I brought my life’s love back to you. We hung our handkerchief on the tree.

It’s a little like placing flowers on a grave. You’ve become a place full of ghosts. A place full of my ghosts. The leftover memories and remnants of a past life replaced by echoes. There’s a lot to be seen, said, felt, and touched. More than I can ever possibly explain. Being there helps other people just begin to comprehend what it was that we mourned with your loss, your transition to a new and different life, our migration to an equally different phase of existence. We all would have left you eventually, but we would have had the comfort of knowing that you were still there to cradle us. Perhaps you still are, in a way. I brought him to meet you so that he could feel a little of the magic that was always at your heart, so that he could understand and feel a little the part of my soul that you had shaped. He asked how you changed me, an impossible question, you changed everything. I hope that you continue to stir others, that you become for them a sacred place as you will always be to me.

 

You have performed and it has been reported as a sucess

Please report here in comments to this post and tell about the second performance of your Dove Ghost Handkerchief piece (what did you call it?)
love and admiration, Karen

Last words in May 2011

photo by Karen Christopher

After our performance as part of Open Schoolbook we gave a short talk about our experience of the workshop over the three years.

Karen spoke in three sections followed by three students each time.

The Dove, the Ghost, the Handkerchief Tree
Year One:
Tom & Alfie, Gionna & Katerina, Billie & Kalila, Matthew & Henrik, Harriet & JoJo, Ben & Tom, Chloe & Adrian

I thought of landscape as a memory container, landscape as a deeper anchor for being, and the object of an enduring love.

I thought about what the end of Dartington might mean to a group of students who would spend 3 years there and then leave for other parts. How or why does it matter to them?
How do I feel that I can never revisit the house I think of as my childhood home? A home I lived in for only 3 years @ ages 10, 11 & 12 which nonetheless bears the weight of the idea of my childhood. Knowing it has been demolished feels different from when I imagined it still existed. It remains a place of solace. As a child, the kind of attention and time I spent focussed on it marked it within me, ground out a foundation from which spring ideas about my own place in the world. I fixed on the idea of solace, of finding ways for those first year students I began working with 3 years ago (in the hexagon, in studio 33 and in the abandoned grounds of the long-empty Dartington Hall School) to imprint the contours both interior and exterior, the landscape of Dartington, the essence of its placeness.
We wanted to make of it a container. We held bits of it in our hands and we allowed those bits to determine our partnerships.

photo by Benjamin Thompson

Tom shouted “Falmouth you stepmother!” Kalila brought something inappropriate to the meadow. I said: discover or invent a history for a plant in the garden, memorize a path. We named or re-named favorite spots. We sang farewell to the land, buildings, place, to the feeling of being there.
We waved our handkerchiefs. We surrendered to goodbye.
Karen Christopher

photo by Ben Thompson

(yet to come)
Kalila Storey

Remembering when. Getting closer, stepping forward, stepping back, stepping forward. Getting to a point where I could have chosen to go up some stairs, over a bridge, or carry on with the path I was already on, And at the time only really considering the stairs or the bridge, as if I had forgotten that I had a third option. Breathing heavier, breathing lighter. Counting 61 steps. Attempting to lay a potentially ephemeral foundation whilst wondering how to look back.
Laura Doherty

(yet to come)
Josephine McCourt

Year Two:
Rachel & Matthew, Harriet & Jess, Sophie & Laura, Ben & Gionna & Kalila, Adrian & Tate, JoJo

To forget is human. Perhaps the essence of being human is not that we remember but what we forget.

We devised disappearing acts. We demonstrated laws: of nature, of physics, of performance, of society, of art, of the state. We contemplated what is affected by water, what is worn down over time. We contemplated the idea of giving ones life for one last glance back at a beloved home. We turned into rivers of salt. We regarded the horizon. We demonstrated the last gesture we would perform at Dartington and the first we would perform at Falmouth. We designed a walk. We memorized it.

We envisioned dear old Dartington alongside JoJo’s Nan. We adopted the postures of rock stars to prove we could take it. We could take all the salt water we had to. We stood there and wavered.
Karen Christopher

photo by Karen Christopher

This is an invitation to be yourself. Whoever that might be. It’s an invitation to show somebody a side they never saw of you before, whether that is real or imagined. Whether based on fact or fiction, be yourself. Or at least pretend to be.
Rachel Gibbens

When I was 11 I found myself to be in the final year that would go through my primary school. The school would relocate to a new site, the other children would move with it, but, as members of year 6, we would have to move on. On the last day my classmates and I stood on the school stage, and we cried. We thought that something would be forever lost.

On the last day of the last Dartington festival I found myself on stage again, and yes, tears were shed, but mass hysteria did not set in this time. This time hugs were exchanged, hugs of relief, hugs of grief and hugs which simply said, I’m here with you, in a way that words could not.

Each year this project has come like those much needed hugs. It has taken care of us, it has tended to our wounds, and somehow, it manages to soothe our constantly breaking hearts.
Matthew Smallwood

(yet to come)
Adrian Spring

photo by Lucy Cash

Year Three:
Alfie, Gionna & Harriet; Kalila, Rachel & Laura; JoJo, Matthew & Adrian

We walked in silence for 90 minutes. I neglected to stop. So long leading the march forward, so dogged, I couldn’t hear the closing bell. We found the grotto, we read the stone. We regarded our surroundings. the scales fell from our eyes. A meadow. It used to be a meadow. We drew a map of this moment (again). We found that each question had many answers. I prepared with a focus on the creative act of composing performance directives.

A performance directive is a written inscription, composed or constructed from gathered material. One of the particularities of a directive is that it is a suggestion towards a possible future or a possible performance. A performance directive is not written in anticipation of a right or wrong answer. Rather than telling how something should be done, it is an invitation. An invitation to be translated according to and depending on the person responding.

A performance directive is a creative act. It is an invitation to respond with care, to lift from ‘casual’ to ‘eventfulness’. You may want to consider it as a system of limitations that supports proliferation.

Notice there is permissiveness inherent in every directive.

Take a moment to remember a successful directive you’ve been given in the past or maybe you need to remember when you made something you loved and think back to what the initial spark was, what was the first act that lead to the discoveries that became something you were happy to work on?

Make notes on what qualities a successful directive should have.

Write a directive to bring in to the first day of the third section of The Dove, the Ghost, the Handkerchief Tree. Your directive should address three elements that make up different aspects of material to be generated: duration, speed, rhythm, content (subject), body part, materials, color, text, etc.

A performance directive is:
a form of future building
a runway for take-off

There’s a load of gravel and we are taking off our shoes.
Karen Christopher

photo by Lucy Cash

The first time I went to Dartington I fell in love, I wanted to run away to be part of what was there. Falmouth was, for me, tainted by the loss of that. I wasn’t in love with this place and I felt as if I was watching the death of someone close to me. Even as I was saying goodbye I was resisting that I had to. I’m still not in love with Falmouth, maybe I never will be, but I’m choosing to take this opportunity to help others find here what I found in Dartington.
Gionna Rose

(yet to come)
Alfred Heffer

(yet to come)
Harriet Couzens

photo by Lucy Cash

Progress of this project

photo by Ben Thompson

The first year we started with solace;

the second year we started with salt and a demonstration of a law: of nature, of
performance, of physics, of society, of art, of the state and we thought about the perils of looking back;

this year we started with the creative task of composing performance directives, a way of thinking about how to direct the now and into the future. A performance directive is not written in anticipation of a right or wrong answer. Rather than telling how something should be done, it is an invitation.

We need a song and other notes

scolding their toes

We need a song. I think we need two. I think one is reprised from the first year and the other is new to us this year. I think one of them is sung by everyone and the other is sung by only one of you. Please forward via comment your thoughts about this.

We were always going to get here. This is why we did this.

I knew a young man couldn’t get over a girl, a broken heart. If he let it go, in his mind that would mean it hadn’t been very important. He couldn’t believe it was both important and over.

Memory Palace

Below is a bit of the story about Simonides and his memory palace ideas.
Here is a link to a current story about memory which also includes a description of the memory palace concept and how it has been used thorough the ages.

Story of Simonides:

The Memory Palace
Simonides of Ceos was an ancient Greek poet who wrote many elegies and epitaphs. He was the first poet to accept payment for his poetry. He lived from 556 to 486 BCE (before the common era). During a banquet with a number of notable Greeks, Simonides stepped outside to discuss a payment dispute. While he was outside the building, its roof collapsed killing everyone inside. As the rubble was being cleared he was called upon to identify the bodies of the dead so that their families could give them proper burial. He was able to do this by remembering the locations where they had been sitting around the banquet table.

This experience gave rise to his ideas connecting memory triggers with physical location which became the foundation for the art of memory. The exercise and strengthening of one’s memory was essential training for any scholar or orator in ancient times. It was as much a part of life as exercising one’s body or bathing.

headless statue from the grotto

By the middle ages, memory arts were studied through the writings of Cicero, the Roman orator whose De Oratore in 55 BCE includes, as part of the section on Rhetoric, the story of Simonides at the banquet as a way of documenting the origin of the art of memory. Scholars in the middle ages used Cicero’s texts to recreate the practice of the Art of Memory and the use of loci as triggers for stored memories. There is however no complete set of instructions for the art of memory as it was practiced in ancient Greece since every document that exists assumes general knowledge of this practice is commonplace.

The Art of Memory employs loci or physical locations—spots in a house or market or temple or other structure—to hold a series of thoughts for later retrieval. The idea is that one strolls through a building, one’s own home for example, and locates spots of significance (instructions are that this spot must be well lit and striking in color, shape, or emotional impact) and in these spots, points along a trajectory of thought or even exact words in a pre-composed speech are stored. First the building must be well known to the person storing the ideas, then the ideas must be firmly planted there in the mind—the mind associates the ideas with the loci. The loci are thought of as the wax tablets or pages on which the ideas are written—then retrieval is achieved later by taking a mental walk though this memory palace when the speaker needs the information in the course of speaking in public.

As taught in the middle ages, vivid images are used to symbolize ideas. In the mind’s eye, one then places each of these images into different loci. They can then be recalled in order by imagining that one is walking through the building again, visiting each of the loci in order, and mentally viewing each of the images that were placed in the loci, thereby recalling each piece of memory or speech in order. One might imagine that this practice took time to learn and to use well. The practice of using the method would strengthen with time and the facility for memorization would improve with repetition. This method was used not only for rote memorization but for composition as well. Taking a stroll through the structure—past corners and pieces of favorite furniture or windows or doorways—can also suggest ordering principles for ideas one intends to express. Senators and other orators in ancient Rome could speak for two hours and longer without recourse to notes and it is understood that though in some way they were speaking extemporaneously, their ideas had been pre-composed and ordered via memory palaces constructed as part of a discipline that was an ordinary part of education. A method that focused not just on facts but on mechanics of thought itself. For monks in the middle ages it was also a method for memorizing and recalling sacred texts and prayers. Illuminated manuscripts with their bright colors and vivid images aided in the memorization of the texts they contained.

star pond at the grotto

In our time the aspect of the mind’s capacity that is most attended to and admired is the imagination—great powers in any field are attributed to a great imagination. In the middle ages the aspect most admired was memory. Not just because people were thought of as repositories of great works but also because this extended and developed memory gave them great discipline and capacity of mind. Thomas Aquinas was said to be able to dictate to four secretaries or scribes at once keeping each train of thought separately developing—and this is the dictation of four different texts fully composed in his mind
and waiting there available for recall.

Inventory

Inventory of material to choose from make additions if anything is left off:

The “_____became_____” lines

Gravel piece without knees
Gravel piece with knees

Sock hand coffee story
Tiny thank you letters
Translated gestures of home (group of eight)
3 significant places from walk
your leg of the walk text
memory palace pieces
walk memories and gestures
Father James Lynch & Mary & the Daughters of the Cross
Ghosts (elements from the past two years)
Hankies
Texts written on walk (including answers and questions)
Simonides
Video messages (MOT/no sound)
Possible: dialogues

Props:
orange bucket
thick black rope
gravel
shoes and socks
Hankies (also video screen, does larger white cloth break down and become handkerchiefs?)

Solace now!

Come up with a hanky surprise. Add it as a comment to this post.

bad finger

Something to think about

Choreography of looks and smiles. A dance for faces and heads.
What do you figure?

post instructions

but, she's got her eyes closed

Work in trios

gravel discussion

Trios should meet at least twice before May 1st! This can be to work on your material or to organize objects and other practicalities that must be arranged. Perhaps you need to set a process in motion.

gravel discussion