Showing posts with label dolls. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dolls. Show all posts

Tuesday, 23 June 2020

Fairy voices

Happy International Fairy Day!

This post showcases a new body of art work inspired by a small selection of artists who have fallen under the profound spell of those tiny winged creatures we know as fairy folk. But these encounters are a far cry from the stories found in nursery books. These are bleak, frightening accounts of madness, incarceration and public shame.  

Inspired by the Cottingley Fairies photographs
A re-imagined collection by Mayfifth1935
[April 2020]

Childhood doll collection photographed in and around my home town 

I have always been drawn to fairy illustration, especially from the Victorian and Edwardian eras. I adored Arthur Rackham's spindly sprites and fairy maidens but also loved the wholesome nursery styled fairies painted by Dorothy WheelerFlorence Harrison, and 
Anne AndersonHowever, when I chose to study art history, my tastes settled on the more classical painters who envisaged a darker version of the fairy realm and I loved it. John Anster Fitzgerald [1819-1906] in particular painted his fairies in frenzied detail, his imps and pixies cavort about in mad and lovely vignettes but look closer at his works like The captive robin and Chase of the white mouse for hints at a more vindictive creature. 

Inspired by the Cottingley Fairies photographs
A re-imagined collection by Mayfifth1935
[April 2020]

Childhood doll collection photographed in and around my home town
 
Inspired by the Cottingley Fairies photographs
A re-imagined collection by Mayfifth1935
[April 2020]

Childhood doll collection photographed in and around my home town

The dark side of any cultural genre if charismatic enough can be deceptively tempting and the disturbing fairy canvases and shocking life story of Richard Dadd [1817-1886] had me mesmerized. He was an exceptional artist whose promising career at The Royal Academy was tragically derailed and then bizarrely re-railed as the infamous artist sent to Bethlem Psychiatric Hospital [also known as Bedlam] for the murder of his father in 1843 when he was 27 years old. Probably suffering from Paranoid Schizophrenia, Dadd became subject to hallucinations and voices in his head whilst on a painting holiday in Egypt. Unfortunately, these symptoms were left unchecked and when he was arrested after the murder, he recounted how the spirit of an ancient pharaoh told him his father was the Devil in disguise. Knowing the reputation of Bethlem, it may be surprising to learn that he was actively encouraged to paint by the staff and over the years produced an astounding body of work. However, he remained sectioned for the rest of his life and was remembered by staff as a gentle, polite man prone to unexpected bouts of violent temper.  

Inspired by the Cottingley Fairies photographs
A re-imagined collection by Mayfifth1935
[April 2020]

Childhood doll collection photographed in and around my home town

Our next fairy victims were a father and son and my association with them began round 25 years ago with a particularly fruitful visit to Hay-on-Wye's collection of second-hand book shops. It was the cover that drew me to The Doyle Diary: The Last Great Conan Doyle Mystery, written by Michael Baker [1978]; a scratchy sketch of a bearded Edwardian gentleman shaking hands with Death, drawn as a skeleton, carrying a giant scythe and wearing a very becoming bridal veil. 

My copy of The Doyle Diary by Michael Baker
[1978] published by Paddington Press [U.K.] Ltd

The book is actually about Charles Altamont Doyle [1832-1893] who is best known as father of Arthur Conan Doyle [creator of Sherlock Holmes]. Charles was an illustrator and painter of fairies as was his brother Richard [Dickie] Doyle. The difference between the two brothers was was that Dickie became very successful but Charles suffered with crippling alcoholism that eventually lead to incarceration in the Sunnyside Clinic at  Royal Montrose Lunatic Asylum in Edinburgh sometime around 1885. While there, his health worsened and he began to suffer epileptic seizures and sank into a deep depression. But, he also continued to paint and filled numerous diaries with illustrations of peculiar and fantastical creatures. The images are enchanting and unnerving, miniature demons giggle and slither about on twisted limbs bothering tiny ladies who take refuge in branches and hide behind giant birds. However beautiful, the diary is bleak, exuding hopelessness and loneliness. The illustrations are captioned with little messages to his wife and protestations of his sanity. Sadly [like Dadd], he never made it home and died alone from a fit during the night in 1893. 

The Doyle Diary contains a complete reproduction of one of the Sunnyside Clinic diaries of Charles Altamont Doyle [circa1885]
I have copied a selection of the figures, re-coloured them and added moth wings
Mayfifth1935 [April 2020]


The Doyle Diary contains a complete reproduction of one of the Sunnyside Clinic diaries of Charles Altamont Doyle [circa1885]
I have copied a selection of the figures, re-coloured them and added moth wings 
Mayfifth1935 [April 2020]

Arthur Conan Doyle was one of Charles Doyle's seven children, famous during his own lifetime for his creation of Sherlock Holmes but also infamous for his misguided belief in the Cottingley Fairy photographs hoax during the 1920s. The hoax centered around two little girls, Elsie Wright and Frances Griffiths, who claimed they'd taken photographs of genuine fairies in their home town of Cottingley, Yorkshire. Conan Doyle already had a deep belief in the after-life and spiritualism since he had lost his son during WWI. Therefore it is no surprise that when shown the photographs, in a moment of madness he not only publicly announced to the world his belief in their validity but also published an article in The Strand Magazine and wrote a book titled The Coming of the Fairies. Doyle also arranged for Theosophical Society member Edward Gardner [who had introduced him to the photographs] to visit the girls at home in the hope that he might also bear witness to their story. Gardner kept a diary of his visits and went on to publish several books on the subject. 

One of Edward Gardner's Cottingley diaries 
Flat-lay arrangement of an imaginary find using personal ephemera, a notebook made from vintage paper and pressed flowers
By Mayfifth1935 [June 2020]


The public backlash began immediately and Conan Doyle especially received the lion's share of ridicule due to his association with Sherlock Holmes's famous logical reasoning. It is hard to imagining how Doyle and his fellow believers might have felt during their plummet from euphoria [Doyle called the photographs "an epoch making event"] to being the butt of jokes and caricatured in cruel cartoons. In this story, there was no murder or madness but Doyle and Gardner must surely have been heartbroken. However, as far as we can tell, the hoax did not alter their otherworldly beliefs as they both continued to write on the subject. Moreover, if you read about the hoax, there appears to have been no malicious intention. It was most likely a joke meant only to be have been shared within the family. Within the correspondence of both Elsie and Frances there is a sincere sense of embarrassment and guilt at the ridicule heaped on Conan Doyle and certainly no crowing at having "got one over" on such a famous intellectual. This story is one of profound sadness and regret. 

In conclusion and a final thought. Just because these photographs were staged, does it mean absolutely that fairies do not exist? Of course we know this not to be true and the following question has occurred to me. Might the fairies regret not having come to the aid of Doyle and Gardner? By showing themselves to the world they could have vindicated our heroes and things would have been very different. But here, we come to another question, can fairies even feel regret? Do they have any concept of right and wrong? This conjecture however, is for another conversation so I leave you now with the culmination of this portfolio. A poem that imagines a hazy summer evening and a little band of fairies who fondly remember these devotees with a sorrowful reverence.

Fairy Voices

💔

Walking through a meadow near the end of day

I once saw a fairy troupe engaged in dance and play

Like little dolls in foreign dress cavorting all around

Their tiny sing song voices made a strange and haunting sound

I strained to hear of what they sang and thought they chanted names

Of those who fell under the spell of twisted fairy games

One was a ghost who painted them while locked in Montrose Royal

A frail and frightened broken man who hoped his name was Doyle

For Richard Dadd they wept and raged, a cursed and awful man

Who killed his father, lost his mind and lived inside Bedlam

 Of Arthur Rackham’s spindly sprites and winged angels fair

They sang of how he painted them as spirits of the air

They sang of summer days at play with Francis and Elsie

Upon wet rocks and lichened oaks at secret Cottingley

 Of Conan Doyle and Gardner they spoke in whispered awe

Regretting all the lies and shame for now and ever more

💔

Poem by Mayfifth1935


Inspired by the Cottingley Fairies photographs
A re-imagined collection by Mayfifth1935
[April 2020]

Childhood doll collection photographed in and around my home town


Inspired by the Cottingley Fairies photographs
A re-imagined collection by Mayfifth1935
[April 2020]


Inspired by the Cottingley Fairies photographs
A re-imagined collection by Mayfifth1935
[April 2020]


As mentioned above, this post has been created to showcase my recent fairy related art portfolio. Therefore, as good blog posts shouldn't ramble on, I've only presented the very bare bones of these artist's stories. If you wish to learn more please use the hyperlinks over the names, these will take you to their Wikipedia entries. 

Below is an interesting link telling Dadd's story in more detail:

Below is a link to a blog post by Monster Brains on Charles Altamont Doyle and includes an image of [in my opinion] his most profoundly sad and beautiful painting, The Spirits of the Prisoners, 1885 [ghosts and fairies flying around Montrose Asylum in the moonlight]: 


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Friday, 16 February 2018

A year in review 2017

I don't do review posts but, January has been so long and dire, this is an exercise in thinking more positively. It turns out that my year was pretty good, creativity-wise a tad slow to begin with but rather wonderful towards the end. The main thing is that writing this post made me happy, looking back over holidays and family events and choosing what photos to include really lifted my spirits. Hope you enjoy reading it.

We begin with April and a wonderful holiday to the South of France to stay with my sister and my niece. They live in a tiny little village nestled at the foot of the Alps, right on the coast between Monaco and the Italian border. This exceptionally beautiful place has been a regular destination for me since my sister moved there way back in 1984 and it always works wonders on the soul. This holiday was no exception, especially as the weather was great.

Carnoles, South of France


Tropical St Ives! I'm on the left
During May two notable events occurred, the first being that I dropped a day in work. This had been on my mind for ages and for a number of reasons, but mostly I felt it was time to alter my work life balance. I love my job as a museum librarian, but I've been doing it for many years and felt I needed a little tweak. Reducing the work hours so as to enable more time for art and craft, and all artistic endeavours that contribute to my well being. I miss the extra money but it was the right decision!

The second event was another lovely holiday, this time to St Ives in Cornwall. We always take a trip around May 5th to celebrate my late father's birthday [Mayfifth1935 <3], and we've had some wonderful trips since we began this in 2008. The weather was a challenge [to say the least] but we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.



St Ives, Cornwall

Let's skip forward to August and the birth of my Great Niece, Juliette! She might just be the most beautiful baby in the history of all babies and the absolute light of my life. I took this photo in December when she was already six months old - she spent the holiday season laughing, delighting everyone with little squeaky dolphin noises and loved nothing more than wriggling and rolling about on the floor.


Juliette

In September, I was once again in the South of France and spent my birthday at the Oceanographic Museum of Monaco - this place is AMAZING and one day is nowhere long enough to explore its magical galleries, but I've visited a few times now so just look in on my favourites. We were really lucky this time to catch the Borderline   exhibition by French artist Phillipe Pasqua, his sculptures were placed within museum's historic maritime galleries but this magnificent silver beast was up on the roof!


Phillipe Pasqua - photograph taken by Hanna Ounis

 
Monaco Port 03/09/2017
 
 
Now we come to the first of two events concerning my artistic endeavours of which I am so very proud. In October, I had two photographs accepted for an exhibition at the SHO Gallery in Cardiff. It was called The F Word and the brief was for artists to create pieces of work relating to fashion through a choice of decades. Being a child of the 1970s, I chose this decade and I had already photographed a collection of my childhood toys [portfolio here], so had an idea of what to create. I re-photographed a collection of dolls from the portfolio  that were dressed in national costume; these 'dolls of the world' were very popular at this time and evoke a very special childhood memory.
In the early to mid 70s, my family would gather around the television every year to watch the Miss World competitions and one of our favourite sections was when the contestants paraded in their own national costume. However, to me as an adult, these dolls now represent two very  conflicting emotions; an uncomfortable acknowledgement of male domination in a  world  of absurd political incorrectness and also a very comforting childhood memory [to illustrate this further, during this time, I received a  Top of the Pops LP every Christmas - now just Google some images of these circa 1970s and you'll get my drift].
 
My entries for The F Word; I was very proud to be a part of this exhibition.

Verona [Dolls of the World as Beauty Queens] October 2017

Sienna, Alassio and Verona [Dolls of the World as Beauty Queens] October 2017

The second event was having one of my poems and some artwork published in the very last issue of  Thistle Magazine . This lovely publication and I go back a long way, they've published some of my work and I've collaborated with them, supplying images. The Design Director, Erin Fassinger, has always been very kind and supportive and so I was thrilled when not only did they publish my Symphony poem in their last ever issue, but they published it on the very last page! Thistle issues have always been havens of artistic whimsy and their pages bursting with creative talent. You can still purchase all the issues via their website. I don't know yet what future plans the Thistle team has but I wish them every luck and look forward to seeing where their creative aspirations take them.



 
I wrote two other poems during the year, a romantic Valentine inspired love poem titled  The Vow and the darkly horrific Welcome to Salem, inspired by the Salem witch trials of 1692-93 [and the recent tv series]. I also handmade a book of my poetry - I wanted an aged look to the pages so printed text onto tracing paper and then immersed it into coffee [I always use coffee than rather tea]. It's amazing the effect that water has on tracing paper, it makes it hard and crinkly and the coffee tint turns it "old" - just perfect for the book. The blue covers were recycled office folders and the doll portrait you might recognise from my SHO Gallery photographs. This was my first artist's book and I definitely intend to make more. I have lots of ideas!
 




 
During December I had a table at the festive extravaganza that is the Oh So Crafty Christmas Market organized annually by Chapter Arts Centre. I did these regularly up till a few years ago and it was lovely to do one again - online sales are great but nothing compares to you standing behind a table of your own craft and people telling you how wonderful they think it is and asking you questions and really engaging. I absolutely loved it and will sign up to do more throughout this year. 
 
Another reason I especially enjoyed doing the Christmas market was that my sister Heidi had a table next to me. She does weird and wonderful botanical things creating terrariums and selling them along with plants and cacti she grows herself, always with a quirky slant. During the summer months she also sells home grown vegetables from her own allotment. She sells under the name of The Little Newport Kitchen Garden and you can follower her on Twitter and Facebook.
 
 
So there we have it, a whistle stop tour through my year. What does 2018 hold? Well, so far, it's not been great, a challenging January, a nasty cold that developed a few days ago, and driving into the back of a Land Rover on the M4 yesterday [no-one hurt thank God but my little car is a write off]. Then again... it's not been all bad, I've already had a sneaky weekend at Disney Land Paris and it was fantastic and it snowed!
 
I hope you enjoyed reading this post - one of my resolutions for this year is to post more regularly - so watch this space <3
 
Taking shelter from a blizzard outside Ratatouille's Restaurant at Disney Land Paris 06/02/18

Disney Land Paris 06/02/18
 
 
All photographs taken by the author [unless  otherwise stated] and Copyright Mayfifth1935 Designs

Saturday, 9 April 2016

Lilith

Step closer human child, lean in so you can hear me. I dwell within this little doll, so no-one else can see me.
 I am monster, demon, goddess, witch, with a soul as black as darkest pitch.
I lived as a queen for a thousand years, in a glorious reign of blood and tears.
 I have flown though the night on ravens' wings, commanding a legion of darkest things.

 I died at the hands of the righteous and proud, burned at the stake in a scarlet shroud.
Long have I slept in the realms of the dead, with rats at my feet and snakes at my head.

But now my time is come again, to hypnotise the hearts of men.
So I require a living host, and you are the one I love the most.
Step closer human child, lean in so you can hear me...

Poem and photograph copyright of Mayfifth1935 Designs

Black hearted beauties

 
Monday's child has a heart of black

Tuesday's child will never come back

Wednesday's child killed the dog

Thursday's child died lost in the fog

Friday's child died of fright

Saturday's child ran into the night

Sunday's child surpassed them all, luring souls to their deaths with a Siren's call
 
 
Poem and photographs copyright Mayfifth1935 Designs