My Roots
Passion
The Technics tape desk, radio and vinyl stack would always be playing songs from the 50’s to the current day; my childhood home, Abbey Way. Bed Knobs and Broomsticks, Mary Poppins, The King and I, Sleeping Beauty; VHS tapes on repeat. Original /Classic Karaoke tapes were a regular. Strumming and slapping my peachy hands against the strings of my Dads acoustic, Yamaha guitar, then frantically flicking through the pages of song books; my favourite became ‘The Beatles Complete’ paperback. Leaping through thoughts with electric energy, never settling, resisting rest. Always looking for what’s next! Diving into velour, floral brown sofas; where fortresses were made and adventurous games were played. Using an amplitude of cushions, pillows and blankets and our imagination, of course. I’d be enticed by the textures; to trace my name into the thick, chocolatey flowers on the sofas, by flowing my purposeful finger through the soft fabric fibres.
Expression
Sitting afoot my parents bed, I’d experience magical stories from mystical lands. The characters distinctly came to life, in my highly stimulated mind. My wide eyed gaze, fixed on my mothers mesmerising reenactment and vocalisation of every line. Reciting the fun and educative stories of cartoon vegetables back to my parents; once their practice became task and I was old enough to read by myself (to myself). But no, my brain could not rest! Inattentive to disappointingly bland and intriguing images, ordered and formed, regulated but unrelated; visually. Mere letters. Printed, uninspiring on course, beige pages. One word, one sentence, wait what did that say? Did I read that bit, hmm I’ll start again. One step forward, two steps back. Looming over their shoulder, now reading allowed; in the study, the kitchen and the words make sense now. Falling a slumber, one eye open, I’m dead to the world. Lovingly, carried up the stairs my tiresome legs just couldn’t bare. Pacing my room dictating the play, then insisting to watch films ‘up too late’. Too scared to endure, I’d often vacate and lay in my bed stunned and afraid; by the adult themes my brain couldn’t take. Anxious that my limbs would fall prey to the darkness monsters, were they to stray. Protruding from bed sheets; I cocooned fears away, wrapped safe in my quilt, like a bug some might say.
CREATION
The fear is real, the tears they flow. The energy builds before every show. Try shaking it off, just yell, or bellow. Still the energy’s there with no where to go. A superpower that makes time go slow, gives strength that untamed becomes the unknown. Out of your body, looking down. Take a deep breath, it’s fight or flight now! You blink and it’s over. What did I do? Was it good was it bad, I haven’t a clue. Are they cheering, jeering are they even aware that in that moment I left myself bare. Fragile, exposed in true form with no care. Just instinct and uniquely, I left it all there.