The work went up, guests arrived, we popped some corks and I was carried away in a sea of people – all asking questions, all showing interest in the story of my father’s exile. One even held my hand while she told me her story, and others spoke of their connectedness to this history. Many had a love for Spain, which drew them to this gathering. Some carried the burden of exile from other lands.
People I didn’t know seemed to recognise me – I suddenly realised this was because of the film Without You playing on a loop in one of the gallery spaces. The film is powerful. I know this now.
My favourite wall based piece is a copy of my father’s play, Tierra Cautiva. I do hope viewers noticed it. It was the final piece to go up, and during the install it sat patiently waiting. It’s waited for decades to be in the spotlight, so what were a few hours in comparison it seemed to say. In the final moments my fingers worked quickly, fashioning fishing wire in exactly the right places first time. Even the length needed no adjustment.
It was a wonderful PV, and I was quite astonished by the feedback. It’s an extraordinary thing putting up a show. At one point I wondered how this was happening to me? Did I do all this?
It’s the question I had privately asked myself when the hang was done. Somehow installing the work in a public space changes it. It’s suddenly not about your relationship to these pieces, but everyone else’s. There’s a strange detachment and mild sense of surprise about the origins of all this stuff! The studio is a very different environment, enclosed and interior. So I was pleased the work stood up to transfer to this new place, in which gorgeous vistas open out to where the river Cherwell greets the college lawns. That’s quite a view to deal with, especially when showing landscapes.
All the comments I received were so welcome, yet laced with poignancy for me. Perhaps this is the origin of the two day migraine I’m currently nursing. This was the kind of response my father longed for as a playwright – more than anything else. He didn’t want the exiles to be forgotten and suffered acutely from a deaf ears reception to his work. This affected him very badly.
So in all my joy in beginning to share this narrative more widely, there is also sadness and irony running through it all. Such conflicts often result in physical pain – the well known somatisation of the psychological.
This I am regarding as the aftermath and well worth it. I hope Dad is watching somewhere and finally having a ball.
