Seeing St Christopher was the title of the press release I sent out locally in advance of yesterday's Festial performance. August 7 was St Christopher's Day; if you follow the Julian calendar, that is.
Medieval people believed that whoever saw an image of St Christopher would not 'die an evil death' that day. So the giant was often painted on the wall of a church opposite the main doorway so that travellers could grab a glimpse of the saint before embarking on dangerous journeys. The idea of Seeing St Christopher was to see how many St Christophers I could see in the course of the day – a kind of inverted 'pilgrimage' as the whole point of the journey was to see the protective images.
Somewhere between each of the churches I planned to stop and collect something to make into a badge. Again, a sort of inversion of medieval practice as people who went on pilgrimages would often buy a souvenir badge featuring the saint whose shrine they were visiting. My badges would form a memento of the journey itself rather than the destination; the number I was wearing would increase as the day went on.
And, not to add any further pressure to this unrehearsed event, BBC Radio Norfolk had responded to my press release by suggesting that they phone me at 2.10pm for a live interview.
Well, this all sounds OK, but things didn't go totally to plan. After frantically getting stuff ready to take, mostly in connection with the badges, we left home later than intended (Trevor had kindly agreed to come with me as my glamorous assistant and to take documentary photos). And, more to the point, I had no idea how complicated a children's badge-making machine is (or perhaps it's just me?!)
I spent ages trying to make the first badge, before Trevor pointed out that the badge-making machine itself was faulty and there was no way that it could make a badge properly. So that was one thing I ended up having to compromise on, although we did stop between each church for me to jump out and collect something just in case I can work out another way of working with them that seems conceptually sound.
When Radio Norfolk phoned, I was 'seeing' only my second St Christopher, but the interview went OK and I think I got away with it … I felt really sad afterwards that I hadn't mentioned Trevor and he had been so brilliant and helpful and supportive, not to mention taking fantastic photos. So, Trevor – THANK YOU.
I've just joined OUTPOST, an artist committee run gallery in Norwich. Instead of paying an annual subscription, you get the option of doing a day's invigilation at the gallery, and that was what I chose to do. I'd heard nothing following my application, then on Wednesday I received a phonecall asking if I could invigilate for a private view that evening.
Anglia Square is a slightly seedy shopping precinct in one of the poorer parts of Norwich. OUTPOST has managed to borrow five empty shops there, and have transformed them into fantastic-looking galleries. Especially fantastic as Norwich just doesn't have contemporary galleries like that in the normal run of things. For the month of July, five British artist-run galleries were invited to nominate an artist to take on each of the spaces. Then, for August, the galleries were handed over to five European galleries/artist organisations.
'My' gallery was that of Les Complices* from Zurich. Their artist, Edit Oderbolz, had taken up the carpet in the ex-charity shop, turned it over, divided it into segments and glued it to the walls and ceiling leaving the floor pitted and bare. Spending time in the room I increasingly appreciated the way the space had been used, and even got used to the smell! It was interesting to talk to the artist and the gallerist, and I bumped into various people I knew from art school too, so all in all it felt good to be part of something that seemed so dynamic and exciting. A far cry, frankly, from my perception of the majority of the Norfolk art scene.
Meanwhile I've been slaving over a hot computer and, with Trevor's help, the pdf of Kalender 3 ('Big Bonfires and Relics Issue') is cooking as I write this. Then I'll email it to the printer and hopefully be able to pick up the 180 copies later this afternoon. And then I can start rubber-stamping each one, filling cellophane bags with this issue's free gift and stapling them to the covers. Absolutely no let-up!
And … the next festival – St Christopher's Day – is next Tuesday.
www.re-title.com/artists/imogen-bardwell.asp
www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/yourgallery/artist_profile/Imogen+Bardwell/41443.html
www.world-tree.co.uk/festial
It's a strange thing for an artist who feels drawn to performance and intervention to admit, but I do prefer to work in solitude. So imagine my discomfiture when I arrived at St Andrew's last Thursday armed with a carrier bag full of odd plastic bits and pieces and a camera, to find FIVE vehicles in the driveway of this sleepy church in its small scattered village. There seemed to be people everywhere, taking lawnmowers in or out of boots, slamming doors, feeding ducks and goodness knows what else.
I'm afraid I just panicked and drove away!
In all, I made THREE abortive attempts to perform my 'Display of Relics'. As I approached for the third time clutching my tripod, I could see through the open doorway of the church that one of the churchwardens was busily wielding a hoover. I know one should applaud this valiant effort to keep the copious quantities of bat droppings under control but I must admit my heart sank.
Still, patience was rewarded in the end and my Relics have now been duly Displayed.
I haven't found much out about how this would have been achieved in pre-Reformation days, but that's sometimes a good thing I think, as there's less risk of being tempted down a reconstructionist route. All I knew beforehand was that on the Sunday after St Thomas' Day (and observant readers will recall that the last Midsummer Bonfire was on St Thomas Eve …) the relics – usually organic material reputed to be fragments of the physical remains of saints or their garments, but sometimes fantastical artefacts such as a Griffin's Egg – would be displayed or paraded in some way at each parish church. And every church – however small and remote – would expect to have something to display, which makes you wonder whether medieval people ever questioned the authenticity of these treasures.
The idea for my Display came to me when we were visiting the Scottish island of Eigg in the spring. The two beaches close to the cottage where we were staying were both strewn with strangely sea-worn plastic artefacts, some of which seemed to me to resemble otherworldly body parts or broken bits of torture equipment. This worked for me conceptually on several levels and I became quite excited about the possibilities. In fact, I'd been looking forward to this festival since before Festial officially started.
Right now, all I have is a large number of photographs and one painting which I made yesterday at an inspiring workshop led by Nigel Skinner. But when time allows, what a lot of possibilities they seem to hold for future work. I know – it's just a case of being patient again.
www.world-tree.co.uk/festial
http://www.re-title.com/artists/imogen-bardwell.asp
http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/yourgallery/artist_profile/Imogen+Bardwell/41443.html
Last night was St Thomas' Eve: time for the last of the midsummer bonfires. Luckily, like St John's and SS Peter and Paul's Eves, the weather was uncharacteristically summery and I was able to go barefoot which always seems to help for some reason! I hadn't got around to making wet-weather contingency plans, other than going on the next fine evening, but in the event it feels great to have managed to have all three fires on exactly the 'right' dates.
Having said that, I know that I've been so intent on planning the performance/intervention each time – and then carrying it out – that I haven't fully reflected on the fact that it really IS the anniversary of the hundreds and hundreds of times that these fires would have been kindled. Am I feeling anything approaching the same as my medieval ancestors would have? Or their pre-Christian ancestors? Well, maybe a little. But as I suspected at the outset, there are going to be limits. My life is so much more comfortable; I'm not escaping for one evening from hunger – or from the ever-present fear of witnessing or experiencing excruciatingly painful death.
Something else I'm reflecting on now is the context of my work. How does it relate to current practice and debate? I realise there's a need to look critically at my "intentions, processes and outcomes", in the words of an application brief I'm currently addressing. At the same time, the next festival and the next issue of Kalender are always looming.
Perhaps I should be secure enough in the overall concept of Festial to accept what happens as it happens, and the relentless turning of the year is a part of that. I'm trying to put myself in the place of people whose lives and beliefs shaped the world we live in today; the world that all contemporary practice takes place in. I just hope that this means that my investigation is as contemporarily engaged as any other exploration of the links and chasms between different cultures.
www.world-tree.co.uk/festial
Back to the old path behind Wood Dalling church yesterday evening. It's becoming quite a resonant place for me, and I wonder what is accumulating there with each visit.
This was the second of the three midsummer bonfires, collectively known as 'St John's Fires', but this one was actually for the eve of St Peter and St Paul's Day. The bonfires would have been rowdy social occasions with plenty of drinking and merriment. Mine was more reflective, but I was interested to see the juxtaposition of the primeval excitement of fire with the sombre church walls and (nowadays) peaceful graveyard.
St John's Wort was the herb I cast into the fire this time to make 'magical' smoke – as would have been done in the medieval period. I'd spotted lots of it flowering along the old railway track close to our home and planned to stop off to pick some on the way to the church. We just turned the car around to park on the distinctly unpastoral road close to the start of the walk – and I was surprised to find some St John's Wort right next to the car door!
No visible owl babies this time, but plenty of noise issued from the unglazed window where we saw them last week. Bird books describe the sound that barn owls make as 'hissing or snoring' and I'd put this into the former category … nice to have some company, even if the Fire wasn't going to be quite the communal event that it would have been 600 years ago and more.
After last week's Fire, I'd had a few ideas I wanted to try out with the filming, including circling the fire and jumping over it. This was great fun and I was definitely starting to feel that something was happening.
www.world-tree.co.uk/festial
