The initial plan for my residency was to go through video footage, images and writing pieces that I accumulated since the last time I made a film.

Finding these images I’m sharing today immediately changed the tone of what I needed to say.

I don’t feel like I can do the “welcome to my blog” thing for this; it’s too abstract, too sad, too intimate. So I recorded audio instead of writing the image description, and there is a transcript for it below too.

Transcript:

Hi. So I want to talk about these images that I’m posting. I selected them in… I selected them on Tuesday and then was at a loss, I didn’t know what to write, what image description to write… that is not boring. What kind of context to give to it, or what introduction to give to it.  Because these photos are the photos I took in November 2019 in Ventspils, Latvia, where my grandparents live, and that was the last time that I visited them – I was a complete emotional mess. And none of the words seemed right, so I’m recording this audio now.  So those of you who are just here for matter of fact description, let me do it first. There are three photographs. They are in landscape orientation mode and, and these images show sand. Just sand, what else can I say, but very particular sand, obviously, it’s the Baltic Sea beach. The sand is very light in colour, almost off-white. You… The image shows this interesting pattern on the surface, it shows thin kind of lines created by the wind: very long, thin, wobbly lines quite close to each other. And then it shows footsteps in the sand like sole imprints, that are more rough. Like while the pattern created by the wind is very gentle, as if you know the sand was stroked in this gentle way. The imprints, the sole imprints are obviously like more rough and deeper. There are also like little pebbles of different colours kind of scattered around the images. They’re mostly medium shot. One of them is kind of like a long, longer shot. One is more of a close up, and it maybe makes me think a teeny tiny bit of the surface of the moon. You know that patchy quality of it. But yeah, when I saw this image, the thing that came to my mind was, Oh my God, this is kind of my DNA like the DNA of my perception of the world, the DNA of my perception of beauty, my understanding of what home feels like. It is a very quintessential element of growing up by the sea in that particular place. And also, it’s quite stunning in maybe a quiet, more reserved way. But that’s me talking about the place itself, not necessarily about what these photographs would convey to other people. 

Being sick with COVID kinda ended up being the perfect time to explore the thing I’m doing for Videotage – having a go at creating an intervention for their Leave Your Body realm in Minecraft.

I’ve been struggling with falling asleep for more than a year, and whenever I get sick I secretly hope that falling asleep will become easy at least for a while – it never does. So feeling poorly, unable to sleep and very bored, I tried my first build.

I never played Minecraft before, it took me a couple of tries and a couple of random YouTube tutorials to get the hang of the most basic things.

The game was fun and quite calming, it required the perfect level of engagement and effort for somebody lying sick in bed. I loved doing a bit of math to figure out the scale of what I wanted to do, and then thoroughly enjoyed the repetition of placing a block after block next to each other. it drew me in. Tiny repetitive tasks can be a source of calm to neurodivergent bodies.

I don’t know if Videotage had things like disability and dissociation in mind when they named the project Leave Your Body, but being disabled, we get a lot of reasons to want to leave our bodies so it all really connects for me.

I decided to recreate my bedside table but massive like a tall building. The bedside table was nearby, quite pleasant in shape, basically contained my life in it, and maybe by now, it is an established subject matter in Disability Arts iconography?

As with the current semi-lock down in Hong Kong, just as in most other lock downs, people develop an inexplicable bubbling primal urge for greenery and sunlight. So this last weekend my partner and I took our poodle to do a short hike on Hong Kong’s outlying Lamma Island.

Although I had seen it before, I somehow completely forgot about this sizeable man-made hole in the hillside along the hiking route, that dated back to the Japanese occupation (1941 – 1945). It is said that this cave was used to hide boats ladened with explosives that would have been launched into unsuspecting enemy ships. There is a small stainless steel plaque near the cave describing it as a “kamikaze grotto” along with some information. However, I have found some speculation on if the caves were ever in use or if the boats and their operators were intended to be sacrificial.

In thinking about the city’s relationship with the subterranean this instance is unique in that it supports a larger historical narrative and also takes on the significance of a landmark. What is essentially an empty hole, contains within it so much thick tension through the power of absence. Somehow it manages to be a very “heavy hole”

To assist in thinking about this I found this quote from Underland: A Deep Time Journey by Robert Macfarlane:

“We all carry trace fossils within us – the marks that the dead and the missed leave behind. Handwriting on an envelope; the wear on a wooden step left by footfall; the memory of a familiar gesture by someone gone, repeated so often it has worn its own groove in both air and mind: these are trace fossils too. Sometimes, in fact, all that is left behind by loss is trace – and sometimes empty volume can be easier to hold in the heart than presence itself.”

Hello, I am Jess Starns and here is a bit about my studio. My creative process is participatory, collaborative, and inclusive with a focus on social history (mostly Brighton’s history), disability and neurodiversity. It is also multidisciplinary, with materials and approach informed by the theme of the project. I am always interested in learning about new tools to create art that I find accessible and can use to collaborate with others. I like creating art with others that doesn’t feel like you are creating art.

I studied the Inclusive Arts Practice MA at the University of Brighton and this has had a big impact on my practice. Some of my biggest influencers are the Hove cinematographers, Sister Corita Kent and Lee Miller. I enjoy darkroom printing and even though it’s not a huge part of my practice currently, I have been doing so since I was about four years old.

During the residency I am looking forward to developing my creative practice and finding new ways of working whilst exploring the residency theme ‘environmentalism’.  Please free to look around my studio, and send me a message in the comments section below. Enjoy
looking around! Jess.

Hi

Today is the first day of my residency with Vital Capacities and Both Sides Now. So I thought I’d post some pictures of soil – for things to grow. I said it before but when the virtual studio’s layout doesn’t remind me of Tumblr themes, it reminds me of a garden patch.

Devil’s dykes’ past performer Rosa Farber explained to me that the soil on their family’s vegetable farm is a very very special kind. It is rich in all those minerals that I can’t recall but that sounded important, making that soil a sort of miracle. I know very little but I could sense its power. I am holding the image of the soil’s rich heavy potency in my mind.

Below are two photos of the actual soil, and my first proper attempt at recording an audio description. Digging your fingers in the soil you can find nearby is a valid and great alternative to my rambling.

somehow

the chair was never an obstacle

instead

it was a way of breaking the ice

many friendships that grew

in that little cul-de-sac

from movie nights

to girls playing with their skipping ropes

always complaining about who should do the skipping

without me minding

that I couldn’t do the jumping

these conversations

and games happened so organically

with ease, no one ever made a fuss

about the chair

(other than the times they fought to play in it)

we would play, just get on with things

with and without the chair One of the all-time faves was Hide and Seek.

I grew up in a community where everyone

knew each other.  For the first 6 years of my life

I was an only child, living with both parents

and the only friends I had and knew

were the ones from school

and cousins.

At the age of 7

we moved to a new home

still in the same area

everyone who moved into the new community

around the same time

none of the homes had fencing

yet most days, I’d spend in the house

and occasionally on the outside kitchen porch

with the kitchen door wide open and mum always busy cooking up something nice

I’ve never known what it means to be bound

bound to this chair, if anything

 it’s given me the most incredible ability

the ability to move, the ability to live life,

the ability to experience the world.

When I think of my chair I think

of all the incredible things

I’ve been able to do with it, as a result of it.  

when going places, or viewing apartments

over the years, I have never mentioned before the time

that I use a wheelchair:

I somehow always forget

to mention it feeling it to be unimportant.

The scared and shocked faces!

Most close friends now joke about, and say

‘dude did you tell them you’re coming with an extra?’

At times when going out, everyone would

get into the car and ask

‘What are we waiting for?’ and I’d say

‘For one of you to put the chair in the boot!’

In my childhood,

I felt safe, with my chair

and my environment

and people in my life

my family never allowing any self-pity

but that was in South Africa with its

imbalances, across race, culture, language,

disability is perhaps the most overlooked.

I only experienced discrimination

later in life, feeling the weight and smack

of discrimination hitting me

but I could withstand the blows

I remember the day –

16th of August –

one of my wheels came off.

Some screws came lose,

got lost and it fell off

as I was wheeling myself.

in that very moment

I burst out with laughter thinking

screw loose laughter, hilarious. Oh shit!

Yet somehow feeling safe and held,

having learned long ago how to handle

my chair, suddenly in that moment

conforming to society’s idea that I am stuck

and bound and cannot move around

which isn’t the case, when

I have my screws in place,

Which isn’t how I feel about my chair at all.   

My brakes who at times fail me

yet have always been in reach

when I need to stop

and be still. 

The handles, that have made it okay

for others to reach out and come up close

I have learnt that your presence

will always fill the rooms we enter

and that that is not

a bad thing.  I have learnt

that we are one and you are not the other. 

My wheels, gliding me

through wherever I need to be,

uneven roads, uphill, rough streets,

moving-me-keeping-me-moving.

my back rest has taught me

not to slouch, to sit up straight

upright n’ ready to face the world

with confidence; the hard and strong frame

that has carried me through time

on the lightest and heaviest of days.

Sometimes unaware of its strength,

I know it’s always there to rely on.