Once Upon a Time | The National Literacy Trust

If I were to choose how I’d like to be described, alongside ‘photographer’, I would choose ‘storyteller. I don’t use this word lightly and I appreciate it has become more in vogue in recent years, adopted by many practitioners, researchers and artists. But for me, storytelling holds so much curiosity, possibility, connection and magic. This is what I enjoy and anticipate each time I hold up my camera.

A charity I’ve had the honour of working with over the past few years is the National Literacy Trust (NLT). The first time I was invited to photograph one of its events was very special. It was to celebrate a newly developed library at a local primary school. I unexpectedly felt a connection between me photographing a story about the day, which itself was themed around books and storytellers. I was able to show a part of an organisation dedicated to empowering people of all ages to improve their literacy skills.

Libraries for Primaries was founded in 2021 by the NLT, of which Her Majesty Queen Camilla is patron. The campaign brings together charities, publishers and businesses to address the lack of investment in primary school libraries, particularly in the UK’s most disadvantaged communities where one in four primary schools doesn’t have a library. By working within these schools, the NLT helps to give each child a voice in telling their own stories, in all kinds of ways.

It was at this first event that I learned I would also be photographing Queen Camilla. A high-profile event such as this means a high-profile calling of press photographers and journalists, ready to fast-track their images and words to news outlets ahead of the event finishing. As I lingered a few moments longer,

I saw not only a queen, with an impeccable demeanour, greeting and conversing with the school community, authors and dignitaries in her role as patron, but I also saw a mother and grandmother, whose face genuinely lit up when engaging with the children, recalling with them precious bedtime stories read with her own family.

At these school events I met my own family’s literary heroes: world-renowned authors such as Cressida Cowell of How to Train Your Dragon and Jeff Kinney of Diary of a Wimpy Kid, along with the inspiring Children’s Laureate of Wales (2021–23), poet Connor Allen. My mind filled with memories of bedtime stories with our teenaged daughter, when we’d put on voices and act out swooping dragons from these books. We read these classics on a night-time loop, until she was able to read them for herself.

And here I was at this event, reliving those magical early years of reading to her, through photographing some of the library spaces being created in these schools.

Reading is not just about receiving stories from the pages of a book. It can be expressed in so many other ways. I experienced this first hand recently when photographing a theatre group who collaborated with the children from a Swindon primary school. That wonderful phrase ‘from page to stage’ was brought to life as I watched them create a play from a storybook, interpreted their way. The room was filled with method actors making each character their own. All the while, they boosted each other’s morale throughout these sessions to the final performance.

Then there are the special, unplanned moments – like being introduced to the schools’ wellbeing dogs, and listening to children read passages of their favourite books to the very authors who have written them.

At each of these NLT events, I see storybooks spring into life. At the last one, this happened in the style of a game show in a south Wales valley primary school, hosted by none other than author and illustrator Jeff Kinney. He was en route to the Hay Festival where he was giving a talk, and had offered to spend the morning with a school close by. Fingers on the buzzers, amid shrieks of laughter, this became a quick round of Diary of a Wimpy Kid scenarios as teachers had to act out crazy scenes and test out their own book knowledge.

With the help of many cross-sector partners, the NLT has transformed 1,000 primary school libraries to date. Together with partner support, it has gifted hundreds of thousands of books. It means that children, like the ones I’ve met, get to read of mystical adventures in faraway lands, or discover characters within the pages of books who are not dissimilar to themselves. That is truly the magic of storytelling.

 

For more information about the Libraries For Primaries project and the charity's other collaborations, visit The National Literacy Trust

This story features in the Late Summer issue of Juno Magazine


For the love of dance | a day in the life of a show photographer

For The Love of Dance

Dear Jeanie’s mum, please make sure that you don’t forget  Frankie the Elephant for next week’s dance class, love from Miss Angela.

This was the note my daughter, then aged three, came out of her ballet class with, waving it at me with a look of defiance. Less than an hour before, she had gone into her lesson in floods of tears. You see, we’d rushed out of the house, leaving said toy elephant (her weekly dancing mascot) on the hall table.

Angel School of Dance was such a huge part of our lives for nearly 15 years. That note, handwritten in the moment by the dance school’s founder and principal, Miss Angela (as she is respectfully and affectionally called by her students) displays the fierce loyalty and protectiveness she has for dancers.

This was when I first realised how much she genuinely cares and values each of them, from
toddlers to adults, as if they are her own.

Over the years we took part in the most monumental dance shows. Which showcase the
talent and dedication of generations of dancers that have been through the school. More recently, I see dancing mothers performing in one number to be followed by their child dancer in the next – testimony to the nurturing ethos of Angel School of Dance.

The early days of these shows had me backstage with other parents, among the glitz and flurry of
speedy costume changes, the air filled with loud chatter, a hazy fog of hairspray and pre-show
nerves. Corridors of bustling tutus, little ones let loose to smear lashings of gold eye shadow
and red lipstick over each other.

I would be there, one hand helping my own little dancer into a Lycra zebra costume,
the other hand holding my camera, recording these behind-the-scene moments, not only for myself but for other parents as well.

The first time I was invited to photograph the performers on stage, as well as capturing these dressing room
stories, was in March 2020. It was there and then that we all felt the true meaning of ‘the show
must go on.’ The glitter and hairspray were matched with hand
sanitiser and scaled up hygiene.

Those early COVID-19 news items added a sobering veil to the usual sparkling
shenanigans of backstage excitement. The heightened consideration and camaraderie between the show team and dancers gave a never-truer reflection of the community spirit within this incredible dance school.

The show that followed was called From Now On and paid tribute to this time. As I ran around
between performances, trying to cover all angles and moments, I realised it
was my daughter’s dance next. I lowered my camera, suddenly feeling all kinds of emotions at
seeing her go up on her pointe shoes for the first time. This was her last dance show, as afterwards she decided to stop her dancing.

So here I am at this most recent show, with just one role – that of show photographer and no longer a dance mum

– staring in wonder at the talent across the ages of hundreds of dancers, the
many months of choreography, the pre-show laughter and tears around me and the beaming faces
as they step out onto the stage. I’m back with my dance family once more.

“Dear Miss Angela, I’m really sorry but I have to stop my dancing for now as I need to concentrate on my school exams. Thank you for all the years you have taught me and the great experiences I’ve had, love from Jeanie.”


The Visual Word | From Above the Surface

Poetry in Pictures

As an ACDC track played through the tiny tinny-sounding speaker of a smart phone, we danced
without care in a long-grassed meadow one late summer’s day. Spinning and swaying until giddy,
to the point of me not knowing where my movement ended and her’s began. With camera in hand,
I followed her in that moment and almost as default, we visually formed her words between us.

I’ve long been a believer in the magic of roots that grow and intertwine with some of the people that
I meet in life. Sharing and seeing the natural patterns that emerge with them and getting to explore
some of the places they, in turn, connect with.

Nicola Dellard-Lyle, mother and poet, became one such person when I met her and her family at a
wedding of mutual friends last summer. So when Nicola sent me a message several months later, I
felt more of that root grow. Her words read like this…

I’m writing the last lines of my first book of poetry, called From Above the Surface. It’s a collection
of poems I have written through, and out of, some difficult times I have experienced in motherhood.
It goes further back to some of the triggers and shadows from my past.
Even though I’ve been supported over the years, and I felt like I had healed, I have now found the
words to finally bring me back home. So each poem is a shot sent out from what felt like the
deepest dark. I hope it will resonate with those mothers out there who are struggling.

Weekly conversations began between us, with me realising that this was no one-stop photographic
brief. It was one that was sensitive, organic and fragile yet courageous. We talked a lot about
trees, the freedom of being above ground yet roots keeping us grounded. This was the beginning
of how our creative brief grew between us, to be able to feel our way into the right visuals to
honour her words.

As I read the through the collection of poems for the book, From Above the Surface, I can see
clearly how Nicola continues to draw her mothering wisdom from her seven year old son, Caleb.
In the time that I spent with them both, it touched me how important Caleb’s voice and ideas have
been in creating these photographs. He joined in all our planning conversations, as well as taking

part in the day itself. When he wasn’t featuring in the photos, he would stand at my side, quietly
observing and guiding his mother. And even through his joyful child-like play, I was left in no doubt
that he is wise beyond his young years.

I strongly feel that this most natural guidance in strength and growth that comes from our children,
begins before they are even born. It reminds me of the countless times I’ve quietly looked to my
own daughter for those next steps in how to be more me, as well as how to parent her through
challenging times.

The day with Caleb and Nicola was spent among the trees and meadows: our playground.

We explored woodland grottos, where we climbed and swung from branches. Danced barefoot,
spinning in circles and falling over into the long grasses. All the while, I was aware that this day in
nature’s own playground was very much their theatre stage and their direction. I was to simply be
an observing audience, recording and visualising her words.

As the day unravelled further, we became ever more excited in discovering more places to
photograph and play, and I felt profoundly honoured for the gifted
responsibility of breathing visual life into Nicola’s poetic journey of motherhood.

“I found a scrap of paper in a notebook only the other day, it was where I scrawled the first poem I
wrote ‘Return’, the first poem I wrote in a space of clarity after this difficult time.

This book and this journey has been a big healing process, and I now realise it
had been a turbulent time and I’d not been there in myself. I also now realise that I’m
back.”

 

Published in the Winter 2023 issue of JUNO Magazine

From Above the Surface is available from Nicola’s website HERE.


Seasons of Motherhood October 2023 | Adventuring Families

“The project grew from a desire to explore other people and their connection to the coastline.”

When Jez began his arts project, Coastline. He set out with a camera attached to his bike that he pushed beside him, as he filmed the entire sequence along the way. Drawing and tracing the physical border between land and sea, while recording the conversations with people he met along the way.

Jeanie was my little co-driver, as we navigated the remote and ‘un-satnavable places he’d end up in, meeting him with our cosy camper van, a hot drink and a wild family sleepover. It was home-from-home to her and we’d often find ourselves having our own adventures in those spaces of time inbetween.

The project took an unexpected pause after he completed all of Wales’ coastline and pretty much all the south coast of England. He had a cycle accident on the commute home from work one day and the years that followed saw him work so hard to regain physical and mental health.

He’s recently found fresh curiosity and new inspiration, to go back to the start of where he left off.

While I found this old photograph for a feature I’ve recently written called Family Adventures in the Autumn issue of JUNO Magazine. This one of her, curled up in the back of our camper van with Tiger, as her father off-loads his bike from a full day on the coastal path.

My little Team Vehicle Support mate, my partner in crime (in a more teen-kind of way these days).

This is Artifact Motherhood; a collaboration of artists and mothers from around the world, who have come together to share our stories of the joys and struggles of our journey. Through our writings and visual records, we want to create memories that are more than photographs with dates written on the back. These are the artefacts we are leaving behind for our children and for generations to come.

Next up in the blog circle is the talented artist, Kirsty Larmour


Learning Self Worth | Cyfannol Women's Aid Photographic Project

“I stamped the word ‘safe’ on the back of the bracelet, so that if I get scared I can rub my fingers over the letters and remember that I’m safe”

I am proud of myself. Five seemingly simple words we don’t often say and they are not heard often enough in our teenagers’ world. I make no secret of my own parenting challenges around raising a teenaged girl. Constantly scrambling around for the right words of encouragement and wisdom and regularly feeling like “ you just don’t get it mum.”

While I watched these five words, along with words like ‘safe’ being engraved on the inside of bracelets, made by girls of similar ages to my own daughter, I felt certain parallels in her life to theirs. But I also know that the dynamics of their family lives are so very different to her own.

“I sometimes get anxious so be having these words close to me it reminds me that I can achieve anything”

It was several years ago that I joined a Women’s Aid organisation to photograph some of the support services for women and children who have experienced domestic abuse. Watching these courageous women and their children become empowered as they began realising their self-worth has, without doubt, shaped my approach over the years to the relationships I witness and form within the communities I photograph. By seeking out the can do’s and the shall’s gives me a connection and a visual to the hope that I want to portray in my work.

So as the legacy of that project has continued over time, it was earlier this year that Cyfannol Women’s Aid asked me to make a series of photographs to illustrate some of its incredible support groups.

The first group I attended was a girls’ summer jewellery-making workshop, where they each created a silver bangle over a few weeks. With the talent and creative support of a local silversmith and the emotional and guiding support of the group facilitator, I watched as these bangles took on their layers of meaning and ownership. Holding each girl’s story as they wove them intrinsically and intentionally into beautifully crafted silver bangles.

It was in this space that we all got lost in the art of making, owning stories and celebrating them with their chosen words to remind them not only of their friendships and self worth, but that they also each created their own legacies that day.

“ I know there are many others like me, but everyone’s journey is different and that’s why I chose these words on my bracelet”

The gentle chinking of these letters being immortalised on these silver bangles, was the affirmation and daily reminder that the wearer is safe, that she is powerful and that she is proud of herself.

 


The Freedom of Art in Prison | A Photographic Workshop

The Freedom of Art in a Prison

Have a good weekend miss” he said as we left on that second Friday afternoon of our
photography workshop, “you too” I replied.

It then hit me, that these common exchanges of pleasantries I have with folk I meet most Fridays in
my day-to-day world, are now hanging with new meaning and a new perspective. Because his
weekend ahead looks very different to mine and with far fewer opportunities to make it truly feel
like ‘a good weekend.’ We looked at each other for a moment and didn’t state the obvious, my
apologetic smile for his feelings of incarceration spoke the words into that gap.

I have recently been part of an artists’ collaboration where we’ve delivered a series of workshops
to residents and staff at Parc Prison in South Wales. I always knew that the photographic element
of these workshops would likely be the most challenging to think up, set up and take inside a
prison, perhaps even the most contentious. Mainly due to the expected issues around clearance of
cameras and not being able to take in or out my memory cards. There is also the Prison’s brief to
consider, on what types of images can be shown, whilst adhering to anonymities outside the
prison’s walls.

This was already beginning to conflict with the very layers and processes of my artistic approach.
Which went on to gift me with new angles to find and to tell an authentic and more contemporary
way of documenting some the residents’ stories, as well as some of my own, during my time spent
at Parc.

So I chose to share my personal photographic project, Discarded With Honour with some of the
people living there. It’s a personal project that began in 2021, where I photographed the no-longer-
used objects of mine and others, in places that gave us a sense of connection with them, recalling
these objects’ stories. Sometimes, I’d get rid of the object, sometimes I would keep it, but let go of
feelings associated with it that were no longer helpful to me. Using this personal project was the
pivotal point in linking a photojournalism-styled workshop inside a prison, by giving voice to our
possessions to share some incredibly personal stories.

Some of the men who took part in these workshops were fathers themselves, though each
participant spoke of their family by using objects, owned or borrowed, to share and relay some
intimate stories, which in turn opened up discussions between us that held no boundaries. That
gave a freedom of speech they quite possibly wouldn’t of had within their daily lives behind bars.

Within the first half an hour, I realised that this was one of the most receptive group of people we
could have worked with. So I threw down my workshop notes and told them that we were going off-
piste, that they would now be leading this workshop. It was unexpected and rewarding and what
followed were the most incredible and honest conversations between us all.

These conversations were sparked by objects such as my daughter’s Gruffalo book, how one
father, Richard reminisced about reading this to his own children each night. How another
participant, Daniel shared some words from his journal, the only link he currently has between a life
before and a life right now.

I was surprised at how fiercely protective I became over the men’s photographs, even before
seeing them on screen. Like Tom’s handmade poker chip set, where he gave such thought and
intention about where to place it and photograph it within the limited access to space that we had
to show a connection as he wanted to. Like my daughter’s old bath toy duck, now named ‘Dave’ by
Lewis, who became innovative in the Media Centre’s library as we searched for books with pictures
of water to connect Dave with.

Dee, my co-workshop facilitator and I would talk about the images made that day on our drive
home each week. Describing every one them from memory and hoping that they would make the
cleared list. There was one instance where I found myself explaining to member of staff that I felt
anxious at their offer to crop out what I knew to be an integral part of one of my photographs,
because it displayed one of the men’s tattoos. It’s now that I understand the safeguarding reason
around this ruling of ‘no distinctive or identifiable markings’ and the conversation led to a solution of
me editing these images in-house alongside the men, who got the opportunity to take part in the
post-editing process.

By using Discarded With Honour as a stepping stone and inviting this group of men to take part,
gave us each an equal platform to share some intimate stories through our objects. It gave us each
a language to begin some honest conversations through the art of photography, giving full freedom
in those few hours. I hope we can continue with this project, sharing the freeing role that art and
creativity holds for even the most diverse of communities.

Creative Roots is a unique programme delivered by the artists’ collective, Das Clarks. Where the
programme inspired those living and working in confinement to explore creative freedom. With
sessions delivered on the residential wings of Parc Prison, Creative Roots involved an initial
foundation programme of creative exploration back in 2021. The foundation activity developed into
specialised sessions in print making, painting, photography and writing. The work featured in a
performance-based exhibition during May 2023 – one inside Parc Prison and the other open to the
public in Newport, South Wales. The artwork and performances were created by residents, staff
and the artists involved in the project.

Das Clarks are Gareth Clark, Marega Palser and Dee Rogers with Bill Chambers, Marion Cheung
and Jo Haycock.

Featured in the Late Summer 2023 issue of JUNO Magazine


Walking on Eggshells | Seasons of Motherhood

I’m learning to pause

and I’m learning to choose my battles. In fact, I’m learning to walk gently and
with intent across eggshells these days, as a mother to a teen.

We’re fast approaching the two-year mark of when I last held up my camera to photograph her
within our day-to-day family life, when she said “no photos please.” So this unplanned series of
self-portraiture carries on, with me continuing to photograph myself in the situations I see her in,
but she won’t let me. This photographic series has started to include me attempting to visualise a
few of my escapisms, from these constant eggshells I walk over, beside her, to constantly show
that I’m here.

Navigating a young person through school exams, along with some anxiety and self
consciousness, has me feeling all sorts of out of control during this tricky and intricate time. I find
that I’m having to learn super-quickly, from which pieces of my well-meaning advice are said out
loud, or whether I ask certain questions like which subjects she’s revising today; I’m often met with
an eye-rolled silence or various dramatic ways of saying “leave me alone.” I now try to rehearse
any motherly advice in my head a few times over before deciding if I should say them out loud.
Sometimes I have out-loud moments on the days that I drive her to school. It’s these precious car
journeys that have become important to us both. A time when we grab coffee and toast for the road
and get to align ourselves for that day ahead. But sometimes we don’t talk at all, we just turn up
the music and sing Glee soundtracks very loudly and it’s these moments I will always treasure.

When I start conversations about how proud I am of her, about how she’s navigating first-time
challenging situations in life her own way, I find myself explaining that I was never that smart and
aware as she is, when I was her age. I’m usually met with a response of “what is it with all the
inspirational speeches mum, and why do you squeeze them all into one car journey?”

I know I’m not alone, my teen-mum friends and I regularly confer, listen and commiserate in each
others’ stand-offs with our kids. All the while never losing hope that everything will make sense and
be more harmonious again. After all the day our babies were born, we gave them our hearts and
from that day onwards we’re right here sharing the highs and lows, for richer for poorer as the
saying goes.
With all the insightful parenting podcasts collectively listened to, the ‘I’ve been there myself’ blog
posts read, along with the dipping in and out of ‘you’ve got this’ styled-books, I have an unwavering
certainty without any of the aforementioned. Which is this; my grounding comes from our ever-
evolving relationship between a mother and daughter, and that how we navigate this time between
us will always be uniquely ours.

So choosing which conversations come from my thoughts to my mouth has become a finely tuned
art form. And as we sing along to that final Glee track before turning into the school gates, I glance
sideways and know that she’s going to be a force of nature in this world, she’s going to be just fine.

 

As featured in the Summer 2023 issue of Juno Magazine

This is Artifact Motherhood; a collaboration of artists and mothers from around the world, who have come together to share our stories of the joys and struggles of our journey. Through our writings and visual records, we want to create memories that are more than photographs with dates written on the back. These are the artefacts we are leaving behind for our children and for generations to come.

Next up in the blog circle is the talented artist,  Diana Hagues


RPS Women in Photography magazine feature

Nothing compounds the importance of keeping a space for the unexpected in my work than this – a simple hand towel. Used to wrap a precious ornament from my late-grandmother’s house after she had passed away.

It was this towel that still held the scent of her perfume when it arrived into my home. I tried to preserve the scent in a bag, held in a box and put into a drawer. A year later I pulled it out and the scent had gone.

Discarded With Honour began as a personal photographic project that is now shared with others. It is a growing collection of stories and images about the objects that came into our lives and that now no longer serve us. By giving them a ceremonial goodbye in this way, we get to remember and reconnect with them one last time.

I was invited to share some words and images about this project with the Royal Photographic Society’s Women in Photography magazine, WE ARE at the end of last year.

I am curious about the people I meet and I want to give them the chance to offer some gratitude and a visual legacy to the objects they no longer use yet they still hang on to. The communities I continue to share this project with through workshops and monthly contributions, will form a series of exhibitions and hopefully, one day, a book.

It’s these very possessions that we hang on to, that can sometimes trigger a sadness or frustration, rather than the joy with which they once came to us. But they tell the richest stories about us that we need to share.


Seasons of Motherhood January 2023 | A Game of Chess

What started as a now-and-then created photograph became so much more than a game of chess.

The years have rolled by from that original scene of a little girl playing a game of chess with her dad one Sunday morning. My inspiration to re-create that scene with me in it, had no more layers other than some symbolic connection to life’s choices and events… like moving chess pieces around the board. Though I felt so many more layers to this recreation the morning after, as I witnessed her stepping back and working her way through a true life challenging situation, how she turned it into something so great.

I could not be prouder and more in awe of her grace, true grit and determination, yet what makes me happier still, is that she feels this too.

J: “I actually did it”

Me:  “I always knew you could. I’m so proud of you, you must be proud of yourself too”

J:  “I am.”

Me: *lets a few happy tears of relief slip at today’s chosen chess move.

 

This is Artifact Motherhood; a collaboration of artists and mothers from around the world, who have come together to share our stories of the joys and struggles of our journey. Through our writings and visual records, we want to create memories that are more than photographs with dates written on the back. These are the artefacts we are leaving behind for our children and for generations to come.

Next up in the blog circle is the talented artist, Paige Rains


Seasons of Motherhood | The Dance Show October 2022

From now on

It was two days before the world closed its doors to a pandemic, yet the show went on. Now here we are two years later with the tribute titled show. From Now On was the last song played that evening in March 2020.

So much has happened in that time. The challenges and revelations, the slowing down and speeding up of life. Still that show goes on.This weekend you are one of 208 dancers treading the boards across this stage once more. I am photographing every dance, with as much back stage excitement and frenzied routine polishing as I can capture. Spreading myself across three vast dressing rooms from dancers aged three years and up, to both sides of the stage.

And then there is you.

 

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This is Artifact Motherhood; a collaboration of artists and mothers from around the world, who have come together to share our stories of the joys and struggles of our journey. Through our writings and visual records, we want to create memories that are more than photographs with dates written on the back. These are the artefacts we are leaving behind for our children and for generations to come.

This entry is the fifth in a series called “Seasons of Motherhood” and is meant to be one picture and one caption that represents our current journey/season of motherhood.

Please visit the next artist in our blog circle, the talented Jess Cheetham and continue through all the artists until you get back to me.

This weekend’s dance show is called From Now On, as it was the last performance from those years ago. The button has been reset, yet we cannot deny the lifetime of what these years have brought about. Why would we?