking. Piecing together the story presented.
Gerard's Ring
Unspoken words, 08.06.’17.
On my 5th birthday I woke up in my Aunt Margaret’s house.
‘You have a very special Birthday present: a wee brother!’
For a long time I believed that my brother, Gerard, was mine.
I also got a ladybird dressing gown. Soft, red with ladybird buttons, that went down to my feet.
And my ‘special aunts’, Etta and May, took me to the toy shop in Paisley. I could choose any doll I wanted.
I chose a baby doll, bigger than my new born brother. I decided that this doll was a boy and named him Gabriel. He was one of my favourite dolls and I loved him.
These 3 birthday gifts now only exist as memories within me.
1.13.05.’57. / 13.05.’62. Paper, hidden words, photographs
My brother, Gerard’s paths and mine ran in parallel, marked each year by
our shared birthday. My path continues Gerard’s ended on 08.06.’81.
2. Diaries (1976- ) Diaries, tissue paper, linen thread, stones.
Some of the unspoken words of my adult life.
These are dead years, though not forgotten.
3. Gerard’s ring. Platinum ring, linen thread, stone
I can’t remember how old we were when my brother gave me the ring.
Maybe 10 and 15?
He found it on the street and handed it into the police station on the Main Street.
6 months later the unclaimed ring was given back to him.
I remember both of us in the Kitchen.
‘You might as well have this…’
My brother’s gift.
His sister’s gift.
It looked at first glance no more than a washer. It’s platinum, inscribed inside ‘Xmas ’39 ‘
I’ve always imagined it is a wedding ring that fell from the woman’s too old, too thin finger. Someone else’s path, before ours.
As my life and hands have changed and aged, the finger on which I wear the ring on has changed.
Now it fits my wedding ring finger.
Here it is held in tension, at my eye level.
The necessary tension that’s part of holding and being held.
4. Heart beat. Clock,mirror.
The clock on the mantle piece, always present, even when not in sight.
A wedding gift, there since my mum and dad married.
Present before I was.
Present still, though only 2 of our family are still living.
Rythmically ticking like a heartbeat,
chiming as though it has voice,
though all will ultimately be silence.
Arriving home from primary school.
Alone, just inside the storm door. The vestibule door locked.
No one’s home. She won’t be long.
Anxious, to be inside; to be not alone.
I can hear the clock chiming inside.
Both reassuring and disturbing. I visualise the inside and want to be there.
Aware of the clock’s presence, its voice, and my mum’s absence.
5, 08.06.’81. Glassine paper, graphite. Gravestone rubbing : his.
6. Untitled. Glassine paper. Gravestone rubbing : mine.
7. Shadow Grave. Lithograph. ‘All flesh is grass.’
8. Transience 1 Leaves. Skeletal forms remaining after decomposition of living matter.
9. Transience 2. Momenti Mori:
gift
separation
decay
shell
skeleton
finite
body.
On my 5th birthday I woke up in my Aunt Margaret’s house.
‘You have a very special Birthday present: a wee brother!’
For a long time I believed that my brother, Gerard, was mine.
I also got a ladybird dressing gown. Soft, red with ladybird buttons, that went down to my feet.
And my ‘special aunts’, Etta and May, took me to the toy shop in Paisley. I could choose any doll I wanted.
I chose a baby doll, bigger than my new born brother. I decided that this doll was a boy and named him Gabriel. He was one of my favourite dolls and I loved him.
These 3 birthday gifts now only exist as memories within me.
1.13.05.’57. / 13.05.’62. Paper, hidden words, photographs
My brother, Gerard’s paths and mine ran in parallel, marked each year by
our shared birthday. My path continues Gerard’s ended on 08.06.’81.
2. Diaries (1976- ) Diaries, tissue paper, linen thread, stones.
Some of the unspoken words of my adult life.
These are dead years, though not forgotten.
3. Gerard’s ring. Platinum ring, linen thread, stone
I can’t remember how old we were when my brother gave me the ring.
Maybe 10 and 15?
He found it on the street and handed it into the police station on the Main Street.
6 months later the unclaimed ring was given back to him.
I remember both of us in the Kitchen.
‘You might as well have this…’
My brother’s gift.
His sister’s gift.
It looked at first glance no more than a washer. It’s platinum, inscribed inside ‘Xmas ’39 ‘
I’ve always imagined it is a wedding ring that fell from the woman’s too old, too thin finger. Someone else’s path, before ours.
As my life and hands have changed and aged, the finger on which I wear the ring on has changed.
Now it fits my wedding ring finger.
Here it is held in tension, at my eye level.
The necessary tension that’s part of holding and being held.
4. Heart beat. Clock,mirror.
The clock on the mantle piece, always present, even when not in sight.
A wedding gift, there since my mum and dad married.
Present before I was.
Present still, though only 2 of our family are still living.
Rythmically ticking like a heartbeat,
chiming as though it has voice,
though all will ultimately be silence.
Arriving home from primary school.
Alone, just inside the storm door. The vestibule door locked.
No one’s home. She won’t be long.
Anxious, to be inside; to be not alone.
I can hear the clock chiming inside.
Both reassuring and disturbing. I visualise the inside and want to be there.
Aware of the clock’s presence, its voice, and my mum’s absence.
5, 08.06.’81. Glassine paper, graphite. Gravestone rubbing : his.
6. Untitled. Glassine paper. Gravestone rubbing : mine.
7. Shadow Grave. Lithograph. ‘All flesh is grass.’
8. Transience 1 Leaves. Skeletal forms remaining after decomposition of living matter.
9. Transience 2. Momenti Mori:
gift
separation
decay
shell
skeleton
finite
body.
