My Mother's Brave Face - A Christmas Story

It's that time of year again. People are out being mean to each other, cutting each other off so they can take parking spaces. They are beeping their horns at articulated truck drivers who are delivering the supplies that the horn beepers want to buy. The streets and shops are busy with people trying to get presents for other people who, in turn, are also trying to get presents back for the other.

Yes its seems to me to be a bit of a pointless exercise. (Bah Humbug!!) In every culture, the world over, there are reciprocity traditions. They are there for a reason; to guard against poverty, to redistribute wealth, to bring people together as a community, to act as a kind of social insurance, etc. Our reciprocity festival seems to have been hijacked by card sellers and the like, but its all that we have.

What is Christmas for me? Well there is an image in my mind "The Ideal Christmas". Its all baubles and abundance. It's those advertisements by big brand companies that sell me on the idea of a perfect (and usually American) Christmas. It's Bing Crosby crooning "chestnuts roasting on an open fire".

However that's an illusion. For many Christmas can be the hardest time of the year. For some, pain comes in the form of attachment to the illusion of Christmas. They try to emulate the Christmas they have seen in the ads on a very tight budget. For others it might be the loneliness of Christmas; not being able to be with the ones they love through emigration, death or family feud.

For many Christmas is about sacrifice. It's about working late on Christmas eve even though you would prefer to be at home with your kids. It's about making do or anxiety over credit card bills due in January.

Today I want to honour the "Brave-Facers"; those who will wear masks in order to hide their pain this Christmas. Today I want to honour my mother.

My Mother's Brave Face

My grandmother died the night before Christmas Eve when I was 8 years old. We called her "Nana". She was a tiny, bell-shaped woman who we visited in Ranelagh in Dublin. She raised nine children in a two bedroom converted stable at the back of Ranelagh Road proper. Today these places have been converted into "yuppy" mews but back then they were pretty dire to live in. She was the only grandparent I ever met as the other's had all died long before I came into the world. That Christmas, she had been sick and in hospital. The hospital let her out just before Christmas and she had died shortly after that. 

My mother would have heard this terrible news on the eve of Christmas eve. And yet my little brother, who was five, and I had no idea. She continued on. Maybe she was quieter; maybe with all the furore around Christmas we didn't notice the difference in our Mammy. She would have gone through all the preparations on Christmas Eve; putting out carrots for Rudolph and sherry for Santy, trying to get us to go to sleep even though we were super excited. She would been there when we ripped opened our presents. She would have cooked all the meals. She probably watched a Christmas movie with us all after dinner. 

On Stephen's Day she sat us down in the kitchen. That was the day that extended family usually came over. My mammy told us that people wouldn't be calling that day. She sat there and told us she had some very sad news. "Nana died the night before Christmas Eve". We went straight into denial. "No, mammy, no". Finally one of us said "You are lying, Mammy" With that my mother did something I had never seen her do in all my eight years on the planet: she started crying. We hugged her. 

Some of this story is the work of my 33 year old imagination. I don't remember anything special about that Christmas up until the point where my mother broke the news of Nana's death. That is why I am telling this story. We didn't notice. My brother and I celebrated a Christmas like any other and we were able to do that because of my mother's brave face. 

Now as a 33 year old I can only imagine what it was like for her that Christmas. How did she manage to hide that pain she was going through? The loss of her mother! How did she maintain her composure and not break down? I have no idea. It must have taken a great amount of will to do so. And it must have taken a great deal of love too; love for us, love for our innocence, love of our smiles, love of our joy. With that love she allowed us one of the most amazing gifts; the magic and wonder of a child's Christmas. 

This Christmas

This Christmas many will wear masks. They wear them for different and individual reasons. Behind smiles and cheer, they mask suffering and sacrifice. This Christmas I'd like to honour those brave people. 

I'd like to make an appeal too; "Go Gently". Take it easy in the car park. Smile from the heart when you deal with the girl or guy behind the counter. Say "thank you" from that same place; that place of warmth, compassion and love. This Christmas thing is pretty imperfect but maybe we can make the most of it. Maybe we can give little gifts of genuine love to everyone we encounter this Christmas. For we do not know the battles they face. We do not know what lies beneath their mask. 

How to save a life?

I saw a recent meme on Facebook shared by a friend, a fellow animal lover, and it went something like this; 

"When you choose a rescue dog you save two lives - that of the dog you choose and the life of the dog that  gets a place at the rescue centre" 

I agree wholeheartedly with this statement but I think whoever said it underestimated the effect that choice can have. I think these beautiful dogs that come into our lives can save our lives as much as we save theirs. 

This morning I talked to my Mam on the phone. She told me a bitter sweet story. Marley, my dog, has been living with her while I have been in final year of college. He goes to lots of places with her. Naas town is a favourite with visits to the bank and the animal rescue second hand shop being top of the list. Recently they have been visiting the local garden centre. After my Mam has finished her shopping there, she treats herself to a coffee in their cafe. 

The first day the girls working there offered to sit with Marley while my Mam went for her coffee. Afterwards they came out with water for him. Yesterday my Mam went in and did the same. This time Marley was given water and a little bowl of chicken. The girl that brought him his treat was about to walk away when she stopped. She look at my Mam and said;

"You know the last day you were here? That dog sat with me the whole time. One of the other girls is mad about dogs and she couldn't get him to go near her. He just sat with me"

My Mam smiled and the girl looked like she was going to walk away. Then she stopped and said;

"I was only two days back in work. Two days back... after my mother died. And he just sat with me. Isn't that funny? And he never went near the other girl, just sat with me. Do you think he knew? Do you think he knew I needed him?" 

My mam nodded and said "Yes, he just knew" and when she told me all I could think was "Yes, he just knew". Don't ask me how - and I'm sure it can't be re-created in laboratory conditions but somehow, just somehow, that dog knew. Like the gazelle that can sense the lioness stalking it even though it has not seen it or smelt it, that dog could sense that that girl needed something, needed his companionship that day, needed to feel a little less alone in her grief. 

And how do I know? Because I have felt the power of that dog's instincts. Three years ago when I had Marley first he did one of the most amazing things I have ever seen or felt.  I had Marley a few weeks. He had been in the wonderful care of the Dog Action Welfare Group (DAWG). They, through their fosterer, had taken in this poor wretch of an animal and nursed him back to health  He was emaciated and covered in mange. He had been on the road so long that he had worn away the pads on his feet. It took a whole 10 weeks for him to be in any way ready for re-homing. 

He went up on their page and within minutes I rang and made an appointment to see him. I was so lucky because I had been the first and there was a waiting list after me. After a home check we were allowed to take him home. Marley had been through a lot  and it took him awhile to adjust. He would not even respond to his name he was so upset with being parted from his wonderful fosterer. 

Within a few weeks he was coming round. He was so obedient - he knew he was not allowed out of the kitchen even if the door was wide open. 

I was due in for my first scan for my first child on a Thursday morning. My partner said he knew it wasn't good from the moment the scan started. Then the horrible news that the baby had died a few days earlier. I'd had a missed miscarriage. No signs, just everything trundling on as expected. Except that the little baby was in suspended animation - with no heartbeat and had stopped developing. 

I was devastated. But in a very quiet way - there was just a kind of quiet acceptance that this was the way it was. My partner tried to comfort me but what do you say? What do you do? Especially when you are grieving too? 

That Saturday night I was alone. I was lying in bed trying not to smother. That's the only way I can describe it. I had been weeping up until this point but nothing big - something between stoicism and depression. This night alone in my bed I struggled to breath and then it came; something from the pit of gut began to release and it manifested in this guttural slow howl of pain. 

Within seconds this once obedient dog was beside me. He had bounded through two shut doors and over the invisible threshold of the forbidden "rest-of-the-house". He had never even been in the bedroom before! And here he was, lying on my bed, his big solemn head resting on my chest, softly making cooing noises along with my howls. He lay like that, just softly humming until my howling subsided. And then we just lay there for the rest of the evening; me slowly rubbing his head, staring into to his great big brown eyes and him gazing back from his endless pools of non-judgement. 

This has got to be one of the most remarkable experiences of my life. This moment of true empathetic doggie compassion. You can tell me this is anthropomorphising all you like but the above really happened. In one of my darkest moments this rescued dog came to my rescue. 

I sometimes think if we could all be a little bit more dog-like the world would be a better place. What do you do when someone shares their grief with you? Well I'm shit! I try my best but I really fall short of the mark. I think if I could just be a bit more like Marley I'd be a better person. If I could just sit with someone's pain and not try "hide it, fade it or fix it" I would be a better friend. I could even be someone's best friend. 

The Giant of Kinsale - Part 4

Foam Attachment

Cutting patterns for face

Here my patience was really tested. Everything started out pretty well. I was easy to cut the foam. I put in huge seam allowances. Then I began to work with the latex. 

Sometimes it feels like you are the first person to do something. Like a pioneer of sorts. There is no handbook - just a set of instructions for use on a bottle or some vague memories of the last time you did something like this. The instructions for Latex are pretty simple. I went with the instructions for two non-porous surfaces. The latex loved absorbing into the foam and really didn't seam to want to attach to the packing tape cover. Slow, frustrating work. 

Adding first foam section

After hours of work and only one cheek completed I re-accessed. The K.I.S.S. rule ringing in my ears. Keep It Simple Stupid! Go back to to what you know best; Paper Mache! So I covered the entire remainder of head in paper mache. This gave me two absorbent surfaces to deal with and made my work much easier.

This set me back by about three days as I had to wait for this rather large head to dry. In the end it was worth it as it sped up the process of getting the the foam layer on.

Decision to Paper Mache the entire head

Slow Progress

Foam Layer Continued

This was by far one of the scariest times of the project. Each piece felt like it could go wrong at any stage. I was also working with products like latex and foam and not my preferred medium of paper mache. The is something meditative about paper mache - there is something not meditative bout smelly latex and burning your fingers!

Foam all in place!
(Note the Toilet Roll)

His first showing

While I was waiting for paper mache layers to dry etc I got onto other parts of anatomy. Then with about two weeks to go to Patrick's Day, Dave and Brian came over to have a look. I was delighted to be able to show them this fella that day... 

This was when he began to be known by his stage name "O'Brien"

Ta Da!

Closer...

The Giant of Kinsale - Part 3

Drawing on the features

Building up features

Using a a DVD/CD marker I drew out his features. I also added another over-hang for his chin. Then I began to build up newspaper into features. 

This is an ingenious method passed onto me by Alicia Falvey. She used this method to create ornate woodwork effects for a 17th chaise lounge for a production of a Moliere play. It can be then paper mached over and can be sanded down, painted and varnished like wood.

Building up features

Sculpting the newspaper shapes

Once a rough shape for each feature is achieved they were covered in packing tape. The packing tape creates a kind of "shell" that helps you to see where gaps that need filling might be or where there may be too much bulk. If there is a gap it is simply filled with more newspaper. If there is too much bulk in an area the packing tape shell is sliced into. The excess is trimmed away either with a scissors or your fingers. It is then re-taped ready for covering.

Trimming/Slicing newspaper shapes

Finished base features

The Giant of Kinsale - Part 2

Willow weave

Willow Weave

Next step was the willow weave. This allowed the main circles fullness to be maintained when further layers were added.

I wove at various points; between the eyes, sides and back of the head.

In the opposite picture you can also see the addition of a chin

Packing Tape Layer

 Packing tape layer

This was a fun layer. The willow was secured in place by applying layers of packing tape. I snipped off the willow ends and then taped these to the structure.

Below you can see the inside the crown still exposed. These protruding willow sticks were woven back into the structure and covered with more packing tape.

Internal view with unfinished
crown

Close up of crown

And voila! - A structure to start adding features to! (Or C3PO as he became known after this layer)

Packing Tape Layer complete

Giant of Kinsale - Part 1

Below is the basic structure for "O'Brien" as he affectionately became known. It's funny to look at this now. This was the culmination of many days work and  sleepless nights. It doesn't look much just a weird amalgamation of multiple materials... but this is what everything was built onto. Hard work on this structure saved much work down the line.

Here are a few things I learned from this process

1. Never take a phone call whilst in the middle of complex scale equations

2. Work in small spurts with walks/nights sleep in between sessions

Basic Structure

Bamboo Frame

I used this website to calculate several complex circle equations. This equation which calculates the largest square inside the circle was particularly invaluable. 

I created the frame based on a series of circles (Beer Tubing) that would be supported by bamboo. These I decided would be the upper brow and jaw line. As the chin would come down further than this structure, the eyes needed to be lower than the centre point of the Bamboo structure. This is so the eyes would end up at the centre of the head on completion. 

I created two further supporting squares for the brow bone and cheek bones. Onto these four squares I attached beer tubing. At this point I decided on placing the eyes on one side and put eye-holders in place.

Structure with eye in place

Close up of eye

Side view of structure with eye in place

These eye holes were made using "galband" and cable ties attached to the beer-tubing frame.

There are also a series of "guy" ropes inside the structure to keep the head shape in place. These were all removed with the addition of later layers.

Making Masala for Life

Dhal, on paper, should be the easiest thing in the world. Its a lentil curry; boil up a few lentils, fry a few spices and onions and hey presto; Dhal!

Its not like that though. Dhal is an art form. It needs love and slowness.

Yesterday I took the time to make a dhal for my house mates. The last five weeks have been hectic. I have grabbed meals on the run, takeaways and not eaten enough to sustain the level of activity I have been engaged in. Yesterday evening I wanted slowness. I wanted dhal.

I started with chopping the onions... slowly. If you fry the onions too quickly you can sour the taste of the whole dhal. No rushing just watching over them and lowering the temperature as required. A good 15 minutes later and the spices were ready to go in. Then the fresh garlic and ginger paste followed a few minutes later by tomatoes.

I waited and watched and then I waited and watched some more. The oil was not separating from masala. After a few minutes I realised there was not enough oil to begin with. In a little bit more went and then watching again. Then that beautiful moment of fullness when the mad mixture that is a masala becomes one.

In with the lentils and within a few minutes that beautiful chocolate shade of  Tarka Dhal emerges. It looked like it was going to taste amazing!

In with the guinea pigs and us piggies are all happy after our shared meal!

Sometimes life rushes by. My life has been reflected in my food consumption; rushed and unloved. Taking the time to slowly prepare food can be a luxury. Slow down the tempo and breath. I took the time to cook for friends last night. They may have viewed it as a loving gesture from me but for me it was a gift to myself. The gift of slowness and love. The gift of dhal.

Keith Johnstone quote on Mask

We distrust spontaneity, and try to replace it with reason: the Mask was driven out of theatre in the same way that improvisation was driven out of music. Shakers have stopped shaking. Quakers don't shake anymore. Hypnotized people used to stagger about and tremble. Victorian mediums used to rampage about the room. Education itself might be seen as primarily an anti-trance activity.

From "Impro" by Keith Johnstone
From Masks and Trance, Section 3: Destroying the Mask

Blurts and Inspiration

I've been trying to do morning pages when I can - and if I do - to do them immediately as I wake up.

This morning I woke from a dream. I did my morning pages and then overturned the room looking for a sketch pad. There I doodled without trying to be "good"! I just got the ideas out. I asked questions and answered them on the page. I played. I wanted to get the idea out. 

And there it was. Was it a painting? Hmm, in some ways that would have been easier and also harder. Was it a piece of sculpture? I like to work in 3D. It needed a sound-scape to tell the story. So how would that work with a 3D sculpture? Maybe. But it would be amazing if it was mechanised! I sat back from the doodles and notes.

And then it came to me! It was none of the above and it was all of them! It was an animation!

The last few days with getting back to drawing I hadn't paid attention to blurts. Those nasty negative beliefs that are only that - beliefs. And beliefs, like opinions, can be changed!

In my morning pages I heard the parrot's blurts. "You can only draw/work from life" "You are so literal"

Well working from life/nature is a wonderful talent! Its also an inspiration that, like the leaf on the tree, has infinite variations of itself. So the parrot is totally barking up the wrong tree there! (Oh did I just pun and mix up cliché?)

But there has been that old gem of a blurt also "You have no original ideas". But besides blurts there has been a genuine desire to compose in an non literal fashion.

And this morning it was there in my dream. This image. That started with disgust and as I teased it out became more and more poignant to where I am, to what I have been going through the last few weeks (and maybe years).

It wasn't literal either. I couldn't beat myself up with that blurt. On top of all these revelations I also had a starter for an art form I have long been fascinated with and wanted to try.

I asked the question and the answer came; the beauty of asking questions and listening for the answers. I also didn't have to push or squeeze my eyebrows together to achieve it! It emerged like a feather cascading down from an endless blue sky. (Where it came from I don't know but I do know that there are plenty more feathers up there... Or maybe even whole birds flying around!)

Perfect Enough

So I started drawing again the other day. I was on total rest with a viral infection in my lungs and looking for something low impact and creative to keep me going.

A revelation struck me; I haven't sketched for enjoyment for years. I left art college in 2005 and I had no desire to pick up a paint brush or sketching pencil since then. (And I probably had no desire to do so in the final few moths there either.) 

What really struck me was this; that the very place I went to in order to invest in my art drained  from me every bit of joy I had for art. 

The whys are "whatever"s now. What is interesting now is the sense of pressure I feel when I draw. Gone are the carefree days of drawing for hours as a child just because I liked it. It has to have a purpose and to be successful. The race for perfection and "The Fear" arises again. It doesn't have to be perfect - and if it was perfect it would be awful!  

In art college there was a woman there who worked as the caretaker of the building. Someone was going on about getting a project perfect and she responded "That's the problem with you lot (students). You always want it to be perfect. If you just got into the mindset of "perfect enough" you would be a lot happier!" So here is my challenge. Is to find things "perfect enough". To stop pushing and just enjoy - otherwise whats the point!  

"The Child" Mask

"The Child" 

Character Half Mask

Finished - Titanium Buff Base

Clay Mould

The Child was inspired by a set of masks in the Actor's Space. These were a family of masks designed for a theatre performance. I worked with the baby and I wished to explore the possibility of creating a mask which might go somewhere towards a pre-teen age group. 

I started with the basic plaster of Paris mould of my face which I had made the winter before. To this I added quite a thick layer of clay. I covered in the eyes as an experiment as I had not worked that way before. This would mean I would cut the eyes once it had dried. 

I used a picture of my niece and my own face as a primary resource for the structure. I was also inspired by a monologue I had written the year before. It is written from the perspective of an eight year old boy. 

Paper Layer

Discoveries

It was difficult to cut the eyes afterwards. It was quite uncomfortable to wear and needed a lot of foam to make it comfortable. Next time I will experiment with building the mask around the eyes in the design and so leaving space in the eye sockets for the eyes. 

The thick layer of clay produces a mask which is far too high and so again is uncomfortable for this reason. I will experiment with a thinner layer of clay all over next time. 

The painting is a joy. I went through "the fear" with this mask. "The Fear" strikes at the beginning of every creative project for me. With  mask-making it begins again with the painting stage. 

The fear seems to subside a little once I start to get a decent amount of paint on to it.  Again the use of finger blending on the masks produces the best effect in my books. Maybe it is the effect of human touch on an inanimate object that breaths more life into it. Or maybe it is the slow methodical obsessiveness that appeals to me. 

I decided to paint on the eyebrows so this was a new challenge for me. Again the fear surfaced somewhat here too but I continued on. I referred to the picture of my niece as support here. Her soft childlike eyebrows are very different from mine so it really helped to take inspiration from nature.