Words. I have too many of them. I have little of significance to say in relation to myself this week. But the urge, (which I believe is an Irish condition), to spill them out nevertheless, remains with me. This week has been about making money. Workshops, schoolwork – my own work has totally taken a back seat in order to pay the bills, but it is never far from my mind. Amidst the flurry of a busy schedule a Facebook message popped into my e-mail, ‘So sorry…, so shocked…’. Matthew Miller, co-director of Fabrica, an old fellow studio member from my days at Red herring had died suddenly. I clicked on his name. There was a Twitter message from just a day or two ago, it was a cold wet day and Matthew was busy lighting a fire.
Technology, Facebook, Twitter has altered so much for us. When my mother died I found a message on my mobile phone, her voice, like nothing had changed, remained for two weeks or so, reminding me to make sure that the children were warm enough in the snowy weather, I listened to it every day then one day, without warning, it was gone.
Matthew – with his message on Twitter – a moment caught in time – so poignant in it’s ordinariness.
Some years ago when I returned to making work, I began to look up old contacts, names I had worked with, to link up again perhaps. I was thrilled to find an artist friend, with some wonderful photos of his hugely accomplished work, much evolved from his early years. But the Facebook entries, so full of exhibitions, friends, events, stopped abruptly on a certain day. Nothing more was added. And further research confirmed sadly, what the unfinished page said without words.
My studio is full of many bits and pieces, scraps of this and that, items destined to become part of works that may never be realised. One such item is a folder which I keep in a special drawer. It is the carers record of the daily visits to my mother, ‘Took Mrs Francis to the toilet, put back to bed, helped Mrs Francis get dressed… etc etc’ lists and lists of dates, until the last entry and the page, left blank, beyond.
Matthew will be remembered for the wonderful contribution he made to the visual arts in Brighton and beyond. Each day more and more Facebook notifications pour into my e-mail, as people update the page in his memory. Matthew, however, in addition to all his creative abilities, had that very special quality, he was a quiet, thoughtful man and he knew when words weren’t needed.
