Contexts


Poetry by L.E. Bowman: The Evolution of a Girl 

L.E. Bowman’s writing is raw and honest: it feels fearless. It’s how I feel when making visual artwork but not always when I write: I want to write bravely. I’ve dabbled in it, thus far. I try to be honest and have started to recognize when I am still trying to hide in the writing. Often, the hiding happens behind rhyme schemes. There is something in solving the word puzzle to make a rhyme and say the thing I want to that produces a particular satisfaction but saps the emotion out of it. The writing becomes more practical and about clever word use rather than emotion. I enjoy making rhymes, but mine lack the weight of feeling. Releasing myself from the rhyming structure, the words began to emote again, though I began wondering if that was allowed: was it valid to follow your own internal thought rhythm and call it poetry? I hadn’t read much poetry prior to the MA course. If I had, I think the answer to that question would have been obvious. I have read a fair amount of poetry this year, and sometimes it is difficult and I can’t find the beat, but Bowman’s rhythm feels familiar, which helps me believe the validity of my own: her words have allowed me to be freer.

Below are some poems from L.E. Bowman’s The Evolution of a Girl. I have almost every page of the book tagged, so it was difficult to narrow down what to share, but these are a few, of many, that strike me deeply.


Bowman, L.E. (2019) The evolution of a girl. Burbank, CA: Black Castle Media Group.

Excerpt from L.E. Bowman's The Evolution of a Girl (2019, p. 139) 

Excerpt from L.E. Bowman's The Evolution of a Girl (2019, p. 211)

Excerpt from L.E. Bowman's The Evolution of a Girl (2019, p. 174)


Artist Lindsey Mendick: Brutal Honesty

Lindsey Mendick has a history of making art that tackles very personal subject matter. I enjoy her work, but the influence I bring into my own comes from her practice of brutal honesty and her self reflection on why she is so open. My subject matter is personal and difficult as well, but there is a need to share, whether it be for exorcism or to find community. I have a fear of being known but also a great need for it. As I am smothering fear in order to share, I’ve always thought of the sharing as an aggressive act: a challenge or interrogation. It is those things, but that’s not all it is. Lindsey Mendick speaks about her honesty as a kind of protection (Judah, 2022). Mendick says, “If everyone feels you’re being honest about one thing then you can keep the real darkness at bay,” (Judah, 2022). The honesty is a bit of a misdirect: it keeps eyes and questions away from other things that aren’t yet ready for the light of day. This led me to considering my own practice and how I protect myself. There are ways I protect myself in my poetry, noted above, and ways I protect myself in my visual artwork. Some devices used are mythology and culturally prevalent symbolism from those stories. I’ve also fallen away from very literal narrative, letting the audience find the thread and probe in a much gentler fashion. Their investigation puts more distance between us: they have more time for investigation to reach the heart of it on their own, without me placing it directly in their hands. 

This idea of honesty as protection came into my scope as I was in the beginning stages of building the mask. This is a piece heavily about protection: protection for me, the griever, and for those I interact with. A mask that obscures the view from within and without, protecting, and sometimes harming: holding in the beautiful and damaging shards that are yet too sharp for the world.


Judah, H. (2022) 'I burned all my relationships in the kiln': Lindsey Mendick's courageous, confessional ceramics. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2022/aug/11/lindsey-mendick-ceramics-new-show-women (Accessed: 10 October 2024).

Image:  Nyland, L. (2022) Lindsey Mendick. Available at:https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2022/aug/11/lindsey-mendick-ceramics-new-show-women (Accessed: 4 November 2024).


The Bleeding Tree by Hollie Starling and Evolving Context

This book has been with me since Unit 1. It was a catalyst for multiple artworks such as Unit 1’s 8 Day Vigil: 9 years, 37 years, 70 years, context here, and Unit 2’s How Monstrous if I Healed

How Monstrous if I Healed was inspired by a passage in the book wherein Starling equates the feelings of grief and loss to that of losing a limb (Starling, 2023). The passage describes the tradition of a community in Fiji that required the amputation of a finger when a leader passed (Starling, 2023). I discuss that particular passage in detail as a Unit 2 context, but I revisit it here because How Monstrous if I Healed birthed the severed finger as a symbol that continues through my glass pieces at present.

The Bleeding Tree has had a cascading influence on my practice: one work heavily influenced per unit, until Unit 3, where the severed glass finger rules the day. Only one artwork from Unit 3 doesn’t feature the severed finger design and every glass work does. The more work I make, the more the symbol becomes my own, but its origins will always be with The Bleeding Tree.

Starling, H. (2023) The bleeding tree: a pathway through grief guided by forests, folk tales and the ritual year. London: Rider, an imprint of Ebury Publishing.


Recurring Songs

Though I didn’t heavily use specific playlists for each work in Unit 3, only for The Toll, I did often revisit old ones while I constructed the glass works. I’ve been vaguely aware that certain songs follow me from piece to piece, but I hadn’t made a conscious inquiry into which ones and why those. Scrolling through the list, one song references the illness of a loved one. Three are about death, comforting air. Another is bittersweet, about a past love and who the artist is now: it’s easy to shift a love song into the grief space. The rest run the gambit of anger and mental health. The overall mix feels like my grief has felt: maybe a bit random as it sings the listener through grief, anger, anxiety, and acceptance. This is what I want my practice and the resulting work to look like: each moment and emotion and thought given its space to speak and be felt. Each having their role and all necessary to make the whole and tell the story. 


Death Masks

The death mask functioned as a way to preserve the visage of the dead, originally as an artistic rendering, instead of a mould, that served as, “ protective armour that could help the deceased to navigate the afterlife or ward off evil spirits,” (Gorvett, 2024, para. 4). There are a number of funeral traditions that are meant to guide or protect the dead, but what of the living? I certainly wore a psychological mask at my mother’s funeral, dissociating so my worst pain wasn’t on display to the public. The loss of a loved one is traumatic enough without the force of tradition and societal expectation demanding more vulnerability and the public exposure of your worst wounds. To navigate the world after loss, I’ve needed armour.


Gorvett, Z. (2024) The lost art of the death mask. Available at: https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20240209-the-lost-art-of-the-death-mask (Accessed: 3 October 2024).

Using Format