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.
