Journey Through Time

'Journey'

Going from one place to another physically and or within the mind.

Being taken to somewhere else, travelling in such a way where things unfold

with obstacles to overcome and surprises to be encountered.

When I was growing up a mantel clock took pride of place in our kitchen. It was plain, rather ordinary, making its voice heard by chiming at regularly intervals. The timekeeper sat on a shelf commanding attention when one walked into the room. I have no idea where it came from but for as long as I can remember it had been in our family. My sister had inherited this clock and not so long ago she carefully packed it up and sent it to me. It made its own journey being jostled and bumped about on land, then carried up and through the clouds from Seattle to the Fylde Coast. It was like Christmas when I opened up the box and carefully unwrapped it. For years it had not been in good working order and therefore I had to consider what time the clock should be permanently set until it was fixed. I found the most perfect place for it settling on a shelf in the lounge, where it again could take centre stage with hands positioned to 8:20, a time forever etched in my memory.

Mantel Time and Strike Clock (c Mid-19th Century)
Manufacturer: Jerome & Co, New Haven Connecticut

8:20 was the time I would set off for school from age six. It was a 20 minute walk that gave me my first taste of independence. Sometimes it was with friends, sometimes I took this journey alone meandering along the streets of Riverside, a National Historic Landmark that was one of the first planned communities in the United States. The town was designed by the architect Frederick Law Olmsted who designed Central Park in New York City.

Riverside Map (www.olmstedsociety.org)

I remember walking through the park with some wonderfully large trees, it was all very green. There was the red brick train station, the adventure of crossing the railway tracks sometimes waiting for the commuter train to pass and then there was the formidable Water Tower. The final destination was school. I would do this same trek home for lunch with thanks to the ever reliable timekeepers, the clock and my mother. Mom was a stickler when it came to punctuality.

Punctuality and obsessions with clocks along with the concept of time has stayed with me. I am one to arrive at an airport long before the plane is due to depart. I’ve never missed a flight in all the 25 years that I’ve been going back and forth over the pond since my move to the UK.

I’ve also experienced many other types of journeys over time, but the one that has kept me the most grounded, been a constant my entire life and has gotten me through it all, has been my creativity. Being an artist and making things has been a life-long adventure into the mind, processing information and the imagining of new worlds, new constructs both past and present. As a trained visual artist, my three-dimensional object based narrative work has offered opportunities to learn about a variety of places and themes; whilst also working with different communities, exploring a multitude of identities and in doing so becoming an integral part of many stories. It has been a way of fitting into the world, creating a sense of belonging.

It's Time Proud Preston
Assemblage (Upcycled Grandfather Clock), 2021
Image credit: Jill Reidy

The biggest surprise on my creative journey has been in writing poetry. I have always enjoyed poetry and in fact I still have the first poetry book my mother gave to me when I was 14, The Family Album of Favorite Poems edited by P. Edward Ernst. However I did very little writing before moving to the UK.

Visiting places like Dove Cottage and learning about the Romantics such as Wordsworth and Coleridge inspired me. For me, writing poetry started as a bi-product to accompany my visual artwork. Then I began to write poetry to stand on its own but shared very little with others for many years feeling I was not worthy because I had not been trained in English Literature and Creative Writing.

Slowly I began to gain enough confidence to submit poetry that resulted in a handful of minor published successes. I then got the courage to begin doing the occasional reading – this was most surprising! I continue to write as part of my creative practice. I would expect sometimes it is not the most conventional writing with influences from both American and British camps – I try to use this to my advantage but sometimes must choose and change my first choice of words depending on the situation and expected audience. I do so enjoy playing and painting with words. It is the most personal of all my creative work and always try to make time for it.

The Clock

In memory in quiet sits
upon the shelf in kitchen proud,
a wooden case with portal door
reveals the cracked discoloured face,
scratched numbers ‘round the edge, two holes
that fit a key to wind for time
spring forward hits the chime by hour
to speak for moments past, life lived
to mark once present then was lost

when now she wraps it carefully
and lays it in a cardboard box
to send it tied with strings from heart
and chart its course, an airborne path
above our homeland, childhoods held
in balance nestled in the hold
within a silver plated shell,
its engines vibrate roaring loud,
its steady wings take flight through dark

and laden Nimbus cloud, make good
on sister’s promise, she to pass
the heirloom on to me and mine,
say I to unknown pilot pray
to bring it safely on to me,
to bring it safely on.

Thank you for reading. 😀