This last week has had some fun times and some sad times.
First the sad. We went to a ceremony at the Crematorium for the final remains, or as the funeral director described it, a final 'slice' of my old friend Nagu Rao, who died last April and whom I wrote about then. Her husband had been waiting for her final remains to be returned from the Coroner before he could perform the necessary Hindu rituals required and make the obligatory journey to India a year after her death. There were four of us attending. The main funeral had been huge, then after the cremation he had divided her ashes. Some he took to South India, where from a small boat with a priest and another in the confluence of two rivers he managed to release those ashes in what seemed like an Indian black comedy variation of 'Three Men in a Boat.' The rest he released into the Taff near Llandaff Cathedral. Nagu saw herself as a Welsh Indian, so this seemed perfectly fitting.
Because we'd been away in Mexico at the time, we had not been able to say our goodbyes, so this time Raj got us fully involved. He recited and chanted Hindu hymns, and ragas that Nagu had composed and sung herself, which she recorded on U Tube. As all religion was equal in her eyes and she loved all things spiritual there were also Catholic pieces.We read pieces about her in English and Welsh and sang a Welsh hymn, 'Calon Lan' (Clean Heart). We sprinkled water from the Ganges, meridian, turmeric, Basmati rice and Freesias onto her casket. When the time to place her casket into the oven, Raj lit the candle, and stood alone looking through the spy hole as Nagu's last remains ignited. He told us that it was forbidden to cry as we were supposed to be joyful that she was on her journey. Where she was going only she and God knows, but as we all fought back our tears, I tried to bring my last memory of her to mind; In the Garth woods, wearing a red hat under a mass of black curly hair, a sari, warm cardigan and boots, giggling and enjoying each moment we were together despite the pain she was always in. I will really miss her.
The good news was our trip up to North Yorkshire to see friends I'd first met 41 years ago. Despite parental misgivings on both sides, Richard, a VSO married his sweetheart, Sasti and brought her home from Indonesia to the north of England to live. The beginning was very tough but she adapted amazingly. She won her mother-in-law's respect by being able to prepare game pie, cook pheasant, rabbit and pigeon for dinner, bake wonderful cakes, and produce two beautiful children. Richard is a teacher with a razor sharp intellect, great knowledge and a very generous heart. We nickname them Masterchef and Mastermind.
Old friends are like precious gems. We can lose their sparkle at any time. Pay them attention. The absence of their light makes our life a lot less interesting and far less fun.
Tuesday 29 March 2011
Friday 18 March 2011
KEEPERS
Last night we went to see a play at the Welsh Millennium Centre, called 'Keepers', devised and performed by The Plasticine Men.
It is based on a true story set in 1801, aboard a lighthouse far off the West Welsh coast in a wild area known as The Smalls. The story is about the claustrophobic relationship between Thomas Howell and Thomas Griffith, the two keepers. Both eventually go mad. The subsequent result was that lighthouses were never again manned by only two keepers, but by a team of three.
It was a very physical piece of theatre with minimum props: a ladder, a trap door and two chairs. With the aid of live music and sound effects you could really imagine you were watching action happening inside and outside the lighthouse. Performances were energetic and committed, although at times accents moved with the waves from Rhondda to Tipperary. The ending wasn't clear. It was only in the 'after show' talk that I realised that one keeper had hoisted the other one, dead, up the flag pole. More moments of stillness between frenetic scenes of keeping the light going would have given more clarity and insight. Perhaps, if they'd been a writer bringing together the actors' improvisations, adding sub text and slowing down the pace at times, this would have helped produce a more moving piece.
I have always had a fascination with lighthouses and lighthouse keepers. I guess there's a kind of romantic curiosity and nostalgia about their lives. I once met a lighthouse keeper on Fair Isle. He didn't have to go far from home-perhaps a mile down the road. He also had other jobs which he did in between his shifts, such as selling lobsters and being a fire warden. It wasn't very long ago when the lighthouse was automated and his post made redundant. When we met him he was piloting the boat from Sumburgh on Shetland down to Fair isle. He let me fulfill a lifetime ambition: sit in his seat and pretend that I was taking us home over the choppy waves back to the mainland. Who knows, if I'd met him a few years earlier he might have let me share a shift in his light house?
It is based on a true story set in 1801, aboard a lighthouse far off the West Welsh coast in a wild area known as The Smalls. The story is about the claustrophobic relationship between Thomas Howell and Thomas Griffith, the two keepers. Both eventually go mad. The subsequent result was that lighthouses were never again manned by only two keepers, but by a team of three.
It was a very physical piece of theatre with minimum props: a ladder, a trap door and two chairs. With the aid of live music and sound effects you could really imagine you were watching action happening inside and outside the lighthouse. Performances were energetic and committed, although at times accents moved with the waves from Rhondda to Tipperary. The ending wasn't clear. It was only in the 'after show' talk that I realised that one keeper had hoisted the other one, dead, up the flag pole. More moments of stillness between frenetic scenes of keeping the light going would have given more clarity and insight. Perhaps, if they'd been a writer bringing together the actors' improvisations, adding sub text and slowing down the pace at times, this would have helped produce a more moving piece.
I have always had a fascination with lighthouses and lighthouse keepers. I guess there's a kind of romantic curiosity and nostalgia about their lives. I once met a lighthouse keeper on Fair Isle. He didn't have to go far from home-perhaps a mile down the road. He also had other jobs which he did in between his shifts, such as selling lobsters and being a fire warden. It wasn't very long ago when the lighthouse was automated and his post made redundant. When we met him he was piloting the boat from Sumburgh on Shetland down to Fair isle. He let me fulfill a lifetime ambition: sit in his seat and pretend that I was taking us home over the choppy waves back to the mainland. Who knows, if I'd met him a few years earlier he might have let me share a shift in his light house?
Wednesday 16 March 2011
SCRIPT CAFE WELCOMES BACK KIT LAMBERT
Last night was the third Tuesday in the month, so it had to be Pontardawe Script Cafe. The speaker was Kit Lambert, a playwright and poet, who's recently adapted Gullivers Travels for Hijinx Theatre.
The aim of the workshop was to look at a short story written by one of our members, Hillary Wickers, called 'The Brown Cardboard Suitcase', and see how it might be adapted for the stage. It is a story about a child who faced constant rejection but who remained positive and who was able to turn adversity into adventure through the use of her vivid imagination. Kit guided us through a number of questions about the piece and helped us pull out key themes and moments of drama. We tried to visualise aspects of the story on stage. That produced an interesting dynamic between those of us who see imagery symbolically and those who are more literal. As a result some exciting ideas emerged for staging and set design.
Kit had also asked us to all bring a memento from our childhood. Many of us were children in the 1950's and our mementos reflected this. One member had brought a complete bus conductor's outfit with a ticket holder and hat that looked far too big for a child; another brought a cat her mother had made from bits of her security blanket that had been sliced up by her nice brother and sister. I brought a black and white photo of myself aged about seven that has a cigarette burn all along one side. I often wonder how the photo got that burn. Good material for a story, eh?
The aim of the workshop was to look at a short story written by one of our members, Hillary Wickers, called 'The Brown Cardboard Suitcase', and see how it might be adapted for the stage. It is a story about a child who faced constant rejection but who remained positive and who was able to turn adversity into adventure through the use of her vivid imagination. Kit guided us through a number of questions about the piece and helped us pull out key themes and moments of drama. We tried to visualise aspects of the story on stage. That produced an interesting dynamic between those of us who see imagery symbolically and those who are more literal. As a result some exciting ideas emerged for staging and set design.
Kit had also asked us to all bring a memento from our childhood. Many of us were children in the 1950's and our mementos reflected this. One member had brought a complete bus conductor's outfit with a ticket holder and hat that looked far too big for a child; another brought a cat her mother had made from bits of her security blanket that had been sliced up by her nice brother and sister. I brought a black and white photo of myself aged about seven that has a cigarette burn all along one side. I often wonder how the photo got that burn. Good material for a story, eh?
Friday 11 March 2011
TOILETS,MOBILES & MUSIC
The week didn't start well. On Monday as I tried to go to the toilet while giving an obsessive last minute shine to the caravan sink, plop! went my mobile phone into the loo. I can tell you retrieving it wasn't one of my finer moments and despite modern technology the whole thing was damaged beyond repair: telephone numbers lost, notes for poems, photos and videos of country walks gone, my memory bank down the pan. At least the sim card is ok, so I can still use the number.
I got some interesting comments from friends, who I hadn't told what I'd being doing when I dropped it, and made their own assumptions based on personal experiences. One friend said it was the best place for a mobile phone and he wished his students would do the same with theirs, another told me it was my own fault if I was toilet texting, and another that next time I should try not to be sick beforehand.
The day got better as in the evening we started African drumming classes with the Forte School of Music. Classes take place in a new art cafe, 'Umber & Sienna' in Taffs Well. Eleven hopefuls sat round in a circle with our charming young tutor who coaxed and encouraged us to bang our drums. It was like being in kindergarden again as some of us just could not resist drumming when we were supposed to be listening.
Earlier that weekend at our local cinema, we watched a live broadcast of 'Carmen', from the Royal Opera House. It was in French but there were sub titles. I can never understand what opera singers are singing in English. I thought performers in crowd scenes would be singing something profound, only to find they were describing themselves walking around the square. I love the idea of doing that in real life: singing a description of myself washing up or cleaning the sink while actually doing it. If I'd been doing that on Monday in the van loo, I wonder how my song would have gone?
Pity not more people know about these live broadcasts of theatre and opera to local cinemas. I have only ever seen one live opera in my life and that was years ago. These broadcasts open up opportunities for people outside of London who can't afford the ticket price or who wouldn't normally attend live productions to experience something different. Sitting in a half empty cinema, wearing dark glasses(the performance was in 3D), unwrapping noisy sweets and humming along to the tune of the Toreador's song was certainly a different experience to being part of the dignified audience at the Opera House.
On Tuesday we went to see the film,'Patagonia' . It's two intertwining stories: one of an elderly Argentinian woman, who comes to Wales to find the farm that her mother worked on before she emigrated to Patagonia in 1927. The other story is of a Welsh photographer, who with his girlfriend goes to Patagonia to photograph the Welsh chapels. The love interest is heightened by Matthew Rhys, who plays the role of a guide to the couple. The film is in Spanish, Welsh and English. Marc Evans, who Rhys taught art to many years ago, directs. The cinematography is beautiful and the landscape of the plains and mountains of Patagonia evocative and romantic. Wales looks luscious and green in contrast. However, we felt that although the story was quite moving the film is rather too safe somehow and lacks edge.
Last night for the first time since Mexico we went to a classical guitar recital at the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. Two professional performers, a Greek boy, Dimitris Dekavellas and an ex-RWCMD student, Hayley Savage gave superb performances. Hayley composed a piece called 'Double Helix', using the molecular structure of DNA as building blocks for notes in the piece. She also composed and performed a piece 'Throwing the Dice', based on the number six:-six strings on the guitar, six sides to the dice. She build up the notes by random throws. I know nothing about the theory of making music but the idea seems awesome, complex and a huge challenge. The performances were breathtaking. But my favourite was their performance of a tango suite by a Latin American composer, Astor Piazzolla. It took me back to a almost a year ago, when we were in San Miguel de Allende in Central Mexico, listening to the duo 'Confluenza'. There's something about that music which for me touches the very essence of what it is to be human. I guess some might call it soul.
I got some interesting comments from friends, who I hadn't told what I'd being doing when I dropped it, and made their own assumptions based on personal experiences. One friend said it was the best place for a mobile phone and he wished his students would do the same with theirs, another told me it was my own fault if I was toilet texting, and another that next time I should try not to be sick beforehand.
The day got better as in the evening we started African drumming classes with the Forte School of Music. Classes take place in a new art cafe, 'Umber & Sienna' in Taffs Well. Eleven hopefuls sat round in a circle with our charming young tutor who coaxed and encouraged us to bang our drums. It was like being in kindergarden again as some of us just could not resist drumming when we were supposed to be listening.
Earlier that weekend at our local cinema, we watched a live broadcast of 'Carmen', from the Royal Opera House. It was in French but there were sub titles. I can never understand what opera singers are singing in English. I thought performers in crowd scenes would be singing something profound, only to find they were describing themselves walking around the square. I love the idea of doing that in real life: singing a description of myself washing up or cleaning the sink while actually doing it. If I'd been doing that on Monday in the van loo, I wonder how my song would have gone?
Pity not more people know about these live broadcasts of theatre and opera to local cinemas. I have only ever seen one live opera in my life and that was years ago. These broadcasts open up opportunities for people outside of London who can't afford the ticket price or who wouldn't normally attend live productions to experience something different. Sitting in a half empty cinema, wearing dark glasses(the performance was in 3D), unwrapping noisy sweets and humming along to the tune of the Toreador's song was certainly a different experience to being part of the dignified audience at the Opera House.
On Tuesday we went to see the film,'Patagonia' . It's two intertwining stories: one of an elderly Argentinian woman, who comes to Wales to find the farm that her mother worked on before she emigrated to Patagonia in 1927. The other story is of a Welsh photographer, who with his girlfriend goes to Patagonia to photograph the Welsh chapels. The love interest is heightened by Matthew Rhys, who plays the role of a guide to the couple. The film is in Spanish, Welsh and English. Marc Evans, who Rhys taught art to many years ago, directs. The cinematography is beautiful and the landscape of the plains and mountains of Patagonia evocative and romantic. Wales looks luscious and green in contrast. However, we felt that although the story was quite moving the film is rather too safe somehow and lacks edge.
Last night for the first time since Mexico we went to a classical guitar recital at the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. Two professional performers, a Greek boy, Dimitris Dekavellas and an ex-RWCMD student, Hayley Savage gave superb performances. Hayley composed a piece called 'Double Helix', using the molecular structure of DNA as building blocks for notes in the piece. She also composed and performed a piece 'Throwing the Dice', based on the number six:-six strings on the guitar, six sides to the dice. She build up the notes by random throws. I know nothing about the theory of making music but the idea seems awesome, complex and a huge challenge. The performances were breathtaking. But my favourite was their performance of a tango suite by a Latin American composer, Astor Piazzolla. It took me back to a almost a year ago, when we were in San Miguel de Allende in Central Mexico, listening to the duo 'Confluenza'. There's something about that music which for me touches the very essence of what it is to be human. I guess some might call it soul.
Saturday 5 March 2011
THE WRITERS' SPACE
This morning I attended an event for writers at Chapter Arts Centre in Cardiff. The idea was that of Simon Harris and Carys Shannon of 'Lucid', 'a new artist resource with a curiosity for what's possible'. They provided an open space where writers could have conversations in areas that interested them. About thirty odd writers attended. There was no set agenda, just three themes:the writer and the process, the path to production, and the profession. We were invited to write our questions on post-it notes and join others who might be interested in having a conversation around one question. The law of 'two feet' applied. If you felt you weren't contributing or getting anything out of a conversation you could move on to the next conversation, and when conversations ran out of steam the event was over. 'When it's over it's over.'
I joined a group that discussed the challenge of serious writers getting work read and heard, getting feedback and getting work staged.
Matilde from Wales' National Theatre(WNT), joined our conversation. She suggested we go out into the market place, where people shop, at a regular weekly time, and perform our work in progress. Shoppers will give you their opinions. . .yeah, but can we take it? What are our inhibitions and fears? She encouraged us to use social networks to find directors and actors who we could collaborate with. We told her how confusing we found the WNT's website. She told us that WNT are interested in ideas for plays, not scripts of written plays that we'd labored over. They commission work. So, send in our ideas . . .
I met a young woman called Bambo Soyinka, who is going to set up a storytellers group on the seven ages of women and is looking for a woman to represent each age.
Simon Harris listened politely to me talk about Pontardawe Script Cafe. It appears there was such an animal in Cardiff at one time, but it's not met up for some time. Then he spoke about Action Learning Sets (He's in an Arts Manager ALS), and how we might go about setting one up. He gave a clear message that we have to take responsibility for our ideas and left us with the question, 'What would it have to take to make our idea happen?'
I went over to Alan Harris, who led the Sherman's new writing course and started a conversation with him. I asked him when we'd be getting feedback on the plays we submitted to Sherman as part of the deal. He's not involved but said he'd have a word with Sian Summers, the Literary Manager, who set the course up.
I had another conversation with Oth, a professional writer of radio and stage plays, from the Writers Guild, who told me things are very difficult for writers at present because there's so little funding. I should find people who'd be prepared to perform my work and get my name known (like Adam Timms had done and whose work I wrote about earlier in the year).
I decided that it was over for me although there was still an afternoon session of conversations and action plans. I guess the bottom line is I'm not sure how much effort I'm prepared to put into organising the very group that I need to take my work forward in Cardiff. I wonder how many of us feel the same?
It was an interesting morning and I met some committed and frustrated writers. However, for now, I count myself lucky to have members of Pontardawe Script Cafe to share work with and get feedback from. And I don't have to take up a spot in the market-for now anyway!
I joined a group that discussed the challenge of serious writers getting work read and heard, getting feedback and getting work staged.
Matilde from Wales' National Theatre(WNT), joined our conversation. She suggested we go out into the market place, where people shop, at a regular weekly time, and perform our work in progress. Shoppers will give you their opinions. . .yeah, but can we take it? What are our inhibitions and fears? She encouraged us to use social networks to find directors and actors who we could collaborate with. We told her how confusing we found the WNT's website. She told us that WNT are interested in ideas for plays, not scripts of written plays that we'd labored over. They commission work. So, send in our ideas . . .
I met a young woman called Bambo Soyinka, who is going to set up a storytellers group on the seven ages of women and is looking for a woman to represent each age.
Simon Harris listened politely to me talk about Pontardawe Script Cafe. It appears there was such an animal in Cardiff at one time, but it's not met up for some time. Then he spoke about Action Learning Sets (He's in an Arts Manager ALS), and how we might go about setting one up. He gave a clear message that we have to take responsibility for our ideas and left us with the question, 'What would it have to take to make our idea happen?'
I went over to Alan Harris, who led the Sherman's new writing course and started a conversation with him. I asked him when we'd be getting feedback on the plays we submitted to Sherman as part of the deal. He's not involved but said he'd have a word with Sian Summers, the Literary Manager, who set the course up.
I had another conversation with Oth, a professional writer of radio and stage plays, from the Writers Guild, who told me things are very difficult for writers at present because there's so little funding. I should find people who'd be prepared to perform my work and get my name known (like Adam Timms had done and whose work I wrote about earlier in the year).
I decided that it was over for me although there was still an afternoon session of conversations and action plans. I guess the bottom line is I'm not sure how much effort I'm prepared to put into organising the very group that I need to take my work forward in Cardiff. I wonder how many of us feel the same?
It was an interesting morning and I met some committed and frustrated writers. However, for now, I count myself lucky to have members of Pontardawe Script Cafe to share work with and get feedback from. And I don't have to take up a spot in the market-for now anyway!
Friday 4 March 2011
LONDON CALLING
I was born and bred in London but Wales has been home for 32 years. In the early days of being here I longed for London life. In those days it took about four hours by car to get there, but it could have easily have been Paris or Rome. It seemed such a long way away from here-geographically, culturally and psychologically. Nowadays, it feels different. It's still the same distance, it takes about three hours, but the frequent Megabus that goes directly from Cardiff to Victoria makes it even a do-able day trip that costs about five pounds each way. I now do it a few times a year. I enjoy it enormously, but as a tourist might. We usually gorge on as much 'culture' as we can, like people who've been on a strict diet for a long time. This weekend we made the trip, staying with our old friend in Hackney.
We visited three exhibitions (Rhys did four):The British Watercolour Exhibition at Tate Britain, British Sculpture Exhibition at the Royal Academy, War Artists at the Imperial War Museum, and Rhys visited Images of Nature at the Natural History Museum. We went to the Barbican Theatre to see 'The Blue Dragon', a technical spectacle, directed by Robert Lepage, in French Canadian, Chinese and English. We saw the Coen Brothers film, 'True Grit' with Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon and the brilliant young Josh Brolin. We had dinner with friends, dinner at an Italian restaurant, and I had lunch with a friend who I've known since primary school- 58 years ago!
My historical associations with London are still very important to me. But this morning on this sharp Spring day, as I look out on the hazy Garth and Graig Mountains, I'm glad I live here and not there.
We visited three exhibitions (Rhys did four):The British Watercolour Exhibition at Tate Britain, British Sculpture Exhibition at the Royal Academy, War Artists at the Imperial War Museum, and Rhys visited Images of Nature at the Natural History Museum. We went to the Barbican Theatre to see 'The Blue Dragon', a technical spectacle, directed by Robert Lepage, in French Canadian, Chinese and English. We saw the Coen Brothers film, 'True Grit' with Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon and the brilliant young Josh Brolin. We had dinner with friends, dinner at an Italian restaurant, and I had lunch with a friend who I've known since primary school- 58 years ago!
My historical associations with London are still very important to me. But this morning on this sharp Spring day, as I look out on the hazy Garth and Graig Mountains, I'm glad I live here and not there.
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