Monday, 21 March 2011
1. ♥ K loud, 2. Untitled, 3. wedding dress, 4. Untitled
The Equinox has again come and gone, and summer is on the breeze whispering in from the south promising golden days and starry nights. Things are coming together, and I'll get there somehow; on a wing and a prayer, by maps scribbled in blue ink that read like lists and with a little help... I'm dreaming of blue skies and that blue lough stretching into tomorrows sky, my red shoes and dresses floating on that summer wind, that heat slow and lazy and bowls over-full of strawberries. Yet before all that I need to keep scribbling; thousands of words on white, and stitching in red and gold, early blue mornings and late inky nights, but I'm nearly there...
Today was calm and windswept, golden light and tea gold rain, blue and grey and as always green... Today I love daffodils and creamy lace, creamy coffee and brownies for breakfast. I love laughter and soft jumpers as grey and fluffy as the sky. I love thoughtful actions and loathe thoughtless impatience. Today the woman I am wears red shoes, she has fire in her hair and the moon on her fingers, she is still bargaining with those rosy apples but she knows their tricks and can charm them just the same...
Saturday, 12 March 2011
Black as a raven, dark as a hearse,
black as jealousy and deep dark earth.
White as snow and pure as love,
pale as bone and snowy dove.
Red as blood, raw as grief
red as birth and pure silk sheath.
Black beady eye and feathers white
red evening sky and wings taking flight
Today has been snow, rain and hail and the sky is falling down... it's on my boots, in my hair and trailing across that wooden floor. I'm casting spells to turn boys into birds and I've woven charms to change then back again. But is that where the freedom is? On the wing. Brothers and boys should be free, yet sisters and lovers always wait behind.
I've tied myself up in knots and there is no one now to undo them, but what magic is that, more a magicians trick, a few right words and I'll be free... I'm baking cakes, tall, dark and Irish and I wonder if there's some pumpkin charm in that, some midnight chime, or a call... Those boys with paint on their fingers and this land in their eyes, wolves or lambs in leather jackets, and I'm always pale, dark and red.
Today I love words on white, my words sounded out in another's voice. I love evening light and nightly rain, deep and black like ink, I love those primroses and the newness of spring, I love the whiteness of snow and hate even white lies. Today the woman I want to be is Sunday mornings and sunlight on the sills, she has walked those lanes so far from here but she is home, and she's never been so sure...
(The image and narrative are for The Juniper Tree, one of my red tales, and the recipe for that cake can be found over at Darjeeling Dreams)
Thursday, 10 March 2011
Tales of Love, Death and the Weather
Installation and Work-in-Progress by Siobhan Rodgers
14th-19th March 2011 at PS²
The show will consist of old work and work-in-progress, my red tales, embroidery and my superstition cabinet. The aim is to test how people view or read the work, create work in the context of the narratives, present that distinctive fairy tale aesthetic and expand the collection of superstitions. I'll be there all week sewing and gathering reactions. Any visits, feedback or superstitions would be very welcome, if you're about the city call in...
Today was blue skies and grey stormy sleet, warming spring and ice cold, it's that place in between, March; month of ides and lies, something untrue, I can barely wait for the stable ground of April, my birthday, new beginnings, cake and blossoms on the trees, green and sunny heat... I still have threads in my pockets and that black cat is still wandering around, as black and red as hell or my hair, and that thin edge of panic has yet to subside...
Today I love piles of blankets and piles of books, all in my own hand. I love those long rolling conversations, I love maps and nights when every star is in the sky, I love possibilities and loathe decisions left unmade... Today the woman I want to be is content in a crowd, she never has the urge to run, she lives what she loves and she trusts the days to change...
Saturday, 5 March 2011
All images from flickr
Oh it’s been too long since I last wrote here… I’ve been writing so many other things, days of writing, books of pages, I always have blue ink and bruises on my hands; little dents that mark where the pen sits. I’m not long back from Donegal; I spent my hours writing by daylight with steaming cups of tea and nights beside that peat fire, which smells so much like home, trying to conjure those tales in words and rhythm. It rained every night I was there, that deep, aching rain I feel in my toes. That fickle ocean was there of course, a constant wash of tides that have touched a thousand other shores and that tiding of magpies are still roosting beside the house; so many the old rhyme doesn’t count high enough, if they bring good luck or ill only time will tell…
Spring is finally stirring and I find my mind not on those dark tales of transformation, snow, apples, blood and ice, but on The Weather Watcher, I tucked her story away for a stormy sunny day…but she’ll have to wait a few months more, brew a little longer, as I’m rapidly running out of time on this Masters course. The tales, all thirteen are drawing together, all deep darks, reds and whites; those wild geese are dressed in the green of this land, Briar Rose is leaving princes bloody and heart sick in her wake, Gretel is alone but no longer wandering, she’s tending that oven… Red is in bed with the Wolf, Snow White has turned temptress just like her mother, those bones are wrapped up in silk, the spell cast, Beauty and the Beast are nightly making their neighbours jealous, Bluebeard is still keeping count, the bread is baked, those charms pinned in, and don’t you know the little man’s name? And me; I’ve put on my red shoes, I have needles and threads in my pockets and a pen in my hand, I’m tracing those maps deep into the woods but I know the way, I’m stronger than the Snow White they all take me for and I’ve plenty more tales to tell.
Today was blue and thin spring light, as cold as winter but not as true. Today I love books; words and gateways… I love tea and truth and those white sheets. I love tulips in a shock of red. I love kindness and patience and as always I loathe cowardice and words unsaid. Today the woman I want to be laughs like the early morning, she is beauty and grace and she sleeps sound. She never has to guess or doubt and kindness doesn’t make her stall… someday.