Kaysha had a bang on the head and I had to take her to A&E. Arose from my ‘flu bed, spent a scary amount of money on a taxi to go and get her from school and go to Calderdale Royal. She has tunnel vision, concussion. We had to get a bus home, and I had my eyes closed all the way home.
She is brave but not brave, and so am I.
I forgot about and missed two important meetings at the Arts Mill. I am unreliable, I know.
Last week I got in to the studio, and printed six cyanotypes, images of my mother. There were no images of her pre-dating when she had my sister. There she is, holding Ruth aloft, home-made curls, floral dress, underneath which you can see me in her high, rounded belly. You would swear she was overjoyed. She was only twenty one.
My Uncle David found two photographs showing my mother in late childhood. He got them out last Christmas. They where in a biscuit tin my Uncle Patrick gave him, something which had survived angry purges of the past. I was fascinated. I spirited them away, knowing that the one portrait had the quality which draws me in to cyanotype and I saw it reproduced in that blue. (Copies will go to my sister).
It is all so complicated.
The other picture showed my mother in a belted gabardine coat, with two of her elder brothers and the father, walking grimly along in the street. My mother looks deeply angry. They all do. I will have to talk about the grandmother another time, because that is a task.