An old friend of mine had contacted me a few weeks back, questioning our loss of contact and asking when it would be possible for us to meet up. We had been friends through a lot of changes in our lives, but sadly at a certain point of struggle we lost each other. I had known him from 6th form, we were in art class together, and bumped into each other in the music department also. He was my first little peak into the world of music production and tech, and we began writing and recording various songs. He introduced me to trends way before they happened, and was generally on the ball with anything underground surging its way to the shallows, where as I was not.
I was probably quite an intense looking girl at 16. I had, over a short few months in my release from private schooling and out into the wide world of the grammar system, changed dramatically. I had the straightest platinum blonde hair, and the boldest panels of pink. A face of 'character'. A lip piercing. No sense of style, and no awareness that I did. I was forever surprised at the kindness of the people through these 2 years, and always in awe when I made friends. A hard time in a small private school had made me worse for wear, and any comments on me visually blossoming were taken with a pinch of salt and a nervous step towards the giver of such sweet words.
I had a lot of personal battles, changes at home, love tiffs and demons. I was talented, they would say, if I could just apply myself I would be anywhere. It was hard, I spent at least three hours of my day on public transport, the rest of the time cramming in looking after a pony, singing lessons, piano lessons, at least two jobs and sometimes, when someone took a fancy, a boyfriend. A girl needed some kind of social life too, and without a car for another two years, this added to the hours spent travelling.
I took 4 subjects initially at A level, and then an embarrassing GCSE in Italian on the side. My subjects were my passions - Fine Art, Music, English Literature, and the German language (my heritage insisted I took that one). Fine Art - my work was of high quality, but there was just never enough of it. I had many a battle with my teacher, and still the quantity didn't go up. I was a deep thinker and this seemed to get me through a fair amount of situations, and I must say I am incredible when I have to think on my feet, not to blow my own horn or anything, but this was my ticket through a lot of challenging scenarios. Also, I have always had some strange issue with Art teachers. Maybe it was a higher being trying desperately to sway me from that path, but I, forever persistent, pressed on with the subject anyway. It should have been clear when I was suspended from my last school by my Art teacher, thus driving me onto my new educational experience at grammar school as I had lost faith in the place (a sad yet silly story I may drop in sometime). Nevertheless, my new teacher and I fought constantly, and every class was a challenge. Perhaps this explains what little excitement there was from my tutor and fellow artists when I arrived at school one day with a letter from the prestigious Central Saint Martins, stating my success on gaining a place on their Art and Design Foundation Course. My parents had wondrous hope in their eyes, my eldest brother started mentioning he had a sister in conversation again, and I had proof, on a special piece of paper, that I had something.
This is important to the story, I promise, as one of things I did was visit this place on my trip.
Though I had now sold my soul to Art, Music was there constantly. I had began the long long life of classical training from the moment I could reach a piano myself, and had devoted my heart to writing as a young girl, with my first little song composed under my duvet at 10. I worked through my piano and theory grades, but didn't discover my voice until about 14/15. I was never the girl who got the part in the play, or the solo in the carol. I didn't have a 'power ballad voice', which was so popular then and still is, it was a nervous yet pure one with little vibrato and a hidden strength. Not being 'pop', I went down the classical route, sang behind the curtains, and ferreted away writing my songs and never showing a soul. I devoted a lot of time to choirs over the years, performing in such beautiful works such as Handel's 'Messiah', and belting out the descants at christmas rituals back in the private school days. I hadn't really sung solo until my Grade 8 loomed and my performing at 6th form, when I sang Opera and German Liede (see, there was a reason for the language) at concerts and playing challenging piano pieces, I realised how crucial it all was, and finally how strong I had really become. There were only two of us doing Music A level, and we felt like the keepers of the light.
My Literature classes shaped and influenced every other aspect of my work. They were my insight into the depths of the human condition, and the bringers of vibrant imagination. My closest school friends were also in the class, and I felt at ease and enjoyed just listening to what all these intelligent beings had to say, and the general banter and slapstick was always morale boosting. I will tell you about a particular book of short stories I read, as I wish the world of young writers of the fantastical to take it in as I did. It was called 'The Bloody Chamber', and was written by incredible lady called Angela Carter. I will probably do a little (I say little but Christ look how long this is getting) review of various books I have found essential to my development over the years on a later blog, so all I wanted to say now is that her imagery is both shocking and inspiring in a beautiful way that I will never quite be able to put into words, and as a young girl slowly discovering different sides to her being, the 'adult fairytales' and the complexity of the metaphors and heart wrenching plots were game-changing. There was a new line to cross and a new level to reach when my time with her world ended, and other than Macbeth, I made a point to write about various stories in the book for my exam.
I guess lastly as this seems to be the trend, I should comment on my German classes. Not much to say other than I was forced to drop it by my Art teacher after AS as a last attempt to get me to produce more coursework, and I spent so much of my time exhausted from so many other things that I remember regularly falling asleep in the middle of listening exercises, and waking up to find a horrified look on peoples faces, and strange possessed scrawlings on my page that might have been inappropriate words.
Oh and I was pressured day in and day out to leave my Italian classes, but I made a point to last at least a year. She knew who she wanted to go, but I didn't want to give her that satisfaction. We must be fighters after all.
Moving further forwards to the 18 year old me, this friend and I had been through a lot, and while I was at art school in London (yes, I got through my A Levels and took the place gratefully), he was living in Hammersmith. I took refuge at his large and quirky town house he lived in when I needed to stay in the area, or just to have a break from the pressures at home. I was commuting from my house in the outskirts of Milton Keynes as I had so much responsibility there still I could quite leave yet. 3 days a week I was at CSM for long hours, and the other days, instead of study, were filled with music, ponies, silver-service waitressing (I have some great stories from that job), my retail job (with not so good stories) and an attempt at a social life. I also stayed at my boyfriends once a week and he lived far away, so I was forever living out of my handbag, sketchbook in hand, exhausted.
I had a wonderful time there. I saw the beginning, and the end of the Hammersmith era. Everything got complicated when the landlord was robbed and murdered. Everyone had to abandon the house in panic and confusion, as it was to be handed over to a distant unsuspecting relative somewhere. Heartbreaking and wrong. But that is the game of life. Who knows what has become of its overgrown garden, its leaking bathroom, the toilet under the stairs that mirrored that of Harry Potters bedroom. The high-ceilinged rooms, dirty floorboards and the timeless games collection that filled the cupboards. Who knows what becomes of any of these places. There are only so many people like us who will embrace a forgotten world.
It was a whole other year before we lost each other. Both of us changing lives may have meant we had differences that needed resolving. I had been in Brighton studying Songwriting for almost a year (I will address my change of career path at another point, don't worry). Either way, I believe we had stuff we needed to do, things to chase, without each other. I lost a lot of friends over that year, I knew it was only time to lose more,
So there I was, texted just a few weeks back, by this old friend, and I knew it was time we saw each other again. This was the beginning move that set the ball rolling. I travelled to his new place in Finsbury Park, not knowing what to expect, or who I would see really. I contacted no one, I dropped my classes and just went. I had a suitcase with me, as what I did know for sure was that I was going to need it. He met me at the station, he had changed a little, and so had I, but we were still on the same wavelength as always. The evening involved me seeing his beautiful new modern house, being cooked dinner, fed Gin and Tonics, catching up and laughing about people from our past, and playing some Worms on the Xbox. I was pleasantly surprised to see his old housemate and friend from Hammersmith there living with him as one of three. It was comforting. Bedtime came at 12pm, as everyone had jobs, and before I knew it we were up at 8 and I was being taken to his work with him.
To my delight, his work was near Farringdon, a place I hold rather dear. He showed me his fabulous office, I met his business partners, and stood on the large terrace outside to take in the view. What a wonderful morning. He then treated me to an expensive breakfast at a local slightly pretentious cafe, as he put it "I have a job". I argued that just because I was a student, it didn't mean that I wasn't working. On the other hand, thank god he paid because it was quite steep. The time came for him to go back to work, and for me to move to the next part of my journey.
I have met a few dear friends in my time in Brighton. Not all from the same friendship circles. A particularly inspirational friend of mine who graduated from my course the year before was from London, and I knew it was essential we met up. Walking towards Farringdon Station where we would meet, a sense of emotion and excitement filled me. My old Art school was only a few minutes walk away. Perhaps we could visit. We met after me waiting half an hour, and began our walk in the general direction, chatting as we went. He is an exceptional keyboardist, and played for one of my performances I did. A spiritual man, full of calm and modesty, he is someone that everyone should have a chance to be around. He said me going back to see CSM would be good, and he would gladly come for the journey. Art school was important to my development. It created happiness, and it also created a lot of sadness. I was very lonely. Moved from class to class, always very different, I made few friends. Sometimes I would sit outside on the curb at lunch and not know what to do with myself. Id go for a walk or buy some cigarettes just so it looked like I was busy. I wasn't a complete recluse, but I had so much going on at home it was hard to devote myself there. It was one of my greatest regrets. I was dumped by my long term boyfriend while I was there which devastated me, and financial worries meant it spent more time making money than making art. But I made good work, pieces I was very proud of. I went into Sculpture and obsessively found myself trying to convert musical composition into artistic composition. I had Synaesthesia with colours and music, and had over the years played various pieces depending what hue I saw in front of me. I was certain I would find a code, a way of depicting the 4D as the 3D. I will spend my life working on that probably. I have enclosed some pictures of the exhibition and my final piece. I found some interesting ones recently which would help give a feel for what it was all like.
The room being prepared for final exhibitions.
Me attempting to 'prepare' a harp in my exhibition corner. With brown hair.
Some of my casts I made of a keyboard, resin and plaster.
And here is my final exhibition piece.
I have also found the personal statement I made which funnily enough is on blog spot as well, years back. Always fun to look at. Should explain a little of what my work was about at the time as well.
I will be talking about meeting with my mother and attending a christmas event at the British/German Chamber of Commerce and Industry next, and then catching up with a close friend and my fun at Birmingham Clothes Show Live with her on the Saturday!
x AKC
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