Illustration Collaborations with ECA Students: Part 2

In a series of posts, we are delighted to share the artworks that third year Edinburgh College of Art illustration students created in response to texts by our Citizen Writing Group.

Marnie McCallum

It must be 1967

for the sums to add up

Sammy is 77-years old

with nothing on his mind

except breathing

and a shortage of breath

--------

Fumbling

through his jacket pockets

Sammy finds

a small leather box

slowly lifts out

a crack-mouthed

Hohner harmonica

kisses it

-------

Xiang Meng

a tap tapping

against his palm

he makes his first sounds

interrupting his

blow

and draw

with half-controlled coughing

xxthe xworldlovesa xxgoodtune

embdyxx kensthat

Sammy glances

a tired grin

towards Big Tam

xx memberthis bigxx man

-------

Andy Shen

cradles the instrument

makes spittle

starts to play an air

a melody breathing

through autumn birdsong

------

through the greenish yellow

the choking cloud

through fearful moments

between prayers

and the opening of the valves

***

Lucy Stewart

Sensory Nerves and Their Landscape by Nandini Sen

Poetry cannot escape when the man smelt

the perfume on my dress and an accidental sprinkle on my hair.

The set of flowers in the vase were brittle and unkempt

black bananas were howling in the fruit bowl

To support a fortnight of quarrel between the man and her wife.

Even at the age of 15 the son cannot forget the softness of the mom’s sari

He goes to the pub, the hungry ‘he’ swallows the fish and chips

Thought to squash them with his usual coffee

After a while a pint of beer smoothed the morsels down.

He couldn’t bear the pub fight anymore; the man emptied the whole ashtray on him and vomits all over his expensive Nike pair.

Lucy Parker

Neighbours took him to the Bengali festival of Durga Puja

Intoxicated drummers were wild in their thunderous beats,

Eyes closed; arms covered in red clothes; songs became chilly

the sounds took him to the childhood where he fled with a drummer though came back the very next day. I still remember

we chased each other into the river,

the river turned into a red rope or a green snake; who knows?

Ate aubergine. He bled, we bled. Dragged and gagged Durga and her children into the river. We had ice creams after the sandstorm calmed down. The eyes of the goddess and her children became black. She bit her lower lip and sighed furiously. Durga and her children were upset and lost their trust in the human beings. They were mimicking human shouting and yelling and rushed to the kitchen. Windows became dark with grief and concern.

Something heavy plunged past. And it landed with a crash in the church yard.

Katherine Chen

We were surrounded by the Scottish fog which couldn’t be removed by the piercing praying sounds from the conch shells blown by the fancy red dolls.

The beautiful church and the vicar gave us shelter in his office.

The humming birds fluttered and we had a proper dinner conversation

reviving our stillness and order. Perhaps a deathly silence!

***

Anna Bonsignorio

Nourish by Marjory Taylor

It has been one of those mornings, starting with sleeping in and missing an appointment, and after a few other minor mishaps, culminating in a doorstep rampage from a woman trying to persuade me to join her religious sect to save my soul.

I am now sitting on a bench watching the sea lapping onto the shore. I think of all my ancestors looking at this same sea and in its unchanging ebbing and flowing, I am convinced that just by watching it and listening to the swish of the waves, they would have felt their souls being nourished, just as mine is.

Seth Statham

Shuxuan Zhang

***

Mariam Tovmasyan

Soundscapes in a Magical Estate by Olivia Begbie

High pitched shrieks followed by a cacophony of giggles pierce the calm serenity of the estate. I feel my face smile as the childish laughter continues – wave after wave of innocent happiness sweeping over the sturdy wall of the Weehailes playpark. A protective high girdle of stone surrounding adventurous growing minds and bodies all noisily bursting with fun. More whoops of delight as someone slides along the squeaking zipline.

“It’s my turn”, yelled a huge voice. ‘How do such little children have the capacity to break every known decibel record?’

Then a rasping, grumpy car horn toots on a nearby road in the real world. Harsh engine revving and screeching tyres shatter the magic. ‘Well, someone’s not happy’.

Andy Shen

Golden leaves crunch beneath our heavy boots as we scuff through them, throwing up nectar like dust, as we chuckle and dance . We feel like extras in The Wizard of Oz  and start to sing Follow the Yellow Brick Road, Follow the Yellow Brick Road over and over. Soundless dying autumn foliage drifts  in amber clouds around us, gently detaching from high treetops as a quietly swooshing breeze passes by.

There are other sounds all around us as we walk deeper under the wonderful rustling canopy above our heads . Creaking, gnarled ivy covered branches. An amazing harmonious natural acapella of birdsong. The contented barking of a large pale blond retriever bounding and splashing in the shallow, glistening, little stream. ‘ Now I know you are happy’, I think to myself. ‘Just please don’t come and shake yourself all over me’.

My granddaughter is sure she can hear the fairies playing under a large prickly holly bush as we retrace our steps through the centuries old woodland. ‘Why not? Anything is possible in this special world?’

This is where I am happy.  An enchanting, magical place which refreshes my soul each time I am here. Where sounds and nature are amplified, nurturing and seeping into me. They prepare me once again to face the harsh realities and noises of the world outside these walls. And then I think, - ‘ but which actually is the real world?’

Kate Granholm

***

Aner Wang

The Final Conversation by Julia Graves

When you were dying, I

told jokes, bounced the air

like a balloon. Hid

the pain, no point

in dwelling. Some days

I travelled in that grey

elevator, full of strangers

and mum, fighting back tears

thinking I can’t do this. Couldn’t

be that person making light

conversation about suffering

and football scores. What did I

know about suffering and football?

Yutong Lu

Then after you died, I continued

to fill your shoes, making jolly

conversation, playing fast and lose

with truth. My partner noticed

how I was around my mum: different,

lighter, on the same page. Because

Ally McKay

the unstoppable trait to cheer-up the world

is written in my DNA. The unstoppable trait to joke

about death - when it scares me shitless -

is hard-wired within me. This is our way

of coping.

Katherine Chen

***

Lucy Keegan

The Royal Mile – A Soundscape by Dave Pickering

Stepping off the bus on George IV Bridge I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the challenge ahead. My final destination was just a short five minute walk away, but this is Edinburgh at Festival time – and this is the Royal Mile.

Thousands upon thousands of shrill voices, everyone shouting but no-one can hear a thing. Pushing, shoving, stumbling, apologizing, swearing … and rising above it all, the unmistakable skirl of the pipes.

I’m sure the tune was supposed to be Highland Cathedral, but this was no religious experience. This was the piper from Hell.

Marnie McCallum

What seemed like hours later (although it was only minutes, to be honest) I reached the blessed sanctuary of a bar – an empty bar.

Maggie didn’t have to ask what I wanted to drink and started to pour my pint in silence. The only sound was the gentle splash as my glass was filled.

Away in the distance I could just make out the strains of Scotland The Brave. But only just. It could have been a thousand miles away.

Yaxuan Wang

***

The Unwelcome Visitor by Maureen Baker

There was a scrapping noise coming from the chimney as I entered the room. Small particles of soot and debris fell onto the hearth. There must be something up there, but I quickly left the room and closed the door.

As the day progressed I decided to go back and investigate. I heard nothing, so switched on the TV. This prompted the scrapping, and more bits tumbled down the chimney. Was the noise from the TV frightening whatever was trapped in there? I quickly left the room, closing the door tightly behind me. Luckily my grandson was at home, so he got himself kitted out in combat gear Goggles, in case the unknown went for his eyes, large gauntlets in case it tore his hands when he grabbed it.

Flora Luckman

By now it was evident that it was a bird. Somehow it had managed to find its way down the chimney and was flying frantically around the room, occasionally bashing itself against the window in a bid for escape. The door was opened slowly and the rescue began. The crow was quite distressed by now, not realising that the rescuer was equally petrified. I was in the hallway and could hear the explicits followed by a calming voice as the crow continued flying around the room.

Finally the two co-operated and the crow was caught in a large towel. There was no struggle and soon the crow was released outside and flew off to freedom. They say crows recognise human faces, so I hope this one is kind to us in the future. Some would say a crow is a sign of death… surely not in this instance. Another theory is that a life change or time of transition is ahead… that is more appealing to me, as long as it is a change for the better.

Whatever… the crow is now free to join its murder of crows and life goes on. Since that experience I have often seen crows sitting on the chimney pots and wonder if one of them is the one that invaded my living space.

Frantiska Jiraskova

***

Miranda Li

I Can Sing A Rainbow by Patricia Clifford

It was four o’clock when Alexa sounded her alarm and Pat walked over to the living room window. Hoping the rain had gone off and the wind had died down a bit, she was disappointed. Still, the dog had to be walked.

Harvey got slowly off the couch and ambled, tail down, into the hall. His fate was sealed. Torn away from the TV and his favourite spot, snuggling into his Dad for his afternoon nap, he held out each paw for his dog coat to be put on.

The weather, as both dog and Pat had expected, was still horrible but what else can you expect in February. The rain was cold and hard and the wind blew sharply against this intrepid pair. Heads down, they traipsed along the road towards the old railway path.

Pat let Harvey off the lead and he romped off into the grassy clumps, tail up and wagging as he explored each and every scent. While slowly and cautiously, Pat walked along the muddy path, side stepping the bigger puddles and hopping over the smaller ones. Harvey ran over to her to check in and collect a treat and then scampered back to doggy heaven up in the rough grassland.

The railway embankment protected them from the rawness of the wind and gradually the rain faded and the sky lightened.

“A rainbow” whispered Pat to herself as she looked up. “I love rainbows.”

The arch stretched from Corstorphine Hill on her left way into the distance over towards the Blackford Hills. Its colours were clear and bright.

Lucy Parker

Red and Orange blended hazily into yellowish green and blue and then into a smooth glow of indigo and violet. Pat narrowed her eyes and tried to separate the colours, checking them off with the rhyme she had learned at school: Richard of Orange…

A chorus of children singing softly began to drift into Pat’s mind and she saw herself back in the Infant class sitting cross legged on the floor with her classmates as Miss McKay strummed on her guitar and sang smiling in front of them.

Red and yellow and pink and green
Purple and orange and blue sang the children.

Pat felt warm inside and she closed her eyes. She was five, sitting next to her best pal Margaret. Inhaling the purity of genuine childhood happiness, tears formed in Pat’s eyes.

Listen with your eyes
Listen with your ears
And sing everything you see sang the children.

Pat relaxed as a warm radiance came over her. She was standing at the back of the class now watching herself and the other children sing happily about the Rainbow. And she began to soak in the sights and sounds of her classroom; the alphabet on the wall; paintings hanging from a washing line across the room; her reading book lying open on her desk: The Red Shoes.

Red and yellow and pink and green
Purple and orange and blue
I can sing a rainbow
Sing a rainbow
Sing a rainbow too sang the children.

The muddy path led Pat and Harvey to the main road and the end of their walk.

The intrepid pair walked down the hill towards home flanked by a gaggle of busses and cars and lorries. Pat glanced back over her shoulder.

The coloured arch was still there glowing.

I can sing a rainbow
Sing a rainbow
Sing a rainbow too she sang.

Erin Cuthbert

***

We are extremely grateful to the Third Year Illustration students at Edinburgh College of Art, and Harvey Dingwall for making this collaboration possible. The Citizen Writing Group is part of Citizen, our flagship communities project which is supported by players of People’s Postcode Lottery and through the PLACE Programme (funded by the Scottish Government, City of Edinburgh Council, and the Edinburgh Festivals, and supported and administered by Creative Scotland).