Tag Archives: zoom workshop

September Workshop with Seamus Kelly

Our September workshop will be held at Touchstones on Thursday 2nd September between two and four

 

Seamus is calling the workshop

 

The Vanity of  Small Differences

 

and it is based around the Grayson Perry exhibition currently at Touchstones.

you are all welcome to attend in person and we will also be Zooming the workshop at the same time. Secretary Val will send details of the Zoom log in later this week to all members. If you are not a member of TCWG but would like to join us via Zoom send me a message here

Ray Stearn, Chair, Touchstones Creative Writing Group

Response to Painting by Kathleen Proctor

 

 Response to Painting

Interior in Standgarde : Sunlght on the Floor by Vilhelm Hammershoi

 I sit at my desk, about to begin writing the letter that I know will affect my life.            The sun streams in through the window but its warmth cannot touch me.                        My heart is cold and I know that what I am about to do is unforgivable. Yet it has to be, it is inevitable now, I cannot turn back, cannot do the right thing.                                 So, I close my mind to the consequences of my actions, to all the hurt I am about to unleash on someone who deserves better, better than me, someone who can feel sympathy, not this empty vessel that I have become.                                                            Guilt is my permanent companion but this is my choice, my decision, my doing.                                         I pick up the pen and begin to write.

 Response to  Painting “Six Tailors” by  Lubaina Hamid

It was booked as a Creative Craft session, the first in the Rehabilitation Programme devised by the powers that be to make sure that all the government boxes were ticked and signed off.It was only open to those with a record of good behaviour or in reality those who were astute enough to give the illusion of being amenable, and ready to embrace change, of which I was one I was adept at subterfuge, knew the right noises  to make, said all the right things, toed their line.                                                       Actually it was popular only because it afforded us an hour out of our cell, we had nothing to lose. We were resentful when we saw the task, we were completely unused to this activity This was  not Man’s work!                                                                                  We expected to saw or hammer or use our strength, not this mindless waste of our strength or abilities. We were clumsy, useless, unable to follow simple instructions, could not cut out a simple shape or thread a needle, we were not made for delicate tasks.

We were hard, powerful men, now reduced to sheer incompetence, being unable even to thread a simple needle.                                                                                                             I fail every time. I do not like it. My fingers itch.                                                                 The scissors tempt me; they are sharp, lethal and well within my reach.

 Response to Painting “The Jungle” by  Wilfredo Lam.

The Faces stare at me. I try to look away but I am mesmerised, forced to watch.

They are mocking me, laughing, I cannot bear the raucous sound they are making, taunting and deriding me.                                                                                                            I close my eyes but the imprint is etched on my brain, menacing, grimacing, contorted.

They move closer in unison, threatening, hostile, weapons clenched, waiting to be unleased on to my defenceless feeble body.

The outlines merge, become fused, a congealed mass of vicious intent.

I can no longer function, I am annihilated. Obliterated, reduced to nothing.

I close my mind and await the end.

©Kathleen Proctor 13th August 2021

 

 

 

Bommy Poems and Prose, Bonfire Night, November 5th 2020, Bonfire Night Memories by Val J. Chapman

Our regular Zoom workshop replaces the physical meeting at Touchstones and takes place on the first Thursday of the month between 2-4. This month it fell on November 5th so we had to write about Guy Fawkes’ Night, Bonfire Night, call it what you will. What I loved about facilitating this session was the marvellous memories we all brought back, I’m sure there’s a book to be had from this!

Val sent in her poem for our enjoyment.

Chairman Ray

 

 

Bonfire Night Memories

 

The excitement of the 5th November approaching surrounded us, at our young age, along with the anticipation of being allowed to go to buy fireworks at the local shop (they all sold them in those days).

For weeks now the bonfires would have been growing and growing in height and size, until they were tall enough to throw a Guy Fawkes on the top. He would also have been getting fatter and fatter over the last weeks of October, his old clothes being stuffed with hay or straw, and always with an old hat on his head. And prior to being thrown on the bonfire, kids would have been dragging him through the streets in a wheelbarrow shouting ‘Penny for the Guy!’ for a bit of pocket money.

Mum would make treacle toffee and Parkin which would be shared with our neighbours at the communal bonfire.

Dressed in warm, waterproof clothes, with wellies or substantial shoes, we’d take our torches and walk down to the already lighted bonfire on the corner where everyone from the surrounding streets would congregate. There was an atmosphere of smoky excitement, of lights and warmth and community spirit.

We all had sparklers and would wave them around to create writing against the dark skies.

All the young boys seemed to love the bangers best though, and the noisy Rip Raps which I hated; they scared me when they leapt along the ground in different directions, as if they were chasing me.

But the best was the baked potatoes which were cooked at the base of the bonfire in the hottest of the glowing embers. They burnt your hands when you held them, even through the knitted gloves that we wore.

But what remains sharpest in my memory is the smell of the gunpowder from the fireworks and the haze of the smoke which often hung around for days afterwards in the misty November skies.

© Val J. Chapman  5th November 2020

Bommy Poems and Prose, November 5th 2020, The Catherine Wheel by Val J. Chapman

 

Our regular Zoom workshop replaces the physical meeting at Touchstones and takes place on the first Thursday of the month between 2-4. This month it fell on November 5th so we had to write about Guy Fawkes’ Night, Bonfire Night, call it what you will. What I loved about facilitating this session was the marvellous memories we all brought back, I’m sure there’s a book to be had from this!

Val sent in her poem for our enjoyment.

Chairman Ray

The Catherine Wheel

 

It flies and crackles with sparks and light

Its colours whirring and blending in flight

It’s a circular wheel with a central pin

And when it’s lit it will start to spin

Gaining momentum, it sparkles and flies

Sending sparks into space and light to the skies

 

© Val J. Chapman 5th November 2020