Kaite O'Reilly Writing Workshop

I spent this weekend in the company of the wonderful Kaite O'Reilly and fifteen other equally wonderful artists, as we explored creative writing for performance. It was part of a larger event run by UCC's ArtWorks in association with the Theatre Development Centre.

A few themes came up for me during the weekend. The first thing I was struck by was the quality of the writing being produced. Kaite worked with us using various exercises to get us writing. At different points participants could volunteer to read out their pieces. As the weekend developed we moved into performing the text. Participants came from a variety of backgrounds; some had never written before while some did not consider themselves to be creative. Others were theatre professionals; some experienced with writing and devising, others not. Across the board great work was produced.

Which got me thinking. I didn't think "Oh dear, why am I even doing this? Some of these people have never done this before and are producing stuff as good as anything I can do. I should just give up" No I didn't think that. Instead I thought about how innate creativity is to humans. How if individuals are given care, encouragement and a few tools that they can come up with the most wonderful creations.

Then I got to thinking again. (Oh dear!) If we are all so innately creative, or talented, what is the key to anyone's work being produced eventually, or not? And I came back to it again, like I usually do; Audacity! I like to call it being bold or boldness now for a variety of reasons. Or lets put it another way; Courage. If I have the courage to put my work out there or to take a leap and produce it myself then there is a good chance my work will be seen. If I leave my work on a hard-drive, there is no chance!

And that is a tragedy! I think of all the characters I write. I imagine them lurking about in soft-copy land, peering out through abstract file names, hoping that today might be their lucky day. "She will come back today, finish me off, or add someone in for me to play with. Maybe just maybe, she might print me off and let her friend's bring me to life!"

Which brings me onto to my other big insights from the weekend. Kaite generously shared not only her experiences as a writer but also as a mentor to other writers. She talked about working with a group of writers and a theme came up for them time and again. "I can only write when when I am inspired" I cringed; How many times have I heard myself saying that? Kaite advised that if you aspire to be a writer then you need to write even when you are not inspired.

Sometimes when I write it flows. Sometimes it feels like vomiting onto the page, like its coming out in massive violent spurts and I have trouble keeping up! That sounds unpleasant but its not, its just intense. I also experience writing where I start something with great intentions and enthusiasm only to become stuck. The "guards at the gates of the mind" (Quoting Kaite, quoting Seneca) rush in and ambush me. They whisper "It was a shit idea anyway", "This has all been done before", and eventually "Who do you think you are anyway? You are not a writer".

So what do we do then? According to Kaite - we keep writing! But how do we do that when the terrifying faces of our old blocks are closing in? We trick the mind, we out-manoeuvre the censor. Kaite brought us through a variety of exercises that could aid us in this area. She focused us on not worrying about perfection as we had such a limited time anyway. Kaite helped us to find inspiration, to work in ways many of us had not experienced before, and then to get it down on paper.

So to recap here are my big lessons from the weekend
1. Write even when you are not inspired
2. Trick the censor, find and use exercises to fuel your writing
3. Get it down
4. Keep it all
5. Finish it off
6. Be Bold: Get it out there!

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.