#and ever since he's been one of my favourite contemporary painters. his style is so raw

[bogkeep]

since there's an impressionist royal portrait in the zeitgeist right now, do you wanna hear about one of my fav norwegian oil painters........ his name is håkon gullvåg and he's painted portraits of the norwegian king and queen and they look like this

which were pretty controversial at the time (the year 2000), but i was too baby to know anything about it!

(the headline says "UNDIGNIFIED!")

i first heard of him when he was on the news for a completely different controversy around the years 2008/2009 - his exhibition titled 'the holy land'/'terra sancta' which was a series of paintings he had painted in a wild unstoppable rage over the injustices he had seen palestinians suffer. at one of the exhibitions in syra, two of the paintings got removed by the french embassy, and i think never returned to him? i'm finding it surprisingly difficult to hunt down the story without knowing exactly what to look for, but i did dig up this article. i was still a young teen at the time so i didn't know much about the context, but in recent times i've been thinking about these paintings a lot. i'll add the Controversial Paintings under the cut:

[queerchoicesblog]

Remembrance

Hiya folks, here’s a new chapter of the wlw story set in the Italian Renaissance suggested by @scottishqueer for the wlw writing project...hope you will enjoy it!

If you do happen to like this miniseries, please consider spreading the word!

Previous chapters: After The Storm, The Florentine Lady, A Remedy For Melancholy, The Masquerade Ball

Previous series: Ancient Greece

_______________________________

I spend the following days trying to come up with a good idea for our next walk: what could possibly compare with the private tour of the palace she gave me? What would catch the eye and the heart of Cristina? I'm still looking for an answer when my maid hands me a note from her. Ah, once again she has been quicker than me: blessed fruitful mind!

The smile on my face vanishes as soon as I read what's inside: she informs me that urgent family matters force her to return to Florence for a while. She thanks me once again for my company, that she cherishes dearly, and wishes me all the very best in fair Ferrara.

The news of her sudden departure saddens me more than I could have possibly foreseen.

I gather with my friends, attend dinners, sew and gossip but none of those things bring me the usual solace. I lose my focus easily, I get bored or angry over nothing. What is more hideous now is the one thing I used to enjoy: my walks around town.

Sometimes my friends join me but all they talk about is life at court. The same old stale topics: the Duke's favourite, what this or that dame was wearing, this or that scandal. I have to fake my interest but my mind is far away from their petty rumours.

I feel Cristina's absence in my bones as I walk in the street or past Palace Schifanoia.

I try to avoid the places where we've been together but it's impossible. She's not here but her presence lingers: she's in every stone I set foot on, in every poetry I read, in every tune I hear. I feel in captivity, just like the convicts in the basement of the castle.

One day I find myself drawing her face on a scrap of paper. My hand soon becomes uncertain as I realise I don't remember little details of her visage, the way her neck curves when she turns, where a tiny mole lays...I curse myself for being such a poor observer. I was too blinded to memorise everything, an Icarus too close to the sun.

I reminisce Cristina sharing that she once posed for the apprentice of that Florentine painter, friend of her father. A study for a mythological painting, The Return of Persephone or something like that. She recalled spending days sitting on boxes posing for rocks and eating pomegranate to help the young apprentice. It was boring at first but soon thrilling as he allowed her to see the painting shaping. Sudden envy takes hold of me: how lucky he was to have her all for himself, there, present...for his eyes to admire. A privilege I have not. I wish I could run to him and beg him to show me how to portray her properly, without betraying her beauty or her soul. I wish I could see that painting, the final painting: choosing melancholic Cristina to personify the ancient Goddess of the Underworld is a brilliant intuition.

But I don't want her to be a Persephone in this life: I am missing her already and a month and a half have barely passed since her note, how could I be deprived of her presence for half a year? No, I could never endure that.

I selfishly wish I could bring her back. What would it take? I could sing the most tearful tune that would move beasts and unmerciful guardians to give her back to me like Orpheus did. But Orpheus got his spouse back only to lose her again and I don't want that. I want her to stay.

I don't remember how or when but somehow my prayers of her return aren't left unanswered. I am back from one of my hideous solitary walks when I'm informed that lady Cristina is back and waiting for me. My breath catches in my throat.

My heart pounds in my chest like a drum as I run as fast as my feet can take me towards my apartments. It takes every ounce of strength I have to refrain myself and not run into her arms just like Tommaso at the sight of me.

She looks quiet at first then she relaxes a bit. I inquiry about her journey and her stay in Florence. Her mother gave the family a scare as her health quickly deteriorated but she's recovering now or so the physicians said. She's quite close to her mother, even if she's probably her father's favourite daughter. The only daughter he admitted into his world of arts.

She asks me about me and Tommaso, my beloved Ferrara...but I don't know what to say. My words ring a bit hollow as I offer her idle details of the time we spent apart. Then an uncomfortable silence settles and I curse myself once again for the poor welcome I'm giving to someone I've missed so dearly.

"Is this me?"

When I look up, she's holding the scrap of paper with my attempt of her portrait in her hand. I must have forgotten it there.

At a loss of word, I just blush in response. How silly must it look! I'm tempted to grab it from her hand and toss it into the fire.

"You have a good hand" she notes, examining it carefully. "But...this is not finished"

She looks back at me as if demanding an explanation. All I manage to say is:

"You weren't here"

"You forgot me so soon" she smiles weakly.

No, never. Not for a moment.. The words scream in my head but nothing comes out of my mouth. I start a timid "No-I" but I stop mid-sentence as she suddenly stands.

"Well, if my absence was the impediment, there's a remedy to it" she sighs.

I follow her with my gaze as she walks to the couch under the window and sits. After one look at my drawing, she mimics the pose: her head slightly cocked to the side and the hint of a smile on her lips. She pulls a cushion near to sustain herself and hands me the scrap of paper.

"There, you can finish it now. The light is good enough, I think"

I look at her not knowing what to do. She encourages me to get my instruments and finish what I started. She smiles at me and what could I refuse to her smile? I retrieve my charcoal and resume my unfinished work.

Once it's done, I show it to her. I'm feeling uncomfortably vulnerable and shy but she doesn't predict me. She quietly admires it above my shoulder. I sign my work and write down "Portrait of a Fair Lady of Florence", according to the contemporary style. I hear myself asking if she would like to keep it: it's not much, it can't certainly compete with the works of Florentine artists but she can have it if she wants.

She ponders my words for a moment and to my surprise, she looks torn, tempted to accept my offer. But she says no.

"No, you have it. Maybe it will help you remember me"

She pronounces the words with the same weak smile on her lips then she turns to leave.

Before she is out of the door, I run towards her and reach for her. She turns and before I can think twice, I whisper, my voice low in case someone's around:

"I didn't forget you when you were gone. Not even for a fleeting moment. Believe me, I beseech you"

The intensity of my words catches her by surprise. She opens her mouth to say something, but we hear steps approaching. So she just bids me farewell and walks down the stairs, disappearing from my sight.

I spend the night in unspeakable anguish: what if I lost her forever? What if she would never cross my doorstep ever again after my blunt words? And if that be, will I be strong enough to sustain the excruciating torment of her refusal? Her absence had been unpleasant enough.

My only relief comes in the morning when my maid informs me a note has been delivered for me. It's her!

She asks me to meet her at Palace Schifanoia in an hour. I call my maid: I need to get ready, I'm going out.

[secret-kkh-fics]

History Repeats | Chapter 15

Due to this not being posted anywhere else yet, please like but DON’T REBLOG my fics.

Chapter Summary:

Once again in Van Statten’s underground bunker, Rose must make a terrible decision when she comes face to face with the Dalek once more. How will she be able to stop the massive slaughter ahead?

Dalek

The Lone Dalek

“What’s that, then?!” the Doctor said in surprise. He was leaning in, squinting at the console screen in confusion. There was a persistent beeping sound, almost like a warning.

“What is it?” Rose asked him, attempting to look too. As usual, she couldn’t understand a thing, since the writing was all in Gallifreyan, but the screen was flashing red. “That doesn’t look good, yeah?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should take a look.” Immediately, he began to race around the console, hitting buttons and flicking switches. Pausing with one hand on a lever, he looked up at her curiously. “What do you think it is?”

She looked back up at the screen. “Um… I don’t know. It’s not a problem with the TARDIS, is it?”

“No, it’s from outside,” he told her.

“Some sort of distress signal?” she guessed.

“Could be. Let’s find out.” As he spoke, the TARDIS gave one final lurch, and they landed. He took one last look at the screen before instantly headed for the door and she followed him out.

“So, what is it? What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is it a distress signal?”

“I don’t know, but it’s certainly some kind of signal, drawing the TARDIS off course…”

He began to look about, and Rose’s stomach lurched as she did the same. She knew this place. It was Van Statten’s Museum. Oh god, the Dalek. She didn’t know if she was ready for this. She didn’t know if she was ready to face a Dalek again. Or if she could even stop the devastation this one Dalek caused.

She felt sick.

“What is this place?” she asked, despite the nausea. “Where are we?”

“Earth, Utah, North America. About half a mile underground.”

“Right, underground base. Not ominous at all,” she muttered. “And when are we?”

“2012.”

“That’s so close,” she said. “That’s… what, only seven years away? I should be…” She tried to do the maths in her head. She was twenty-three, so it would make her 30. No! No, she was nineteen! Biological time. Why was her age so confusing now? “Twenty-six.”

Still looking around as she spoke, the Doctor found a light switch and turned it on, flooding the halls with light and illuminating the sick, alien museum. Many glass cabinets were spaced throughout the enormous room.

“Blimey, this place is huge!” she exclaimed. “Look at this stuff. Is that alien?”

“Yeah. A big old alien museum. Someone’s got a hobby.” They began to walk down the row, looking in the cases. “They must’ve spent a fortune on this. Chunks of meteorite, moon dust… That’s the milometer from the Rosewell Spaceship.”

“Look! That’s a Slitheen arm!” she cried, pointing it out. “That’s from a Raxocorocofalipatorian! Look at it, it’s been stuffed! How on earth did they even get it? Do you think it’s from when we bombed Downing Street?”

“Most likely,” the Doctor said. Then something else grabbed his attention and he quickly approached the case. “Oh, look at you!” he said to it.

Rose followed him over, staying a step behind him as she looked at the case he was. Inside was the head of a Cyberman. Her heart began to beat rapidly in fear as she gazed at it. This had been the first place she had ever seen a Cyberman. At the time, she could never fully comprehend just how terrible they were. Looking at it, it almost looked a little silly. The design was different to they Cybermen she knew. The head rounder and skinnier, the ‘handles’ on the side were thicker and ribbed. It didn’t look as aggressive and intimidating as the ones from the other dimension, but she knew that they were probably just as deadly.

“I don’t like that thing…” she found herself saying.

“Mmm, with good reason,” he said quietly. “This is an old friend of mine… Well, enemy. The stuff of nightmares reduced to an exhibit. I’m getting old.”

“Well, yeah. That kind of happens when you’re 900 years old and jump about time willy-nilly.”

“Oi! I’m actually still pretty young for my species, thank you very much. Time Lords can live for thousands and thousands of years! Well, if they’re carful, which most of them are… were.”

Sensing his mood dropping as he thought of his people, Rose went with her favourite tactic of distraction. “So, where do you think the signal is coming from?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, still staring at the Cyberman head. “Everything here looks like it’s well and truly dead. The signal’s alive. Something’s reaching out… Calling for help.” He gently reached up, and before Rose could say anything to caution him, he tapped the glass.

Instantly, alarms went off and men with guns ran into the room so fast she’s surprised they hadn’t come in earlier simply from just hearing them talk. There were at least a dozen of them, and within a few seconds, they were completely surrounded, guns pointing directly at them.

“If someone’s collecting aliens, that makes you Exhibit A,” she commented. The Doctor just gave them a tight-lipped smile as if to say ‘oops’. Rose frowned. “No, really. I don’t trust this place. Might be a good idea to not let them know…”

Knowing what Van Statten was like, knowing what he was doing to that Dalek as they spoke, she could just imagine what he would do if he ever found out that the Doctor was alien when they weren’t in the middle of a crisis. She could practically see the Doctor strapped to an angled, upright table, his shirt stripped off and writhing in pain as they tortured and experimented on him.

Again, she felt so worried that it made her feel sick. She wanted out of this place as soon as possible. Taking the Doctor’s hand, the attempted to calm herself, telling her self that she was over reacting and imagining things. The Doctor would be fine. He was last time.

She just had to deal with the Dalek, and everything would be okay.

Everything was okay.

One of the armed men grabbed a radio and spoke to someone. “Sir, we have two intruders on Level Sub 53. One male, one female. They look like civilians, but we’re not sure how they got down here undetected. Can’t see anything on them.”

After a moment’s pause, the radio made a static sound as a reply came through. “Alright, check them. I’ll make sure the boss is informed.”

“Yes, Sir.” He turned to a couple of the other men. “Search them.”

The two men came over to them, instructing them to hold their hands over their head and began to pat them down. Rose was reluctant to let go of the Doctor’s hand, but complied. She would be worried that they would find the alien tech that the Doctor carried on him, like the sonic screwdriver and more, but this had happened enough times in her past that she knew by now that anything in his trans-dimensional pockets wouldn’t be felt or picked up on any scans. The only thing they found in Rose’s pockets was her phone, which, after a brief glance at her messages, was handed back to her.

“People still have these?” the man who’d grabbed it asked, staring at it like it was an old relic.

“I miss those things,” another guy commented. “Trusty old phones, like bricks. I used to have a Noikia, my wife accidentally backed over it with the car. Perfectly fine! These days you drop your phone on the ground and it’s unusable!”

“I got my dad a new phone,” someone else said. “Fell out of his back pocket into the toilet. Won’t work anymore and he’s sitting there wondering why.”

“Humans,” the Doctor sighed quietly. “Make something better and you’re still not happy with it. Still, that’s how you evolve.”

Rose smirked, but her attention was diverted by someone’s radio going off.

“Attention all personnel. Bad Wolf One, descending. Bad Wolf One, descending.”

“What’s that, then?” she asked. “What’s Bad Wolf?”

“It’s one of our choppers,” the man replied. “The big boss’s chopper. He’s just arrived. He’s the one who’s going to decide what to do with you.”

“Right… and he named his helicopter after a fairytale?” She knew that they were her words, and she realised that she was probably the one to put the words in his head, but it was Van Statten, and she felt that wanker deserved all the teasing he could get.

“I wouldn’t make light of him, if I were you,” the man warned her. “He’s got a short temper. I heard that when he fires people, he has their memories erased and just leaves them out on the street in a random place around the country, and they’re just left there with nothing and no clue who they are.”

“Charming,” the Doctor grumbled sarcastically.

“Palmer, come in,” a voice crackled through the radio, cutting off any more conversation.

“Palmer here,” the man in charge answered.

“Bring the intruders to Mr Van Statten’s office. He wants to see them.”

“Yes, sir.” He looked up at them. “Right you two, follow us. And no funny business.”

“Funny business? Me?” the Doctor said innocently. Rose could only grin and shake her head.

 Silently, they were led from the museum and into a lift, only a couple of the guards with them now. The lift went up ten or so floors before they were led out, down the corridor. Van Statten’s PA met them outside and escorted them into the lavish office. On the back wall was a large painting of Van Statten, she instantly recognised the style of a famous contemporary painter but couldn’t for the life of her put a name to the artist. It was clearly a recreation of one of the lady’s most famous paintings. And sitting at his desk in front of the gaudy, self-gratuitous painting was the man himself, taking an alien artefact from Adam.

“…Paid $800,000 for it,” he was saying.

“What does it do?” Van Statten asked, taking it from him.

“W-well, you see, the tubes on the side must be to channel something. I think maybe fuel-”

“I really wouldn’t hold it like that,” the Doctor said, cutting him off.

“Shut it,” the PA commanded harshly.

“Really, though. That’s wrong,” he continued.

“Is it dangerous?” Adam asked.

“No. Just looks silly.” He leaned forward to put his hand out for the item, but paused when they heard the sound of multiple guns cocking. Van Statten held up a and to stay them, then cautiously handed it over. The Doctor looked pleased as he lay it out flat on his palm and brought his other hand up to stroke the top. “You just need to be…” As he ran his fingers over it, it lit up and sounds came from it, like someone running their finger around a wine glass. “…delicate.”

Everyone looked impressed by his talent, and he just looked smug.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Rose said. “Can I…?”

Before anyone could protest, the Doctor handed it over to her. She hadn’t gotten the chance to play one quite like this, but the Doctor had taken her somewhere where she’d played something similar. With the most gentle of touches, she ran her fingers over the top, going through the scales. And then she began to play a tune. It was an easy, beautiful tune. One that she had heard almost every day for years. The song of the TARDIS. Even when she was no longer with them, the song stayed in her heart and she would often wake up in the morning with the tune dancing through her head.

She was so engrossed in playing the instrument, she didn’t see the Doctor’s brow furrow.

“It’s a musical instrument!” Van Statten said in wonder.

The Doctor nodded. “And it’s a long way from home.”

“Here, let me,” he said. He held out his hand and Rose handed the instrument back, trying to hide a pout of disappointment. Unfortunately, it was his.

She wondered if she could convince the Doctor to come back for it for her.

They watched as he took the instrument and odd, static-like sounds came out as he pressed too hard.

“I did say ‘delicate’,” the Doctor told him. “It reacts to the smallest fingerprint. It needs precision.” Van Statten listened to the Doctor’s advice and soon a few ringing notes came from it. “Very good,” he congratulated him. “Quite the expert.”

“As are you.” He suddenly callously tossed the instrument behind him and all eyes followed it as it clattered to the ground. Rose could tell by the look in the Doctor’s eyes that this was the exact moment he decided he did not like this man. “Who exactly are you?”

“I’m the Doctor. And who are you?”

“Like you don’t know,” Van Statten snarked. “We’re hidden away with the most valuable collection of extra-terrestrial artefacts in the world and you just stumbled in by mistake.

“Pretty much sums me up, yeah.”

“You’d be surprised by how often it happens,” Rose put in.

“Question is, how did you get in?” He walked around the desk, so he was standing closer to them. “53 floors down with your little cat burglar accomplice.” He leered down at her and Rose scowled. “Quite the collector yourself, she’s rather pretty.”

“She has a name, you know,” she snapped at him. “It’s Rose, and she’s gonna slap you if you don’t use it.”

“Ooh, and she’s spunky too. I like her. Hey, little Lord Fauntleroy, we might have found you a little English girlfriend.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” she muttered, shooting a glare at Adam. The Doctor looked between them with raised eyebrows, looking highly amused.

“Ah, this is Mr Henry Van Statten,” Adam introduced the smug man.

“What, and he can’t introduce himself?” she snarked. “And who’s he when he’s at home anyway? Other than some smug, rich twat with a hobby as weird as stamp collecting?”

Adam frowned in surprise at her comment, but soldiered on regardless. “Mr Van Statten owns the internet.”

“Oh, I see… That would be impressive if that was how the internet actually worked. No one can own the internet.”

“And let’s just keep the whole world thinking that way, right kids?” Van Statten said. Rose just rolled her eyes.

“So, you’re an expert on just about everything except the things in your museum,” the Doctor observed. “Anything you don’t understand, you lock up.”

“And you claim greater knowledge?”

“I don’t need to make claims, I know how good I am.”

“And yet, I captured you,” Van Statten said smugly. “Right next to the Cage. What were you doing down there?”

“You tell me.”

“The cage contains my one living specimen.”

“And what’s that?”

“Like you don’t know.”

“Show me”

“You wanna see it?”

The exchange was so quick, each man rapidly coming back with their reply in a way that reminded Rose of men showing off their toys.

“Blimey, just whip them out and measure them already!” she huffed jokingly.

“Rose!” the Doctor said, aghast.

“What, we both know you’d win,” she said to him with a smirk. “He’s clearly compensating for something.” This drew a small guffaw from the Doctor and Van Statten glared at her. Oh, she had hit the nail on the head.

“Goddard, inform the cage. We’re heading down,” Van Statten said to his assistant. He turned to Adam. “You, English. Look after the girl. Canoodle or spoon or whatever it is you British do.”

“No, thanks!”

“And you, doctor with no name…” He nodded towards the lift. “Come and see my pet.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Rose said. “I’m going with him.”

“Nope. You’re staying up here. I don’t just let anyone see my pet, and he’s the expert. So, the mouthy teen stays here.”

“Aww, but you said you liked me,” she pouted teasingly as they walked out the door.

The Doctor grinned, enjoying it probably more than he should. “Behave, you.”

“Never.”

He shot her one last brilliant grin before he turned and climbed into the elevator with the others, leaving just her and Adam in the room. She turned to face him expectantly, and for a moment, Adam just stood there, awkwardly hitting a fist into the palm of his hand. The expression he wore was clearly one of someone who had no clue what to do or say.

“Blimey, you’re a clever one, aren’t ya?”

“Oh, thank you!” he said, brightening up.

“That was sarcasm, Mate. Come on, you’re babysitting me. What are we going to do for entertainment?”

“I… Um, how-how about I show you my workroom?” he asked. “It’s no museum or Metaltron, but there’s some pretty cool things in there.”

“Metaltron?”

“It’s what Mr Van Statten has called his living specimen. See, no one knows what it is, and since we can’t get it to communicate we have no way of knowing. The alien seems to be a living creature, but it’s encased in this large, metal structure. So… Metaltron.”

“Ah, I see,” she said, trying not to laugh imagining a Dalek’s reaction to being called a Metaltron.

“Anyway, it’s ah… this way.” He led her out of the office into the hall, and into another elevator, making a belated introduction and small talk. They went down a few floors, along another few corridors, and finally into his small, cluttered workspace. “Sorry about the mess,” he said. “Mr Van Statten sort of lets me do my own thing, so long as I deliver the goods…”

Rose looked about the space, taking in all the objects around the room. She was quite pleased to find that she recognised a lot of them or could at least roughly identify what most of them were. She could also see quite a few objects she was sure were from Earth, and even something she knew was from the 51st century. She wasn’t sure if it fell through a rift, or if it had been dropped by a Time Agent, but she knew exactly what it was… and she should probably get it out of the hands of this greedy, arrogant git.

“What do you think this is?”

His voice caught her attention, and she turned around to see him holding something out to her. As she took it off him, she could see it in his eyes. That look that was practically begging her to ask him what it was so he could explain his ‘amazing’ theories to her and show off just how smart he was. She remembered how last time, even though she hadn’t had a clue what half of this stuff was, she had still played ignorant so he could show off. It was something she had sometimes done with the Doctor, just so she could listen to the sound of his voice and see how excited he got while explaining things. She had wanted to see Adam get that excited and passionate about something he clearly loved. But this time, she knew better. She knew what he was really like, and she had later realised that he had been rather condescending to her, just because she wasn’t ‘smart’. Well, she wasn’t going to let that happen again.

“Hmm….” She studied the chunk of metal carefully. “It’s porous, which would make it lighter than it would be if it where solid… Naturally occurring. But it’s been shaped. These bits are clearly broken and torn,” she traced her fingers around the edges, “but this part is smoothed flat, like it’s been worked. It’s an odd metal… definitely not from Earth. The colour is off from anything we have, and the pattern in the metal is an effect we’ve only seen on meteorites. Actually, there isn’t a metal like this in our entire galaxy, so it’s from somewhere beyond the Milky Way. It’s undoubtedly from a spacecraft of some kind, but I’m not sure which bit. The lightness of the material would definitely be good for flight, but probably not sturdy enough for the hull.”

“You-you don’t think it’s from a hull of a spacecraft?” he asked, baffled.

“No. Spacecraft, definitely. Hull… probably not. Then again… if they crashed, might be why.” She gently placed it back down on his desk.

“Oh.” He seemed quite put out, not only that he hadn’t been able to explain what it was, but also that she seemed to know more than he had about it. It brought a small smile to her lips. “You, ah… you seem to know a lot about… well, this stuff. Usually I have to try and convince people that aliens are real and that I’m not just a crazy person.”

“Are you kidding me?” she said. “After everything that happened back home? Aliens crashing into Big Ben, the Christmas spaceship, Cybermen and Daleks in the streets?!” She wondered if he would pick up on the memory of the Daleks and realise what it was Van Statten was hiding down in his basement, but he didn’t react at all. Still, that was all six or seven years ago for him, there had to be something more recent he would remember. Oh! It was 2012! “Everyone disappearing into thin air at the Olympics?!”

“In Bejing?”

“No, the London Olympics!”

“…Th-the Olympics haven’t happened yet. They’re a few months away.”

“Right. Right, yeah. They are, aren’t they. Still, how could you not know about all these things?!”

“Seems America missed the memo,” he said, rolling his eyes. “They didn’t get a lot of what we did back home. And they thought the Cybermen were a big practical joke, like a flashmob or terrorist group or something. I was actually on a plane to Japan for a foreign exchange programme. Totally missed it… But I was there that first Christmas, that one with the spaceship. One moment there’s aliens on TV, the next I’m waking up, standing on the edge of the roof with my mum and no idea how we got there.” Rose nodded. “What about you? Where were you that Christmas?”

“Oh, I was on the ship. So was the Doctor. He fought single combat to get them to leave Earth and won.”

“I… wow. Okay. Are-are you and he…”

“Yep,” she replied, nodding enthusiastically.

She knew what he was asking. If they were involved. And they may not be yet, but they hopefully would be in the future. And she was most definitely emotionally involved with him. And she was going to stop that boy’s train of thought right there.

He was obviously perplexed by this idea and a little put out to have his attempts of possible flirting shut down. She just continued to glance around the room.

“So, how did you end up here anyway? Doing a job like this?”

“Van Statten has agents all over the world looking for geniuses to recruit.”

“Oh, okay. So, you’re a genius?”

“Sorry, but yeah. Can’t help it. I was born clever.”

See. Smug, arrogant, condescending git. The Doctor was incredibly intelligent, but he didn’t rub it in everyone’s faces quite like that. It made her want to knock him down a peg.

“Why does a genius have a hairdryer in with a crate of guns?”

“What?”

“That one,” she said, pointing to the device that very clearly was not a gun. “I’m pretty sure that one’s a hairdryer.”

His brow furrowed. “How can you tell?”

She went over and pulled the crate out, grabbing it for a closer inspection. “Well, for one thing, this is a switch, not a trigger. These dials here are for temperature and pressure. And both sides are covered with vents and grates… It’s clearly not meant to have something fired out of it, and wants to prevent anything getting in. Plus, it just… generally looks like a hairdryer…”

“Oh.” Being shown up was making him at a loss for words, and Rose was loving it. She enjoyed watching as he looked about, practically searching for a way to try and one-up her. “You wanted to be down there looking at the alien with your doctor friend, right? Well, if you’re a genius, it doesn’t take long to patch in on the comms system.”

Trying not to roll her eyes, Rose smiled and relented. “Oh, alright then. Let’s have a look.” She came around to stand beside him at the desk, watching over his shoulder as he tapped at the keys and hacked into the camera down in the ‘cage’.

“To be honest, it doesn’t really do much. The alien. It’s weird. It’s kind of… useless. It’s just like this… great big pepper pot.”

The feed flicked up and despite herself, Rose felt herself tense up at the sight on the screen. In the middle of the room, chained up, was a Dalek. Just one regular Dalek. The first she had ever seen. Back then, she had been so naïve and had no kind of clue what creature Van Statten had imprisoned in his basement. But now she did. She had seen the horrors they had caused. The people this one would kill if she let it out. The billions of people they had killed over the course of 90 years on Satellite Five. Canary Wharf…

She despised this thing for what it was. For the things she knew it would do.

It could stay down there and rot for all she cared.

She didn’t care that that horrible man was torturing it. She didn’t. It deserved it. It deserved whatever was happening to it for all the pain it had and would cause. She didn’t care. She didn’t. It deserved it. It did…

It-it could rot here forever for all she cared… She wasn’t going near it this time.

Suddenly, she was no longer in Adam’s workroom. She was down in the cage, looking at the Dalek as time passed rapidly around her. She watched as days and months of torture was inflicted upon it. She watched as Van Statten shouted at it, demanding it talk to him and be a good pet. She watched as it screamed in agony, its hatred for mankind growing even stronger than it had already been. She watched as it bided its time. As a terrible storm raged, destroying the levels above ground and sending a powerful lightning strike right down through the bunker’s electrical system, giving the Dalek enough of a boost to recharge its systems and heal itself. It wasn’t perfect, still damaged and broken from years’ worth of torture and experiments, but its gun worked, and it was strong enough to break free. She watched as the Dalek moved its way through the bunker, killing everyone in sight. As it found its way up to the surface and out into the world. She watched as it made its way across Utah, across South Western America, killing billions before the military were able to bring it down with a nuke. So much of America decimated, the land radiated and uninhabitable for decades to come. All because of one brutal creature. All because she didn’t show it the compassion and mercy she should would almost anything else.

Rose gasped as she came back to herself, leaning heavily on the desk, her eyes fixed on the screen.

“We have to go!” she gasped. “We have to get down there!”

“We’re not supposed to-”

“They’re torturing it! I don’t care if it’s a Dalek or not! It’s wrong and we have to stop it!”

“Wait, that’s a Dalek?!” he cried as she ran from the room.

  “Hold it right there!” a guard said firmly as Rose charged into the room, Adam jogging in after her, trying to keep up.

“Level three access,” he panted, flashing his ID. “Special clearance from Mr Van Statten.”

He walked past her and led her into the cage. On their way, they passed Simmons. After seeing the possible timeline where he spent years upon years torturing that Dalek, she felt herself fill with rage, and before she could stop herself, she lashed out and slapped him.

“Fucking sadistic tosser!” she hissed at him. Immediately, every guard in the room was up in arms, heading towards her with their guns drawn. Thankfully, they were stayed by Adam, who held up his hand to stop them. He looked at Rose questioningly, his expression almost screaming for her to apologise. Instead, she just looked back at Simmons. “You’re worse than that creature in there,” she told him. And then she turned and pushed past Adam into the cage.

“What was all that about?” he asked as the door closed.

“I don’t condone torture,” she said shortly. “No matter how vial the victim is.”

Adam wisely said nothing, and she turned around to face the Dalek. Her heart pounded in fear, her mind racing with all the times she had gone up against them. What she knew they could do. What she knew this one would and could do. Still, she faced the chained creature and smiled sympathetically. It really looked roughed up, many of it’s domes crushed in and one of its panels pryed open. Thick chains surrounded it, keeping it teathered to four posts.

“Hello,” she said. “Are you alright? Are you in pain?” The Dalek just stared at her. She had no idea what it was feeling, with its unexpressive casing, or if it was even feeling anything at all. “My name’s Rose. Rose Tyler. I’m going to help you. Okay? My friend and I, we’re going to help you.”

“YES,” it said.

“Good. Then let’s get you out.”

“Rose, I don’t think-”

“YES… I AM IN PAIN,” the Dalek cut Adam off. “THEY TORTURED ME. BUT THEY STILL FEAR ME. DO YOU FEAR ME?”

Hesitantly, she looked it up and down, then shook her head. “Not right now.”

The Dalek lowered its eyestalk pathetically, really putting on a show. “I AM DYING.”

It almost made her laugh. Last time she met this Dalek, she had no idea what it was, nor how dangerous it was. It had played innocent and she had lapped it up in her naivety. She never realised just how much the Dalek was putting it on.

“No, don’t be silly,” she said playing along. “We can help.”

“I WELCOME DEATH. BUT I AM GLAD… THAT BEFORE I DIE… I MET A HUMAN WHO WAS NOT AFRAID…”

It was at this point, that Rose could no longer hold in her laughter. Adam balked at her reaction, too stunned to know what to do as she doubled over.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry,” she said, gasping for air. “I couldn’t hold it in any longer.”

“I don’t get it…” Adam said, looking entirely lost. It was clear it was something he didn’t like feeling.

“It was just putting on the ‘poor little me’ act so strong, I couldn’t keep a straight face,” she said with a grin. Then she turned back to the Dalek. “I’m not like these other humans. I know what you are. I know what your species has done. What you do. I know that your lot commits genocide everywhere you go because you think you’re superior. But I have seen all of your existence before. I’ve wiped you from existence before. Daleks are monsters… but you don’t deserve this. Nothing deserves this. So, I’m going to get you out of here.” She began looking about for some controls or some way to let it out. “My friend and I will take you somewhere you can’t hurt anyone. Somewhere you can build a life and do… whatever it is Daleks do when they aren’t planning or committing invasions and genocide.”

“THAT IS MY PURPOSE!”

“Yeah, well, not anymore. You know there’s no more Daleks left, right? Not anywhere else in the universe!” She wasn’t entirely sure if it was true, but she knew that the Doctor had once been utterly convinced of it. “You don’t have any higher authority. You have no objective. And no weaponry. But you have your life. So, I suggest you take it.” When she couldn’t see any controls nearby, she walked over to one of the pillars chaining it up and started looking over it. “Okay, how do I get you out of here…?” She tug on the chains, looking about for a lock or some kind of release switch. “Adam, can you do something? I can’t touch it, or it will be able to repair itself, including its weapons and probably go on a killing spree.”

“Rose, I don’t think this is such a good id-”

“What do you think you’re doing?” The door burst open, and the horrible torturer guy rushed in, glaring at her.

“Getting this Dalek away from you!” she growled. “It might be one of the most instinctively evil creatures I know of, but it still deserves better than what you’ve done to it!”

“Get away from there!” he ordered her, stalking over to her in a few strides and grabbing her wrist away from the chains.

“Let go of me!” she hissed, trying to pull away from him. She tugged as hard as she could, and he let her go, sending her flying backwards… right into the Dalek. She could feel the cool metal under her hand heat up to the point of burning, and she jumped back, looking at it in panic. “Shit!”

“GENETIC MATERIAL EXTRAPOLATED,”  it said. “INITIATE CELLULAR RECONSTRUCTION!”

Right before them, the Dalek began to repair itself, gaining strength enough to burst out of the chains like it was no more than silly string, sparks flying around the room, making Rose scoot back as far as she could until she hit Adam’s legs. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, eyes still glued to the Dalek.

“What the hell have you done?!” the horrible guy cried.

“That was your fault!” She shouted back. “I said I couldn’t let it touch me! Now everyone is in danger, you fucking moron!”

The Dalek moved over to the man, its plunger extended out threateningly.

The man scoffed. “Watcha gonna go? Sucker me to death?” In the next instant, the plunger shot out, encompassing the man’s nose and mouth, almost sucking it in and the sounds of the man’s muffled screams and crunching bones filled the room. Rose couldn’t even bring herself to pretend he deserved that fate.

She grabbed Adam by the arm and pulled him out of the room. “It’s killing him!” she shouted at the men in the outer room. “Do something!” Someone immediately closed and locked the door behind her and Adam, and she rushed over to the man at the intercom.

“Condition red!” he called into it. “Repeat, condition red! This is not a drill!”

“What’s happening, Bywater?” Van Statten responded.

“Metaltron has broken loose. It’s killed Simmons.”

“Do whatever you can to keep it contained, we’ll video through soon.”

Rose paced anxiously as the Bywater began hurriedly tapping and keys and flicking switches. It was minutes later that the video flickered to life and she heard the Doctor’s voice, making her rush to the screen.

“You’ve got to keep it in that cell,” he ordered.

“I’m sorry, Doctor. It was my fault. I didn’t mean to touch it, but he pushed me and I fell on it. And then it said it was absorbing genetic something or other and then it was breaking loose!”

“Rose, it’s fine. That wasn’t your fault,” he assured her. “What’s important is making sure that thing doesn’t get out.”

“I’ve sealed the compartment,” Bywater said, sliding up beside her. “It can’t get out. That lock’s got a billion combinations.”

“The Dalek’s a genius. It can calculate a thousand billion combinations in one second flat.”

A quick glance at the screen showed them that the Dalek was on its way over to the entry pad and she turned back to the screen.

“Van Staten, you need to evacuate this base, right now! Get everyone out!” she told him firmly.

“She’s right,” the Doctor said.

Van Staten shook his head. “We need all essential manpower to keep it contained.”

“God damn it, you can do that without everyone here!” she shouted. “That thing is going to kill everyone! No amount of ‘manpower’ is going to stop it. It’s gonna cut through everyone like butter! If you don’t evacuate now, they are all going to die.”

Van Sataten just snorted. “I think my men can handle it.”

“No, they can’t. I’ve seen these creatures almost completely domninate many species – including you humans - countless times throughout history. My own people didn’t even truly beat them, and by the end of the war, we were experts in killing Daleks!”

“This facility is-”

“Van Staten,” she cut over top of him. “What are you going to do? Listen to the advice of some who’s battled these deadly things and actually knows what they’re talking about, or  are you going to put billions of people in danger because you’re a spoilt, rich manchild who can’t tell an alien blaster from a hairdryer and don’t want to admit how dangerous your precious little alien ‘toys’ are? No? Didn’t think so. So shut the fuck up and evacuate this entire damn base right now!”

Van Staten stared at her, offended and dumbfounded, while the Doctor full on beamed at her and Van Staten’s assistant attempted to hide a snigger.

At that moment, though, the Dalek found the right code and the door opened. The milliary personel lined up to shoot and she scooted back to the exit with them.

“Open fire!” Bywater commanded. Together, he and the woman who went with them last time began shooting at the Dalek.

“Alright! Alright! Get everyone out!” they heard Van Staten order. “Just don’t shoot it!”

“Everyone, come on!” she called to them.

“Rose, get out of there!” the Doctor told her.

“Don’t bother trying to hold it off, it won’t work! Just run, damn it!” She grabbed the two soldiers by the sleeves, tugging them with her.

“De Maggio, make sure that the civilians get out alive. That’s your job, got that?”

De Maggio nodded. “You two, make sure you stick with me!”

Right then, a voice came over the speakers. ‘Emergency evacuation – please exit the base! Emergency evacuation – please exit the base!’ The halls began to fill with the sound of footsteps as people made their way to the nearest exit.

Rose smiled even as the power failed around them and the alarm stopped. Because this time as she ran, several people ran along to safety beside her.

Chapter Index  |  First Chapter  |  << Previous Chapter  |  Next Chapter >>

[anansiblack-blog]

A World Without Bowie: One Year On

A year ago today the world lost one of it’s most important and cultural icons in the death of David Bowie. Over the course of his nearly fifty-year career, he made over twenty albums and sold countless records, telling the stories of characters like Major Tom, Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane, Halloween Jack, Nathan Adler, Tao Jones whilst also making breakthroughs as an actor, painter and fashion icon. Bowie’s influence on culture extends far beyond that of a musician, he, more than any many of his contemporaries or ones that came after him encapsulated what it means to be an artist in any definition of the word.

Since the start of his career in the late 1960’s, Bowie always stood out as different. He aligned himself on the outskirts of traditional society and embraced the weird and wonderful in both his personal life and his musicianship. This was personified when, at the age of twenty-five, he broke out with the bisexual alien character of Ziggy Stardust and proceeded to set the world on fire with glam-infused songs about a coming apocalypse. ‘Hunky Dory’ and ‘Ziggy Stardust’ thematically set out the blueprints of Bowie’s artistic career, while the musicianship and aesthetic practices may have differed from album to album; the core methodology and “purpose” (for lack of a better word) of Bowie’s work was understood with these two albums. This, in my opinion, was the artist’s ever long artistic and spiritual quest of self and identity in changing times. The music of David Bowie has always been an exploration of the human spirit in all it’s forms. From the cheerful embracing of experimentation (‘Changes’), the joy of receiving a child (‘Kooks), terrifying descents of madness (‘Station to Station’),  arriving in a new place to call your home (the instrumental ‘A New Career in a New Town’), just straight up debauched joyful partying (‘Rebel Rebel) a moment of realization and contemplation (‘Ashes to Ashes’ which deals with Bowie’s cocaine addiction) to (possibly) his most poignant statement about humanity; ‘Heroes’, the song about two star-crossed lovers in the Berlin wall overcoming adversity with love and courage. Throughout his career, Bowie sought nothing but to experience and portray his experiences of life through his music and in turn, help alter perceptions of the world around him, for himself and others.

This aim was then achieved with his constant and consistent experimentation with musical styles and sounds. The Ziggy Stardust era and especially the album bearing the alien character’s name, were a way of Bowie achieving this self-actualization. By creating and inhabiting the character of an alien rock-star, Bowie managed to become this very thing and within months became the biggest musical act in Britain at the time. The heights of fame would have given Bowie an easy ride, to keep churning out albums with the platform books and orange hair, but such a journey could not end with such a cliché and superficial achievement such as fame. Instead of keeping with his glam rock sound, Bowie went straight to the Philadelphia soul of 70’s America, then afterwards travelled to Berlin to make Kraut-rock inspired electronic music (the artist was suffering from intense drug addiction and psychosis so the Berlin trilogy is an interesting look in someone who uses artistic experimentation to achieve a more introspective sense of identity). He would later turn to people who were inspired by him in the 1980’s with the New Romantic ‘Scary Monsters and Supercreeps’ and the 80’s disco infused ‘Let’s Dance’, after this period Bowie would take an artistic nosedive with more pop inspired albums and focusing more on his booming film career.

He later got his strive back with the band Tin Machine and began experimenting with all the sounds of the 1990’s such as drum n bass (‘Earthling’) and the Nine Inch Nails inspired ‘Outside’. It was after the tour of his album ‘Reality’, that Bowie suffered a heart attack and took a hiatus from his comeback album in 2013, ‘The Next Day’. Though many may argue about the quality and impact of Bowie in the 90’s and early 2000’s, the need for experimentation and innovation kept his career and drive going (it was around this period that Bowie focused more on business and internet innovations such as “Bowie Bonds” and “BowieNET” that cemented his impact).

Even to the end of his life, Bowie kept to his aim and work with his final album ‘Blackstar’. Having learned that he was suffering from cancer, Bowie began work on what would be his last album. Though unaware his condition was terminal, Bowie proceeded to deal with his diagnosis and potential mortality through his work. The album is filled with references to death, none more direct than the songs ‘Lazarus’, ‘Dollar Days’ and the final ‘I Can’t Give Everything Away’. Though sad and melancholic; the songs of ‘Blackstar’ showcase an acceptance of the inevitable but also a resistance to mere fading away. Instead, Bowie sought closure and acceptance to transcend his mortal coil with the one thing he knew would make him immortal; his music. Obviously by this time he had become embedded in popular culture, he still to the very end looked within himself to bring the world new ways of seeing and believing in even the most bleakest of circumstances. This is why I feel ‘I Can’t Give Everything Away’ is my favourite song on the album, it shows resignation but also hope with it’s lyrics and within the strong structure make a melodic reference to ‘A New Career in a New Town’, to let us all know Bowie has left our mortal world has begun a new journey without us, but one day we will be able to join him.

On the day of his death, I attended a make shift party set up to celebrate Bowie’s life in his home of Brixton, London. I listened to The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust on the way there and admit to getting a little teary-eyed on the opening drum sounds of ‘Five Years’. However,  the sheer expression of the album musically and artistically exhilarated me and I had one of the best moments of my life that night. I was too young to see Bowie live, but this celebration while drenched in sadness, helped ease the pain of such a loss of someone so inspirational and important to my life.  Thousands of people gathered as his music videos were projected on houses and buildings nearby and ‘Life on Mars’, ‘Starman’, ‘Rebel Rebel’ and all the other hits being sung along by the crowd. It was truly a sight to behold, a historic moment for a fan such as me.

However, the rest of 2016 seemed to be foreshadowed by Bowie’s death as we would soon lose other icons of film, music, and literature. Prince, Carrie Fisher, George Michael, Alan Rickman, Gene Wilder, Muhammed Ali, Umberto Echo and others. The political landscape of the world also made for a bleak experience such as the United Kingdom’s decision to leave the European Union, the worsening crisis in the Middle East, the democratic coup in Brazil, the military coup in Turkey (leading to a more authoritarian government), the rise of the far right populist parties in Europe and the vile orangutang Donald Trump being elected President of the United States. Truly, 2016 was dark year for anyone with partiality to culture and human decency.

On the other hand, it was on what would have been Bowie’s 70th birthday that I came to a realization that what Bowie taught us through his work and music is perhaps more important now than ever before. Times may soon get tougher than they were before, and it is important to us as individuals to find balance and ways of expressing ourselves and to keep the world a better and more beautiful place. Now is the time to damn those who will see us different or want to hamper our individuality and freedom, we have to learn to adapt to these changing times so that we can master it artfully for ourselves, and turn the tide to make a better world for ourselves and others, by doing what we like doing and finding our callings, whatever they may be. There will always be people out there to try and hamper that, crush it and take it away, we just need to learn how to beat them, and be heroes, just for one day (or forever and ever).

[hannah-buckley]

Running with Wolves, Somaticizing the Text: Revisionary Feminism and Contemporary Dance by Dr Catriona McAra

Below is a paper presented by Dr Catriona McAra, introducing my solo The Mountain and Other Tales of She Transformed as part of the Edinburgh College of Art ‘The Woman’s Work: A Kate Bush Symposium’ on Dec 13th 2019.

“There is an old woman who lives in a hidden place that everyone knows but few have ever seen” (p.27)

The Mountain and Other Tales of She Transformed is a solo by the Leeds-based choreographer Hannah Buckley. I want to position it in close dialogue with Kate Bush and the American Jungian psychoanalyst Clarissa Pinkola Estés, the author of the renowned cult classic and revisionary feminist study, Women Who Run with the Wolves (1992).

“I call her Wild Woman, for those very words, wild and woman, create […] the fairy-tale knock at the door of the deep female psyche… No matter by which culture a woman is influenced, she understands the words wild and woman, intuitively” (p.6)  

The bone woman fairy tale, which comprises Chapter One, ‘The Howl: Resurrection of the Wild Woman,’ has become something of an ur-text or blueprint for Buckley, a found script for her body, voice and gesture. She first read the book while a student at the Northern School of Contemporary Dance, and claimed that the book found her.  

This short experimental paper intersperses quotations by Pinkola Estés in order to get inside the theory/practice structure of her book. I interconnect Buckley’s research-practice alongside leading, iconic, cultural women that drive an investigative revisionist model. We are, therefore, specifically interested in how Kate Bush informs a new generation of contemporary practice:

“In mythos and by whatever name, La Loba knows the personal past and the ancient past for she has survived generation after generation, and is old beyond her time. She is an archivist of feminine intention. She preserves female tradition. Her whiskers sense the future” (p.29)

Kate Bush has certainly had an effect on a next generation of dream pop and folktronica. Journalist Laura Barton reveals that Natasha Khan of Bat for Lashes considers Pinkola Estés book to be among her favourites, and Barton goes on to link Khan with Florence Welsh as “wild wolf runners” – a particular style of singer-songwriter working through the legacies of Kate Bush (2011).

“The archetype of the Wild Woman and all that stands behind her is patroness to all painters, writers, sculptors, dancers, thinkers, prayermakers, seekers, finders – for they are all busy with the work of invention, and that is the Wild Woman’s main occupation” (p.12)  

Pinkola Estés and Bush have much to say to one another; both use the motif of the she-wolf or hound to characterise a revisionary stance. Putting them into further dialogue with Buckley who was born the same year as Hounds of Love came out, creates a compelling sense of intergenerationality as we come to terms with the practical application of 80s feminist theory.  

Buckley has been using lyrics by Kate Bush since 2014 when she performed Woman with Eggs, an episodic narrative sequence which uses Eartheater’s ethereal and slower-paced cover of ‘Babooshka.’ For Bush, Babushka is a shield-maiden disguise, the inner world of a scorned woman externalised. Buckley playfully revises this costume or “pseudonym to fool him” to investigate female lifecycles and a safe space for women in an age of #MeToo.

Buckley begins her Woman with Eggs with a folktale: “long ago women got their children by digging around in the ground.” The choreography is then augmented with intergenerational audio interviews from Hannah’s nana, Elsie, and a child called Bo. Buckley then moves into a poignant sequence about a woman who chose not to have children. After reading this confessional, Buckley dances vigorously while trying to balance a clutch of delicate golden eggs in her palms, which quickly fall to the ground and smash, somewhat symbolically.

Again to quote Pinkola Estés:

“The modern woman is a blur of activity. She is pressured to be all things to all people. The old knowing is long overdue” (p.4)

The Bush ethos continues into Buckley’s duet ‘S/HE’ with Simon Palmer in 2017 where themes from ‘Running Up That Hill’ seem pertinent. Bush’s ‘Deal with God’ invites a switching of gender roles. Buckley develops this idea through her choreography, stressing the importance of gender fluidity and feminist men in making manifest such politics of equality. Here the pair are costumed, not in the blue iki-chic Japanese Hakama of the Bush video, but in peach-skinned, rubber birthday suits as if two newborns who have not yet assumed their gendered roles or identities. Laura Wallace compares Buckley’s costumes to the shapeshifting power of selkie skins (2019); the idea that we can throw off or temporarily stow our identities. Writing on the Bush music video, Roy Mon notes that the two dancers “coil around the musical text as well as [broach] the studio confines” (2007, p.100-101)

Buckley’s latest solo, escalates ‘Running up That Hill’ into a mountain wilderness. We begin with rebirth. Buckley’s wolfling feels into her own skin through a series of grounded, yogi movements, then gradually segues into a primordial chant that resonates throughout her body, scratching and crawling her way into Pinkola Estés’ text, and into the fantastical domain of the anima.

A summers wildlife weathers into a blustery, barren mountain side. Like Bush, this performance is self-directed. “I am the mountain” Buckley will tell us. There is a need for creative solitude. Here the mountain is a character as well as a bodily topography - Buckley’s practical research into 'feminism as the female command of space' uses the mountain in order to psychically expand and enable the possibilities of a feminist persona. There is grit and tenacity present. The megalithic is augmented by a visual component, a theatrical backdrop of chalk drawings facilitated by artist Nicola Singh, mimicking and articulating the outlines of the choreographic edgework: the bones of Buckley’s movements.

For Buckley, the wolf that dwells in such a landscape becomes the id, an inner force of unpredictability which rises to the convulsive, corporeal surface.  Peter Brooks and Anna Kérchy emphasize the “somaticisation of text” (1993; 2008) a visual and textual mode of embodiment, similar to Hélène Cixous’s nottion of écriture feminine (1975), which we can possibility best understand through the transformative and body-centric medium of dance.  

Pinkola Estés:

“My own post WWII generation grew up in a time when women were infantilised and treated as property. They were kept as fallow gardens […] Dancing was barely tolerated, if at all, so they danced in the forest where no one could see them” (p.5)

The iconography of wolves is worth dwelling on. For Jung, the wolf is a nightmarish presence that prefigures the death of his mother (1963). Pinkola Estés significantly revises this archetype into an arguably more positive, active, de-civilising force, yet she maintains the Jungian principle:

“women’s flagging vitality can be restored by extensive “psychic-archaeological” digs into the ruins of the female underworld” (p.3)

The she-wolf is an archetype but she is also necessarily slippery and unclassifiable – a trickster figure or category error patrolling the margins. The novelist Chloe Aridjis reminds us “There on the very fringes of tranquillity […] should be at least one or two pacing wolves” (2013). The wolf tales of the English writer Angela Carter are also interesting to ponder here; rewritten fairy tales from the same moment as Bush’s ‘Wuthering Heights’ which re-position female protagonists as active subjects dirtied and bloodied by their experiences (Kérchy, p.4). Rather than fearing the wolf in grandmother’s clothing, Carter’s Red Riding Hood jumps into bed with them. As for Jung, the wolf for Carter is a predominantly masculine presence, hairy on the inside, similar to Joni Mitchell’s “coyote in the coffee shop” (1976). Yet for Buckley and Pinkola Estés, wolves are very much re-coded as feminine and serve as the instinctual and unpredictable beings within us. Bush’s “fox caught by dogs” uses the male pronoun “his little heart, it beats so fast” while her “hounds of love” (1985), I would suggest, represent an all-encompassing force-field relevant to all sexualities. Her canine familiar is a polymorphous hybrid, difficult to pin down, yet one which is certainly a feminist-intertextual collector of culture.

“Collecting stories is a constant paleontologic endeavour. The more story bones you have, the more likely you will be able to find the whole story. The more whole the stories, the more subtle the twists and turns of the psyche are presented to us and the better opportunity we have to apprehend and evoke our soulwork” (p.17)

Despite the ambiguous terrain, Buckley’s practice finds firm footing in the universe of Kate Bush as a kind of psychic touchstone.  She stamps rhythmically to summon the animal within us. She fabricates sculptures by assembling the bone narratives she finds. This is The Mountain and Other Tales of She Transformed, and here is a final quotation from the intrepid Clarissa Pinkola Estés:

“I met a bone woman and have never been quite the same since” (p.27)