We are really grateful to everyone who has taken the time to engage with this project and share images of their 7 Objects:
- Upcycled stool
- A wren
- Photo frame out of a cracker complete with my girls
- Whale watching souvenir
- Volcanic lava
- Postcard from ‘home’
- Piece of fused glass
- Icon of Jesus and Mary
- Godzilla
- Seeds
- Vintage copy of Don Quixote
- Greek olive oil soap
- Houseplant 'Andromischus cooper
- Childhood teddy hand knitted by Great Auntie Flo
- A gold-coloured lantern from Turkey which is lit every nigh
- My father’s gold wedding ring, a signet whose engraving has worn away
- My mother’s gold and platinum wedding ring, worn out of shape
- My solitaire diamond engagement ring
- My husband’s gold wedding ring
- My brother’s white gold wedding ring
- A small stone topped with a ceramic gold-painted heart, which has broken
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FIVE GOLD RINGS
In the glow of a lantern lit nightly in their memory
my father, mother, brother, husband
rings given and received with love;
my last gift, the heart broken;
shining out from the shadow,
my solitary diamond
closing the circle
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Work developed from a creative writing workshop based on the 7 Objects Project
Elizabeth Saunders - THE MISSING SHOE (the five stages of grief)
She sets her overnight bag by the front door. Amazing how little you need to start a new life.
A quick glance round. That’s everything. Ready to go.
Bag, coat – she laughs out loud: Shoes! Surely she wasn’t about to set off with nothing on her feet?
She hears the taxi pull up outside as she sprints up the stairs.
Flinging open the wardrobe door she can already see them in her mind’s eye. Red, the leather soft and creased with wear. Her “lucky” shoes, the only thing she has left from her Mother. With the little blue bows He gave her – “to match your lovely eyes”.
Yes, there’s one. She pulls it out from the tangle of boots, belts, bags which she won’t be needing any more.
The taxi toots.
She ploughs on through the dark depths, sending up puffs of dust and musty smells. Now, where is it?
Her scrabbling hands hit the back of the old wooden wardrobe. Must have missed it. She works her way back out through the clutter towards the heavy door which creaks as it swings open and closed, open and closed against her heels.
Bother.
She sits back on her haunches, takes a determined breath and lunges in again, this time pulling everything out onto the worn Axminster. The remains of her old life start heaping up around her, things she’d forgotten she ever had, things which don’t matter any more. How could she put her hands on the disgraceful slippers of her childhood after all this time but not the one thing she needs? At this rate she’ll have to turn up in dancing clogs or snow boots!
No, it must be here, somewhere.
The first stage is denial.
How could you lose something as big as a shoe, for god’s sake?
Think, think, THINK!
When did she last see them?
She is still smiling as she pictures herself limping onto the railway platform in just one shoe. Would he laugh with her, or would he be cross?
Her smile ghosts on her lips.
Stage two, anger, follows as she starts throwing random items across the room.
All the steps taken in all those shoes over the years, a lifetime of walking away from things, the hope of walking towards something new fading with each thud.
Another toot from outside.
“All right, ALL RIGHT!”
Everything is now out, apart from the missing shoe. Another futile scrabble in the wardrobe, yielding nothing but a ball of fluff, an odd button and a tatter of ribbon.
“When I find it, I will never get angry about anything ever again.” Three: bargaining with the god of lost shoes.
Methodically, slowly, she starts going through everything on the floor around her, seeing the shoe so clearly in her mind that she closes her eyes for a moment, convinced it will be there when she opens them again. It isn’t.
A trill of tooting from outside announces her last chance. She’s probably too late for the train now anyway. Will he still be waiting, or will he board without her?
She sinks in on herself, crumpling down amongst the debris, a sick feeling welling up in her core, dust in her nose and tears springing in her eyes.
The taxi revs and drives off in an angry squeal.
The wardrobe door swings closed, shutting out all hope. (Four: depression.)
It isn’t going to happen. That new life, it isn’t meant for her. It was meant for a girl in red shoes with blue bows to match her lovely eyes.
The fifth and final stage of grief is acceptance.
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Work developed from a creative writing workshop based on the 7 Objects Project
Graham Lowe - Paints
in this small metal box of white enamel.
solid pans, cad red and yellow and azure blue
and brush and lid a well-used pallet.
viridian and violet unite in a greyish hue.
in this small metal box of white enamel.
three lose pans that rattle
crimson lake and phthalo blue
and the queen of all colour, vermillion red, of cinnabar.
in this small metal box of white enamel.
the expectation and potential of the vivid tints, confined.
liberate pigments,let colours collide.
ultramarine and deep scarlet.
in this small metal box of white enamel.
unlock a world of bright images.
in Prussian blue and Venetian red
a wash of burnt sienna.
in this small metal box of white enamel.
capture sunlight in a transient world.
a larch in flecks of cobalt green.
or illusions of the human form.
with this small metal box of white enamel.
explore a universe of colour
or perhaps reflect on the hues within
this small metal box of white enamel.
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Work developed from a creative writing workshop based on the 7 Objects Project
Diane Armstrong - Alarm Clock
Carry me with you
I can accompany you to your bedside
Wherever you rest I can lie by your side
You can check in when the day seems weary, too long.
Or when there’s not enough to entertain.
You can find me
We can get ready together
Or tire
Together
Never be rushed.
Let me know with a touch between my ears
And I will sound a reminder for any appointments.
My hands are always towards you
Hold me gently and let our every second count.
We are really grateful to everyone who has taken the time to engage with this project and share images of their 7 Objects:
Natty Appell - Diane Armstrong – Steve Ashton – Kathy Barton – Carole Bennett – Christine Bennett - Jennie Bisco – Helen Bretherick Stewart – Mona Brougham – Sue Capstick – Carole Clarkson – Ruth Colbridge – Andreya Davies Tabern – Beth de Lange – Christa Gausden – Barbara Hickson – Heidi Hodkinson – Andrew Holland – Barbara Holt – Roz Ivanic – Jenny Lowe – Graham Lowe – Rosa Mackinder – Claire Marshall – Stuart Marshall - Marian McCraith – Kath McDonald - Kath McDonald – Kathleen Mitchell Fox - Patrick Mitchell Fox – Ruth Mitchell Fox – Jane Moreton – Liz Neat – Jackie Newey – Fiona O’Neill – Moira Peelo – Gilian Petfield - Elaine Phipps – Helen Poskitt - Neil Punnett – Doris Rohr – Elizabeth Saunders - Mark Seba – Gillian Sheath – Sue Sherman - Jane Shimmin – Gilli Slater – Roy Smith – Roy Smith – Andy Stringer – Irena Svetlovska – Ruth Wallbank – Cathy Wilson