FALSE SPRING
(Ongoing)
I will never know the Winter of 1964 nor its blizzard that killed the girl. I know only of mild Winters with little snow. When reading the entries from my grandmother’s diaries, there is a distance not only in time but place. How can that be? I stand on the same soil that my father farmed, and his mother, and her father before. Yet, the diary speaks of a place that I barely recognise.
Due to rising global temperatures the stable seasons are shifting. By the end of the century, they will be unrecognisable to the standards of today. I aim to work with the traces of inter-generational memory (of both human and non-human organisms) to construct an account of what was, what is and what will be.
Due to rising global temperatures the stable seasons are shifting. By the end of the century, they will be unrecognisable to the standards of today. I aim to work with the traces of inter-generational memory (of both human and non-human organisms) to construct an account of what was, what is and what will be.
20.01.1960: Frost, deep snow everywhere only possible to walk on the roads in Mastrick. Girl lost in Blizzard.
20.03.1960: George and I went up to the hills but the clouds came down, v. cold.
29.03.1960: Glorious day - sunshine at last. “I feel like flying if I had wings”.
30.03.1960: Lovely day. Crocuses wonderful.
03.05.1960: Warmer, trying to rain all day.
07.05.1962: Horrible fog to the door.
16.05.1963: Fine growy showers.
25.06.1963: Glorious Day.
25.06.1963: Perfect Day.
19.10.1964: Garden still full of colour.
23.10.1964: Terrific gales, ships in trouble, great battle with clothes lines.
