Journal
Window is a journal Maria Amidu started in January 2016, it is a repository for her random musings on significant and insignificant things
On the Desert Island
On the Desert Island is a poignant and evocative work, which will transport you to a location beyond the bounds of the walls of the Stuart Hall Library towards a less tangible, more mutable space, guided by the interplay of the narrator's poetic and practical instructions, echoes of Stuart's distinctive voice, and the cadence of the music, you will become immersed in Ting-Ting Cheng's quest - committed to the search amongst the pages of the beautifully altered and annotated books, the subtlety and pace of this wayfinding is deceptive, what Ting has accomplished through this new work is an accessible route into the complex issues of place and identity in Britain and across the diaspora"As long as there is a definition something doesn't fit in" Ting-Ting Cheng
goneness
I am interested in this word goneness...I was asked today what does goneness mean for me, and I tried to explain about an imminent ending not being about that someone but more about everything that person was supposed to represent in our family, which will be gone when the end eventually comes...and this goneness will take on a shape, and we will carry this shape with us, even though it will be empty
opening (free writing)
(18th May 2017)I know Imogen has given us the prompt opening but I really want to write about ladders and aprons. I love utility stuff – aprons, ladders, tools, spoons and I am always drawn to these things in any context, I did a project about nails a few years ago and the other day a student called April talked me through her own nail project, we discussed the importance and ubiquity of this object that we take for granted, holding things up, holding things in place, I am thinking about fences and hinges and springs – which makes me think of how nice it must be to be called April, denoting new beginnings, everything stretching out into the world, back to wooden gates swinging open, children running out into the weather, people returning and closing it behind them at the end of the day, squeaking, rusting, the smell of new layers, ever changing colours as new people take ownership of the gate along with the house it protects, and I am reminded of Dad’s Stick by John Smith, which had a layer of every paint his dad had ever used encasing it, John Smith sliced through it like a tree trunk to reveal all the years of his father’s life, and thinking about this and my conversation with April, introducing this work to her, I guess in a roundabout way I have written about openings...
to the brink (free writing)
(4th May 2017)I have included this word in the title for a new piece of work edge/threshold/brink, I really like the way the word sounds, its definite k clicking at the end, the idea of looking ahead or down with anticipation or trepidation, the possibility of retreat, the unknowing of a new situation, the need for courage – which could be valiance (have I made that word up...) or honesty or both, thinking about the k, it is as if it is demanding a decision to be made, that teetering cannot last and an outcome backwards or forwards is inevitable, it is about transition from one state to another, being pushed, forced to the edge of something, yourself perhaps… what journey must one go on to reach this place brink, it denotes loss of control, a dishevelled air, a disorientation, bewilderment, a place just before infinity and beyond, Star Ship Enterprise and energising into unchartered outerspaces, 70s and 80s TV shows seem to feature quite a lot in my narrative writing, is it something about me wanting to return back... like brink back is a commanding word
come back (free writing)
(16th March 2017)all morning, all week in fact I have been thinking about will and the magic of the mind to manifest heart’s desires, and this morning I read a note I wrote a while ago about the Zen Buddhists’ belief in the future tree willing itself into existence, and this immediately brings me to Stuart, a kindred spirit and a true friend, who I have spent a lot of time missing recently, wishing he was here to tell us all what to make and do of/in the crises – nationally and globally, I see the questions on screen I was asked by my colleagues at People United and remember so clearly the answer to the question about what recent lesson I had learned, of course it was Stuart, so often Stuart, 'pessimism of the intellect, optimism of the will', the quote he used as a guide through his life, the guidance he gave me on a day when there was so little light, how his lesson led me to People United, my project and subsequently the questionnaire on screen, I can go back again and again to the screen and see the words but no amount of willing can bring Stuart back. I really, really miss him
swimming (free writing)
(9th March 2017)I remember the day I learnt how to swim so clearly, how not to be afraid of the water engulfing me and taking my life away, I see the wobbly legs of everyone close by and hear the muffled yelps of enjoyment as my feet keep slipping from under me, and then suddenly I am buoyant and overjoyed, minutes of terror transformed into hours of pure joy, my thoughts stop there as I relive this experience, everything in technicolour like all the films we watched on saturday afternoons, the bright blue of the water, the red of my polka dot costume with the white pleated frill, the slime green at the back of the tank that was home to all the frogs moving like the liquidity of the water, (I cannot bear frogs and I am sure it is connected), the curve of the cloudy dome above our heads bending the sun through corrugated ripples, the door open at the top of the stairs allowing the building opposite and the summer grass to peek in
Lemonade
(28th April 2016) you try to think the best of people but this can be a challenge: bus driver parked badly, I got off the bus, I bashed my head on the wing mirror, it really hurt, I am standing rubbing my bashed head, then I register a horn tooting, I turn thinking it is the driver wanting to apologise, it is the driver, he gestures with contemptuous indignation for me to readjust his wing mirror......I am trying not to take this personally but the way I look and the way he looks this is very difficult, post Lemonade I feel a particularly acute sense of hurt and outrage, I suspect this bus driver read Piers Morgan's article, and not this one: Ijeoma Oluo