Magazines: Creative Inspiration

Several years ago I was gifted a carload of National Geographic magazines. For nearly a decade I have cut them up incorporating bits into my own collages. I have also used them as resource material in multi-media workshops. Most of these periodicals are now in pieces, butchered as sacrificial lambs for the sake of art. 

11th February 2024, Manchester Museum (Image credit: Kate Eggleston-Wirtz)

With my stash considerably depleted, I recently went on a quest to find new source material. Facebook Marketplace proved fruitful. Whilst perusing, I came across a Marketplace post selling Country Life magazines (1972–2002). Fortuitously I know David Hoyle at Lytham Heritage Group Archive Centre who posted this advertisement and contacted him straight away wondering if LHG would take an offer for a handful of the bundles (the entire lot listed at £200). He said, Yes indeed. Come next Wednesday with a shopping trolley.

Off I traipsed on 14th February with my green festival trolley chucked in the car as suggested (lol), drove across town, parked up, walked the high street towing the trolley and arrived to be greeted by the leaning towers of Country Life. It was pot luck so I grabbed four bundles, had a chat, made my donation and hauled away my treasures back to their new home in the studio. At the time of this writing there are still loads left if anyone is interested. Also, the LHG Archive is well worth a visit and inspirational unto itself.

Country Life magazines (Image credit: Lytham Heritage Group)

I was excited and it didn’t take long to get creatively stuck in. Country Life December 23/30 1993, page 58 and Country Life April 28, 1994, Page 76 quickly became defaced by turning them into Blackout Poetry for the 23 February A Dead Good Blog post, ‘Blackout Poetry: Creative Development’.

detail from KEW Blackout Poetry, Dead Good Blog, 23rd February 2024

To recap from previous articles, Blackout Poetry along with Collage Poetry are forms of Found Poetry, whereby the poet finds words within text already published. Blackout Poetry leaves the words in situ as they appeared in print whilst Collage Poetry is formed from selected cut out words from a page or pages of writing/s and reassembled. In the piece below the words were cut out of a copy of BBC Magazine from July 2006.

KEW Collage Poetry, Dead Good Blog, 18th April 2022 

In further investigation into Collage Poetry, also referred to as Cut-Up Poetry, I came across a quote by Bachalard (1958) that sums up this method and actually all Found Poetry quite well:

A competition of surprises that stimulates our consciousness…cut-ups seem to have just this quality, taking an existing, often unpromising piece of text and transforming it into something new and worthwhile in its own right…

The inspirational beauty of these different methods of Found Poetry for the writer is creating with words and phrases that may never come to mind under normal circumstances. We all have favourite words and ways of wordsmithing resulting in our own unique voices i.e. Edgar Allen Poe who often wrote in a ballad-like format vs Edward Lear who enjoyed producing nonsensical limericks.

Following on from the Blackout Poetry and Collage Poetry experiments I thought I would try something different with the magazine pages. I made an attempt to combine the idea of Found Poetry and how poets traditionally create, Pulling Words Out Of The Head Poetry; this new form, at least I think it’s a new form, I have dubbed the Paragraphs Pencil Pick.

Paragraphs Pencil Pick Poetry doesn’t necessarily destroy the actual magazine text - it could, but doesn’t need to. All that’s required is a piece of paper and a pencil/pen, alternatively a computer (depends on if you are old school or not), a pair of eyes for scanning and a want/need to find words that intuitively speak to the heart. The article ‘Around the Salerooms’ by Huon Mallalieu in Country Life January 27, 1994 page 66 became my go to for this exercise. The reduction/addition process is as follows:

1) Choose five words from each paragraph:
· name, leg, man, interesting, intriguing
· born, lived, travelled, awaiting, passage
· reached, forced, served, commander, worked
· suggested, tending, foot, peasant, began
· giving, sits, common, clothes, worn
· ascending, woman, window, watches, couple
· loving, painted, expected, oddities, laid
· cage, pair, detached, ball, saw
· globe, hinged, identify, spectacles, wanting
· called, begetter, wedding, today, paid
· included, touches, gold, box, sold
· spherical, time, price, beyond, precious
· died, firestorm, rise, battlefields, world

2) Choose one or more of the words from each line:
· leg
· travelled
· commander
· foot
· worn
· woman
· lovingly
· ball
· spectacles
· paid
· gold
· precious
· battlefields

3) Let the imagination run wild using the earmarked original words and adding other words from a place that Steve Rowland often calls the Imaginarium.

Experiment 1

I chose one word of five from each paragraph selected (see above). In the final outcome I wanted the second line of the poem to appear ‘dragging’ at the end, thus the text is aligned on the right for visual effect.

The leg travelled with its commander

dragging the mangled foot behind the worn out old woman

who stopped sat down took off her stocking

to lovingly caress

the ball, heel and toes

looking through spectacles

contemplating the high price paid

touching gold, the precious commodity

that had walked battlefields

Experiment 2

I chose a second set of words, one of the five from each paragraph keeping them again in the same order as originally written, leaving out any words from paragraph six – artist’s license.
· man · awaiting · served · began · giving · expected · cage · wanting · today · time · world

Man awaiting to be served his sentence,
a word less spoken, a mouth began
giving lip service, what he expected
stuck in a cage and wanting more
than bricks and bars, today to break
out but no, break down do time,
the world no longer his, but mine.

Experiment 3

For this last experiment I chose a third set of words, two of the five from each paragraph and mixed up the order. In the end I left out nine of the 24 selected words – again, artist’s license. There are two outcomes.

· firestorm · died · beyond · spherical · called · wedding · identify
· hinged · pair · saw · painted · oddities · couple · watches · sits
· common · suggested · peasant · reached · worked · born · passage
· name · intriguing

Wedding

The couple sits hinged together
cross-legged in a meditative state
the new forest as their only witness
to naked skin, evidential social cloaks
soft and supple - hard worked leather
born through the passage of privilege and a common peasant womb
entering a firestorm of tethers in time dismissed
an intriguing pair of oddities
planted equals set alight
the picture painted
miseries and
discontent
to rise
above
when
true
love
called

In the first layout I left a trail going off to the right to symbolise birth and coming out into the world. In the poem’s development, the couple appears that they will grow together like a tree, rooted in the same earth with the ‘new forest’ symbolising a new audience accepting the joining of two people from different social backgrounds.

I added the ‘new’ to help with the visual shape. As a result, I wondered how the text might work as a concrete poem in the shape of a tree rejigging some words to create an improved shape. I was pleasantly surprised with the final result. 

Wedding

couple sits hinged

together cross-legged in

a meditative state the forest

as their only witness to naked skin

evidential social cloaks soft and supple

versus hard worked leather born through

the passage of privilege and a common

peasant womb entering a firestorm

of tethers in time dismissed the

intriguing pair of oddities

planted equals set

alight the picture

painted

miseries

to rise

above

when

true love called

Thank you for reading.
Kate J

Sources

Frances, M., 2009. Collages and cut ups – The Art of re-arrangement. Personal Construct Theory and Practice, 6. https://www.pcp-net.org/journal/pctp09/frances09.pdf Accessed 3 March, 2024.

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Hats - Not For Me, Thanks

My mother had a pill-box hat made of tiny pale blue feathers sweeping round the circular shape. She wore it for my aunt and uncle’s wedding. She didn’t like hats much. They were for church and special occasions. A headscarf would do for popping to the shop, a stroll on the windy promenade or for keeping her hair neat on the walk back from the hairdressers.

My granddad never went out without his signature tweed Trilby. He might have had more than one, I don’t know, but he didn’t object to me dressing up in it when I was little. The inside rim was shiny with his Brylcreem and it smelt sweet, like him.

I’ve recently been knitting cardigans and matching hats for my new baby granddaughter, Matilda. I love making children’s clothes and each item is a one-off, for a particular little person.

Crochet is not my speciality, I’m a bit hit and miss with it, apart from Afghan square blankets, but I managed to design and make Minion character hats for a local primary school Christmas Fayre. I’m not looking to give up my day job on the strength of it, not just yet.

I miss working with infants, especially literacy and reading. There is so much to learn from the four-to-sevens when looking at their world and listening to their stories.  The developing imagination of a child is fascinating.  I’m starting to introduce well-loved stories and poems to my grandchildren.  A current favourite is The Very Hungry Caterpillar.  Soon we’ll be on to Dr Seuss and Edward Lear. I don’t mind if they grow up thinking that I am completely bonkers as long as they remember having lots of fun. And that I always dressed ‘in character’ for the benefit of the children who knocked on my door at Hallowe’en.

Apart from my black, pointed, witchy thing with the illuminated spider on the side, I’m not really one for wearing hats. I have a couple of home-made knitted ones for very cold weather that also keep my hair off my face in the wind. I’ve got a wide-brimmed sun hat for sitting in the garden and a ‘posh’ hat that I wore for a wedding, once. Me and hats don’t get on. It’s really my hair. I’m burdened with very fine, flyaway hair that reacts badly when I take a hat off. Most of all, I hated my compulsory senior school hat.

Someone else must have hated my school hat, too, because the first thing she did when she got on the same bus home was to grab it off my head and kick it all over the dirty floor, encouraging her friends to join in. This was a slightly older girl from another school. I knew her by sight from being in the year above me at the same junior school. I would already be on the bus for a short time before it reached her stop and I would dread her arrival.  She snatched the hat out of my hand once, when I tried to stop her getting it and another time it was my satchel that got thrown all over the place. Eventually, I agreed that my mother should intervene and she telephoned a complaint to the bully-girl’s school. Whatever was said and how it was dealt with worked. There was no alternative, we had to share the same bus, but she never bothered me again.

Amongst my special keep-sakes is the beautiful hat my late mother-in-law chose to wear for our wedding. It’s a pretty, navy blue satin pill-box hat, trimmed with navy net and a bow of navy velvet. A memento of a lovely lady from a wonderful day.

 

I hope my choice of an Edward Lear poem raises a smile,

 

 

The Quangle Wangle's Hat

 

I 

On the top of the Crumpetty Tree 

      The Quangle Wangle sat, 

But his face you could not see, 

      On account of his Beaver Hat. 

For his Hat was a hundred and two feet wide, 

With ribbons and bibbons on every side 

And bells, and buttons, and loops, and lace, 

So that nobody ever could see the face 

            Of the Quangle Wangle Quee. 

 

II 

The Quangle Wangle said 

      To himself on the Crumpetty Tree, — 

"Jam; and jelly; and bread; 

      "Are the best of food for me! 

"But the longer I live on this Crumpetty Tree 

"The plainer than ever it seems to me 

"That very few people come this way 

"And that life on the whole is far from gay!" 

            Said the Quangle Wangle Quee. 

 

III 

But there came to the Crumpetty Tree, 

      Mr. and Mrs. Canary; 

And they said, — "Did every you see 

      "Any spot so charmingly airy? 

"May we build a nest on your lovely Hat? 

"Mr. Quangle Wangle, grant us that! 

"O please let us come and build a nest 

"Of whatever material suits you best, 

            "Mr. Quangle Wangle Quee!" 

 

IV 

And besides, to the Crumpetty Tree 

      Came the Stork, the Duck, and the Owl; 

The Snail, and the Bumble-Bee, 

      The Frog, and the Fimble Fowl; 

(The Fimble Fowl, with a corkscrew leg;) 

And all of them said, — "We humbly beg, 

"We may build out homes on your lovely Hat, — 

"Mr. Quangle Wangle, grant us that! 

            "Mr. Quangle Wangle Quee!" 

 

V 

And the Golden Grouse came there, 

      And the Pobble who has no toes, — 

And the small Olympian bear, — 

      And the Dong with a luminous nose. 

And the Blue Baboon, who played the Flute, — 

And the Orient Calf from the Land of Tute, — 

And the Attery Squash, and the Bisky Bat, — 

All came and built on the lovely Hat 

            Of the Quangle Wangle Quee. 

 

VI 

And the Quangle Wangle said 

      To himself on the Crumpetty Tree, — 

"When all these creatures move 

      "What a wonderful noise there'll be!" 

And at night by the light of the Mulberry moon 

They danced to the Flute of the Blue Baboon, 

On the broad green leaves of the Crumpetty Tree, 

And all were as happy as happy could be, 

            With the Quangle Wangle Quee.

 

 

by Edward Lear,  1812 - 1888

Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

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World Cup - Three Lions

A few World Cup memories.

 

I was there in sixty-six.  By ‘there’ I mean sat on the floor doing some artwork with my World Cup Willie colouring set, in front of a black and white television witnessing my mother go through every emotion. Eventually, someone on tv said, ‘They think it’s all over, it is now’ and my mother was ecstatic.  I must have inherited my love of football from her, and my maternal grandfather. We were in our upstairs sitting room in the pub on South Promenade. No big screens in pubs back in the sixties and no colour television for us at that time. Sport in pubs was limited to snooker and darts.

I didn’t follow the 1970 tournament. We were still in the same pub. I was sick of hearing ‘Back Home’ filtering upwards from the jukebox. My mother had passed away the year before. Life was hard and things were changing.

In 1978, my most significant World Cup memory is Archie Gemmill’s brilliant goal for Scotland against Holland. It was breath-taking and is still up there with my favourite goals of all time.

The 1990 World Cup didn’t have my full attention. It was there in the background while I sat at the sewing machine making wedding outfits for my page-boys and a tiny bridesmaid dress for yes, a tiny bridesmaid, my baby niece. There was cheering, beer cans being snapped open and I found myself singing Nessun Dorma a lot. England had fourth place. Now it was time to concentrate on our wedding.

I can still feel the sorrow from 1998. David Beckham and that petulant kick at Diego Simeone – I still can’t believe he was red carded, as he was fouled by Simeone in the first place and I can hardly type it, twenty years later. Football is such a passionate game. I was so upset that England lost out to Argentina on penalties and the first World Cup that our son was old enough to take an interest in ended for England the way it did.

Fast forward to 2014 and as always in our house, we have a chart up on the wall, flags flying from the windows and cars, England shirts at the ready and a Panini sticker album. It was a non-event, for us anyway. My husband was ill in hospital, though well enough to don an England shirt and watch a couple of matches in the day-room. By the time he was recovered enough to come home, the World Cup was all over for England.

So, here goes for World Cup 2018. In a few hours it might be all over again, but hopefully not. I’d like to see Gareth Southgate do well and I’d like to see this young, talented team progress. I’ll go and have a word with the three lions on my shirt.

 

 

I’m With These 2018 Heroes

 

The kitchen floor needs mopping

And the beds are left unmade

But I’m not doing housework

While there’s matches being played.

 

Look at the perfect pitches,

Neatly mowed and lush and green,

Ready for the world’s finest

To give us the best we’ve seen.

 

So bring it on, DeBruyne,

Ronaldo and Messi, too.

Fellaini and Suarez

I’ll be watching all of you.

 

A huge shout out for England,

For Harry Kane and the boys,

I’ve taught my grandkids to cheer

And to fill my house with noise.

 

Fav’rites Rashford and Lingard,

And my ‘Broadway’ Danny Rose,

I’m loving every moment

With these 2018 heroes.

 

It isn’t just the World Cup,

There’s tennis going on, too.

I’m sharing the time wisely,

It’s the only thing to do.

 

So, come on Kyle Edmund

What an impressive young man!

Wimbledon and I salute you.

Keep giving the best you can.

  

Pamela Winning 2018.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x 

 

 

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