This piece explores the last lines of Elizabeth Jennings poem 'My Grandmother';
"...and no finger marks were there,
Only the new dust falling through the air."
To me this poem represents how we deal with and are confronted with the loss of a person. The last stanza made me want to explore the idea of handling objects and how it adds context and plays with the idea of what is left behind. The poem I'm mentioning is stated below. The outcome for this wasn't to focus on the performance rather the aftermath of the handling i.e. the marks we leave that indicate we were once there. To execute this I wrapped the plate and cutlery in tissue paper so that the charcoal I had on my fingertips would attach.
My Grandmother (by Elizabeth Jennings)
She kept an antique shop - or it kept her.
Among Apostle spoons and Bristol glass,
The faded silks, the heavy furniture,
She watched her own reflection in the brass
Salvers and silver bowls, as if to prove
Polish was all, there was no need of love.
And I remember how I once refused
To go out with her, since I was afraid.
It was perhaps a wish not to be used
Like antique objects. Though she never said
That she was hurt, I still could feel the guilt
Of that refusal, guessing how she felt.
Later, too frail to keep a shop, she put
All her best things in one narrow room.
The place smelt old, of things too long kept shut,
The smell of absences where shadows come
That can’t be polished. There was nothing then
To give her own reflection back again.
And when she died I felt no grief at all,
Only the guilt of what I once refused.
I walked into her room among the tall
Sideboards and cupboards - things she never used
But needed; and no finger marks were there,
Only the new dust falling through the air.
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