Simon Ralph Goff and I are working on an extra little addendum to the Umbrella Project at the moment; a 6-track EP, with 3 shorter versions of the instrumental music behind each soundwalk, and 3 re-workings of the stories I found in the city for a shorter form performed over that music – about 4-6 minutes max. I sat down to work on that tonight, and this came out. I’m not sure if it’s quite right for any of the specific walks (commute, nighttime, daytime). But it is sort of about all of them. Perhaps we’ll make it a 7th track? Maybe this will just rest here. Largely unedited, fresh draft stuff, but I wanted it to have a life beyond my harddrive because there’s some ideas I like here, so here it is.

//

The city is a dream. A dream that lingers long after sleep has passed.

The kind of dream that hangs on the edges of our visions, reminds us of loves we have lost, people who have slipped past our fingers, that makes the places we walk through seem like the childhood homes we revisit in the night; that we turn a corner in and somehow certain things just aren’t right.

The city is a dream. It is the happenings of a thousand people’s days – arguments, small glimmers of kindness, tired stumblings, forgotten tasks, lists lost, and cracks in the pavement skipped – shaken up together, working their way out. The city is not a thing, it is a state of being – empty cities are ghost towns; they die. All that’s left are the dusty walkways where you struggle to recollect what has gone before.

The city is dreaming, it dreams you as you dream it. The city caresses you as you move through it, it lifts you and reaches into you in the way of an ex-lover visiting in the night. Insidious. Something you cannot extract yourself from. You are in the city and the city is in you. When you leave you relish the escape, but quietly know you’ll feel the pull to return to the neon visions of the night before long.

The morning commute is where you see this state. Also, motorway service stations. Those places between the dream, and awake.

And the city slips like dreams do too, one moment a rushing street, another a palace to consumption, the next an empty place designed only for passing through, then those nooks and crannies where old refrigerators, crisp packets and fallen bricks build up. Tombs to broken buildings mount next to the back walls of places that throng with coffee and china and steam and laughter.

The city sees you. It sees you and forgets you and feels your footfalls. The city remembers that it has missed you. Can’t imagine how it forgot. You touch its walls and stoop to pick up a glove that someone has lost.

You look at the glove. Small, but adult, probably a woman’s. You see the ghost of her running for a bus and dragging her purse from her bag, the glove falling to the ground unnoticed.

You hold it for a little longer than you expect. Then place it on the wall next to the pavement.

You look at the glove. Small, a child’s perhaps, you see the ghost of a harassed parent, barely maintaining consciousness through a haze of caffeine. The child throws it off and the pushchair runs over it. You briefly feel the milky texture of an infant’s skin. You gently place the glove on a nearby post box, then move on.

You look at the glove. And suddenly tears are falling from your face. Tears for the place you were 2 hours ago. Tears for all you have been holding back, all you continue to have to. All of the learning to un love someone. All of the extricating yourself from something with which you fit so well. You hold the glove tighter. Then fold it into your pocket.

For months later, when you feel like you’re falling, you reach into your pocket and grasp the slightly coarse fabric of that grey lost glove. That gift from someone who didn’t know they would give it.

You are never lost. Your hands are held by ghosts. The city sees you, in its dreams. Greets you like a friend both long and never forgotten. Still there when you wake up.

//

image shared by Jeff Youngstrom on Flickr via a CC license.

I am making something with Nikki Pugh called ‘Dust’. It is a response to a manifesto that claims we will make things with you, not for you. This is one of the ways it’s with. You can read about where the project is at right now over here. If you can offer me a story, it will be made into a Dust Mote. Things that people will find and keep. The stories will also feed into and inform the longer-form narrative fragments in the work. Head over here for full context.

And because this is a two way thing, here’s a couple I will submit:

Object 1: A porcelain badge, square with rounded corners, the transfer of a rabbit with a balloon on the front.

This object broke. It was the last thing in my daily life that came from the boy whose hair smelled like raku firings. It fell off my bag in St. Pancras about 3 years ago and shattered. I still have the largest fragment.

Object 2: A small plush rat.

[no picture]

Bought because it looked lonely. Bought just before something went completely, bafflingly wrong. Now hidden.

…

I need some less emo objects, huh?

“But otherwise I think the only way that you can have a big impact if by changing people’s views, by actually getting hold of their heart and squeezing it and saying; look at this. And I think as you say, it’s having the story that triggers the emotion in the individual, which then says ‘yeah, that’s not right, we need to change this’. Because you won’t get, there’s too many pressures on people, and I think this is where capitalism wins through most of the time; there’s too many pressures on people to stand out, to stand up, to say ‘no’, and I think by doing what you’re doing in terms of the stories, you know okay you can only get some people but that can make a big difference, than, you know, you as an individual amongst 200-300,000 people making a lot of noise down the street.”

]]> http://www.hannahnicklin.com/2011/11/my-dad-and-stories/feed/ 0 http://www.hannahnicklin.com/2011/10/umbrella-project-beginning-of-week-4/ http://www.hannahnicklin.com/2011/10/umbrella-project-beginning-of-week-4/#comments Sun, 30 Oct 2011 17:21:45 +0000 Hannah Nicklin http://www.hannahnicklin.com/?p=2474

So just over the 3 week point in the Umbrella Project (it’s 5 weeks long) and things are just about starting to get to the point where I’ve enough time to blog. Biggest realisation from this experiment was how more than slightly ridiculous collecting the material for, transcribing, editing, recording, collaborating on, testing, mixing and releasing 3 soundwalks actually is. Including running events and trying to run a bit of digital awareness raising, too. Phew. Think a concerted amount of the ‘you can download and do these things’ work is going to have to happen afterwards. We’ve another day out with our big inflatable dome thingy on the 12^th (the last day) so I think that’ll be a good point to do that.

So yes, all the story collecting trips are done, although you can still leave your stories of journeys via the number on the umbrellas up until the end of this week (when writing happens).

The first soundwalk – Evening – is done and available for download (designed to be done after dark outside the bigger of the two Betty’s Tea Rooms) the download link and full instructions (do grab those too) can be found over here.

The second soundwalk – Daytime – will be released on Tuesday (designed to be done sitting down somewhere in the pedestrian bit of Parliament Street, at a busy time of day, lunchtime, or a Saturday). That will be up on the same download page.

And the final soundwalk ‘Commute’ will be released on the 10^th, with event days for Daytime on the 5^th, and Commute on the 11^th. Join us on those days if you’d like to get the chance to talk to me or Tom (artistic producer on the project) about it.

Also, worth me putting down in pixels, how absolutely positively brilliant everyone at Pilot have and are being on this, to take the risk on what is still being termed an experiment (learning an awful lot creatively as well as logistically, which would make a re-mount/developed version quite drastically different, I think) in the first place, as well the incredible support in kind, and actual bodies-on-the-ground support etc. Would probably be curled up in a ball weeping if it wasn’t for them. So THANKS, PILOT.

And here’s some pictures (facebook link) of story collection days to amuse you, and a trailer for the first soundwalk (making the second trailer tomorrow).

*collapses*

Oh, and if you don’t know what any of this is going on about, head over to this video, or the site.

People have been telling me stories, and I will get to them. But I want to start with the silences. The inarticulacies. The people who don’t feel like their lives are worth putting into words. The people who asked ‘why me’? The lack of light, the darkness on the edge of city nights, the things on the edges of saying.

Event details for the first soundwalk will be released on Monday…

videos!

It started like this: I was in London for a coupe of weeks, sometime just before Spring…. sprung. It was tipping it down, quite late at night, I was walking under one of the arches near London Bridge, on Bermondsey Street. It must have been a Friday night, because there were a lot of people dressed up going places. I saw a girl, she was shivering and wet and doing her level best to shelter her  hair and makeup from the rain. I wished I had a second umbrella to give her. I wished I had given her mine.

It now looks like this: from the 7th of October ’til the 12th of November umbrellas will be appearing all over York. In certain places. You may also see me, at certain times, on certain days, standing in front of a big inflatable thingy, ready to offer you a biscuit, a cup of tea. The umbrellas that you might find, or that I might give you are free to take, to use, to pass on, and then to drop off, so other people can use them. Think of it like a Boris Bike system for umbrellas, except that it’s free. I’m giving hundreds of umbrellas to the city of York, all I want in exchange is their stories. The umbrellas each have a number on, if you call that number, you’ll be asked a question. Leave a story, any story, in response, and over the 5 weeks I will be producing 3 x 20-30 minute sound pieces to be listened to in certain parts of the city. Free to download, or to pick up a ready-loaded mp3 player from York Theatre Royal or the Central Library.

I’m being helped to do this with the magnificent music of Simon Ralph Goff (who’s been collecting and manipulating found sounds from around the city, and turning them into instruments), the production of the brilliant Pilot Theatre, who as well as offering an incredibly generous amount of support-in-kind, also brought Arts Council money on board, and the germ of the idea itself was developed under the mentoring of the FutureEverything accelerator program, and forms part of my PhD-as-practice with (and where I am also supported by) Loughborough University.

So many hands. Helping me make this thing, which I hope will be an experiment in connecting people, small kindnesses, and voicing a city. Get excited. I am. (I’m also equal parts nervous, but I don’t think you need to share that too.)

The main site for the project is up now: umbrellaproject.co.uk, and you can also follow @umbrellaproject on Twitter and ‘like’ it over on Facebook. At the moment there’s basic info, but as soon as downloads are released, and event dates for the walks, and my visits to the streets of York are announced, you will find details about them in all of those places.

And for now? pass it on…

Playing around with leaflet design for my and Steve’s Zero Hour sound piece.

Extra material in case the journey is longer than the sound…

I was originally going to release this info a bit later, but turns out people are already booking (the very limited) tickets, and didn’t want anyone in my networks to miss out.

The Zero Hour Bus Tours are 4 pieces of audio loosely themed along the lines of ‘the apocalypse’, designed to be listened to on the N11 night bus (London) between the hours of midnight and 3am. The journey will take roughly 35 minutes.

They are a Forest Fringe commission for the In Transit Festival 2011.  Along with Steve Kilpatrick on sound I have been writing one of these experiences.

You can buy tickets for any of the 4 different ‘tours’ (and the rest of the festival) on this site, and below are the direct links to the times and dates of my and Steve’s piece. The piece is gently interactive. It might ask you to do small things; look out the window, hold onto a handle. Nothing that might make you look silly.

The tickets are free, but limited; for mine there are only 6 per journey. As we are being only ‘tolerated’ by TFL, you will have to pay for your bus journey (£2.20 cash, £1.30 Oyster). My journey is from World’s End, to Liverpool St. Further instructions will be provided after you have bought your ticket.

MON 25TH JUL, 2011 12:35am

MON 25TH JUL, 2011 1:05am

MON 25TH JUL, 2011 1:35am

WED 27TH JUL, 2011 12:35am

WED 27TH JUL, 2011 1:05am

WED 27TH JUL, 2011 1:35am

I am still looking for a few more volunteers to help me on the night, there are more details about that here. Please get in contact ASAP if you are available on the above dates/times, plus the weekend before, and interested in running around London in exchange for a drink, £10 expenses, and all the costume items that I might furnish you with.

It’s a picture. Of a cake. That I made. For my friend Andy’s 21st Birthday.

In unrelated matters it’s the last day of the month and I have only filed 3 of my 4 monthly quota’d blog posts.

Chapter two went well, will post it up here, maybe in sections, maybe when it resembles something akin to the English language. The Umbrella Project looking more and more exciting, with an upcoming test of the message system which will play with some collected stories –  more on that soon, too. I’ll probably be talking about related matters at Ted X York in a few weeks (eep!)

Oh, and if you’re in the East Midlands this Thursday, I shall be chairing a really exciting event being run by Broadway Media Centre – as part of their Making Future Work project they’re hosting several ‘Future Work’ events. I shall be introducing the Making Future Narrative event at LPAC in Lincoln, expect 10 minutes of blistering hyperbole followed by a couple of hours of overly complex ‘you’re running out of time’ gestures. I want them to look like the baseball code they use as a comic vignette in American TV shows.

And finally, here’s a cryptic clue to something I’m going to be doing avec the insanely talented Steve Kilpatrick in London at the end of July. It may or may not involve 22 performers.

I read Freakangels the other day. It put me in mind of this:

“Each epoch dreams the one to follow.” – Michelet, “Avenir! Avenir!”

Freakangels also puts me in mind of my small obsession with flooding (and rain). Growing up in Lincolnshire will do that to you. So much of the land there was ‘reclaimed’ from the sea. Wrong way round, that. As if the land belonged to us before the water. Anyway, projected sea level rises linked to global warming put vast swathes of my home county back underwater. And flooding threads itself through an awful lot of my plays and soundwalks.

I’m a good swimmer. I’ve never been afraid of water. I am afraid of losing the things that tie me down though. The skies of Lincolnshire are as big as they are because of the lay of the land. Because how far away the horizons, because of how far you can run and feel like you’re not moving. I return home when I need to unwind my mind.

I have really vivid dreams. If you follow me on Twitter you might sometimes see me talk about them. The ones I remember most I’m always running. Packing for a great ordeal, leaving with a warm jumper, clean socks, running shoes, basic supplies. And running. Sometimes I fight. Sometimes I save the day. But I’m always running.

“the arcades and intérieurs, the exhibition halls and panoramas*. They are residues of a dream world. [...] Every epoch, in fact, not only dreams the one to follow but, in dreaming, precipitates its awakening. It bears its end within itself” (p13 of the Arcades Project by Walter Benjamin)

Just a thought.

*think shopping centres and billboards, museums and parks