North of the Border

Hello all.

Firstly, so sorry to not be very visible on the blog. I"ve been checking in, just kinda having a tough and overwhelming and full-on time.

So, I'm in Glasgow at the moment, doing a live art residency at the Centre for Contemporary Art. I have a beautiful space, which is huge, and empty save me and some collected stuff. Which I'm loving. Good to have a break from reality! I'm two weeks in, and thoroughly enjoying researching ideas in a very loose ended way.



Fuck. I"m drunk and in a city that is not my home. Thrilling and sobering at the same time.

And what of my time here, creatively? Well, I am hanging out in charity shops with all the other dispossessed. And that feels damn fine. And I have a big old red suitcase that was my grans. And maybe I'll hang out with that, and see if owt comes of it.



Journeys. Into my families past. My history in the east end of this town. Talking to my favourity aunty, and covetting her broad glasgae accent. This city is so fucking beautiful. I kind of feel this profound sense of connection with this place, which I never felt before. And my poor worker forebear relatives. Today I saw the former carpet factory both my grans worked in. It is fucking amazing; somebody built it grand. And now it is luxury apartments. Let's take the buildings the workers toiled to make grand, and make them into inaccessible temples to extreme capatalism, and those who are able to own the city. Obscene.



I've spent time at my aunties, she, who cared for others her entire life, and now lives in a part of the city with few buses, people stuck there, with no shops, no transport after 8pm. I secretly record bits of our conversations on my digital camera. For the richness of her voice. For her absolute being-ness of herself. For the voice of one who was never heard in the world, caring for my grandmother, and then her brother, until he died a month ago.



If I had to pick out threads of resonance of my time here, my visits to my aunties once or twice a week would be key. Sitting at the kitchen table, her conversation interspersed with references to god, and his mercy, because this side of the family are working class catholic, and god is present in a very everyday way, with holy water in the house, and religious statues. Despite my rejection of my 'faith' as a teenager, I can in this context, appreciate how church plays a part in this community. It is social. Making sense of tough lives. My auntie went to church quiz and bingo last night.



And my time around elderly people in charity shops. The east end, where half my family are from. Traditionally a working class area, folks would pretty much live there their entire lives. Now, artists have been moving in, due to cheaper rent etc. An interesting mix. So, I hang out, getting the vibe from the elderly folk. Interesting. Wondering about the possibilities of setting up some kinda artist in residence thing.... Have been mapping shops and experiences...

I'll end here lovely people. Hope to see you all soon.

Love and Girl-drag in all it's Fucking Glory
xxxxx Lucille