an analogy of events 2007-2008

“Goodbye Martin”

Ritchie stared across the flickering sea of green, speckled with golden slivers of the late autumn sun to where his younger brother stood alone. Long shafts of gold twinkled and sparkled as the tall vertical boughs of the poplar and alder swayed and stood witness in the faltering embers of the day.

“Is today our last?” pondered Ritchie nestling into his brothers embracing shadow.

“How has it come to this?

I am older more, decrepit, I’m almost falling apart at the seams but yet it is you”

He gazed until the alder reached up and ate the sun and the last embrace faltered “how many more sunsets my friend?” he wondered.

Ritchie and Martin were sort of brothers who had barely spoken in years. They kept each other in sight whilst always remaining apart.Different in appearance, but built for the same purpose .Filled constantly with the noise and laughter from over a thousand aspiring minds. Two proud old men with a million two minute memories that make the cup overflow.

“How will I cope my brother? I cannot do this on my own” with bitter sobs he yielded and the crumpling crescendo of loss settled over him like fine dust. He tried to explain, make his brother see but all he could muster was “goodbye”

“Goodbye” Martin

 “Don’t fret brother- I’m prepared, I’m o.k.-it will happen to us all it’s a fact of life” Martin wanted to find the comforting words that should embrace and reassure his grieving brother.

The older brother, with whom he had never spoken, embraced or reassured in his entire life. They looked different, had different mannerisms and had different stories to tell but underneath it all they were both Dixon. The distance had always been there between them but now it was too late. To be side by side with Ritchie would have be an honour, to hold hands in the final moments a gift from above.

They’re coming and he knew what for- it was his time and whilst he had always known this time would come it scared him.

“Will it be quick?”

“Please don’t let Ritchie see”

“Will it hurt?”

“WHY ME?”

“I must be strong, I must be strong, I must be strong” he gently whispered over and over as he watched the last long lick of shadow flash across Ritchie.

The emergency work they had both recently undergone propelled new air through their aging veins but to no avail. For martin it was a thin veneer that was soon to be smashed along with his very being. There was nothing more that could be done and like a mask, Martin wore the acceptance of the end with grace and professionalism, whilst inside he crumbled and tried to reason with goodbye.

the five stage process

The Count-October 15^th 2007-11^th November 2008

A boy picks up a stone and carries the stone to a pond; this takes one year and twenty six days. At times the stone feels heavier at times uncomfortable until it becomes impossible to cling to. An audience gathers near to the pond from the day the stone is picked up and intermittently until the last day. As time goes  by certain audience members attend at differing frequencies and arguments, words ,feelings begin to fester and bubble.

Pathway -Sunday 9^th November 2008-11^th November 2008

The boy arrives near to the lake two and a half days early but the stone has taken its toll. The audience check the time and arguments increase. Strangers take the boy by the feet and drag him for the last two and a half days. Different audience members perform different tasks such as washing the boy who is now naked and soiled, barely holding the stone.

 

Goodbye- Monday 10^th November 10.30 a.m.

An audience is now gathered around the pond hunched down, talking in hushed tone, some pacing but all gazing at the boy. There is silence apart from the laboured breaths and the involountary flapping when the boy cannot take laboured breaths. One audience member softly approaches the boy and places a gentle kiss on his clammy brow “I’m sorry dad but I’ve got to go-Jenny’s losing the baby –I’ll be up in a few days-love you, goodbye”. The boy does not recognise the audience member and they exchange blank looks. The person leaves whilst the rest of the audience watch suspiciously.

Loss -Tuesday 11^th November 8.40 a.m.

At the correct time the boy sits up and adjusts the stone in his hand. Without a words or ceremony the stone is cast into the centre of the pond and the moment is frozen. The boy stands up to take in the audience, almost as if to soak up the stares and wear them like clothing. Something draws his attention away from the tableau and no longer weighed down by the stone he leaves the pond and the audience behind.

Resonance -Tuesday 11^th November 8.40 a.m.-the present

The stone hits the water in slow motion sending out one then two then three concentric waves which gradually make their way across the surface of the pond breaking and foaming. For 9 days the circular waves emit from the point of entry .

The pond is still creating waves but now they are smaller and the audience has reduced to 3 who themselves are only present at irregular intervals one more than most.

The ripples are increasing as the anniversary draws near but the waves have no breakers just gentle humps that murmur

Remembering Frank Sidebottom

Celebrity and loss
Icons for Icons
the Jesus effect 

Frank died on the 21st june 2010

Frank Sidebottom made me remember home.

Frank Sidebottom made me remember what home was

Francis made me remember me and you then

Frank made me forget what home is

Sidey got me into trouble

Sidebottom is becoming a metaphor for something

else.

Ive decided to blog the journal which maps what has happened since June. my favourite clip is manchester medley

Monday June 21st

I first saw news of Frank’s death on Mon. 21^st June (the day he died) after reading a friends tribute on face book. Over the next few days I recognised some of the emotions I felt after my father’s death, the numbness, urge to do something or get busy and the need for information. Both events are totally unrelated I only met Frank a handful of times and never really kept up any interest and I had kept in touch with my dad regularly. They both died of cancer and they both made me laugh I suppose I was fond of them both in different ways. Frank will be buried at Altrincham Crematorium, the same country field where my dad lies.
Mark radcliffes tribute.

Franks funeral

Why would Frank Sidebottom’s death affect me at all? I’m a 37 year old dad of 3 for God’s sake!

He was after all not real, a man in a mask who kept his identity secret till he died. I’ve been scouring the internet for days to try and affiliate myself with the countless tributes and personal stories of fans trying to understand the loss of Frank. I’ve listed many common attributes fans have associated with memories of Frank.

1. humour-surreal, based on his appearance and references to Timperley
2. personal touch-would talk and give time to anyone
3. devotion to fans-spent his life entertaining and making art for his fans
4. talented artist-characters based around Max Fleischer cartoons, created his own genre.
5. local-Never left Timperley or changed or aged, always 35

I’m jealous of their history with frank and I feel like I should have been more of a fan. Now that he has gone I want contact with him. I want to try and explain all the feelings I cannot explain, the reasons why he was so great. How frank affected me! I adapted W H Audens poem and posted it on his website later that night.

www.franksworld.co.uk/wordpress/?p=375#comments

160for little frank

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent Little frank from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the casio and with madchester shuffling drum

Bring out the coffin, let the northerners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message Big Frank Is Dead,

Put Alty Robins bows round the white necks of the scruffy

doves,

Let the footy stewards wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my North, and my Look NorthWest,

My chuckling week and my Sunday jest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that Big Frank would last for ever: I was wrong.

The popstars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Cave in the papier mache head and eat the last currant bun;

Pour away Timperly and sweep up Broomwood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Franks Fantastic Farewell July 8^th 2010

I couldn’t, not go. I had missed the last twenty years of his performances. I had been poring over reviews and video footage of Frank and had decided he was to be the catalyst for my last year of art.

I was going home- not to see my dad  –but to say goodbye.

My journey from altrincham to timperley on the way to castlefield

I missed so many moments of family and friends events whilst living in the midlands; I suppose I felt guilty for not being there. Attending Franks send off might exonerate some of it

I thought I would have some sort of epiphany at his memorial; all of a sudden Frank would be resurrected and come to me in a vision. This did not happen. It happened later.
James H reeves tribute.

Doubting Frank 10.12p.m. July 8^th 2010

It was really bizarre-too much of a coincidence to let pass. I left the farewell just before the end (I travelled all that way and left early?). I’d wanted to recreate some going to town magic so I’d parked the car in Alty and got the tram up to the G-Mex.I’d left early to escape the finality of goodbye, the emptiness of letting go.  The night became Henry Lamb’s “Death of a peasant” the exact moment when Frank would exhale for the last time.

Timperley station after the brick

Anyway between Brookland Station and Timperley station, some unknown vandal lobbed a brick at the tram, shattering the glass door closest to me. All passengers were forced off the tram at Timperley station and had to wait 15 minutes for a replacement to turn up.

Was it the spectre of Frank resurrected throwing half bricks at all those daring to miss the farewell finale?Or the now lost and lonely little Frank, running amok in the Timperley ghetto?

Reflecting on goodbye

It didn’t resolve things. I still didn’t have a clue what I was expecting to happen, some announcement about the next event? Or how to cope with a loss that shouldn’t register?. It felt like the end of the party, the end of a film that you only caught the end of. I was unsatisfied. If Frank was there he would have got off the stage started a conga and kept it going well into the small hours.

I felt the same at my dad’s funeral. Not wanting people to leave, as if all the people there combined to make up all the parts of my missing dad. Feeling proud and strong ,surrounded by stories and memories which all began to dissipate as taxi’s arrived and the music ended. Empty paper plates and buffet detritus mirroring the void that now lay ahead.

People shuffle on

Don’t they realise he’s gone

5000 people file out

“He’s still dead” I shout

What happened to the memories the loss?

The funeral, crowd and collective

Death is instant

And loss is subjective

The Gospel according to me, Mallorca July 23^rd

I needed to tell people, explain about Frank and his ways- is this how the disciples kicked off? Were they so upset at the big man taking the fall that they needed to spout off in every taverna from Jerusalem to Jericho about what he did and his little puppet?

in the words of John the Baptist "Fuck it! They will hear my shite" . An immense sense of Northernness had descended over my middle-aged midland form. The family holiday had somehow become a Timperley crusade.

Castles made of sand 25^th july

I needed a talking point, something to draw the crowd and after some deliberation came to the conclusion of collaboration. Kids. I managed to borrow some spades from a French family and set about “Sand FranKcisco” and within half an hour had a united nations of under 9’s helping on the sculpture. As we worked I spoke his name and did the voice until on que, 8 European under 9’s were quite familiar with the terms

·         Bobbins

·         Fantastic

·         Timperley

Frank Angel  29^th July Magaluf

I wanted a henna Tattoo but they weren’t open at 3.00a.m. in Magaluf . This was the point I should have realised that Frank had become a problem.

The Resurrection-Iconising Frank July 6th-present

Why i can't look
How are people remembered? in song, poetry,verse,image,? i found the physical act of making ,an act of rememberence, the outcome became irrelevant.Frank had become a metaphor for my own coping mechanism with loss. I'm not ready to remember what i've lost, i don't want to look at how things were. i know, and i am not ready to remember.By attaching these emotions to the loss of someone else i can cope with loss.


frank ed 1

frank ed 1 and body

waheey



hand of frank1

Michael Pinchbeck Long and winding Rd

Pinchbeck uses performance and interactive means to explain the loss of his brother, using objects and journeys as metaphor.His later work "Sit with me and remember" and " the post show party show" also deal with memory and loss.

Loss memorials
the park bench has long commemorated and been dedicated to the lives of ordinary people.

bench memorial in Warley woods

Roadside memorials

ghost bikes are an american idea about commemorating the lives and pinpointing the places where people were killed in cycle accidents.
Roadsign memorials
Surrey county council has given advice about the pros and cons of roadside memorials

Roadpeace
have been set up by victims of road fatalaties to help the bereaved .they have road  plaques that they believe should be able to be placed at fatal crash spots.

Facebook
without this online tool and the various groups about frank much of my industry would not have been encouraged and shared.i joined
Franks fantastic funeral, lets get a statue of Frank Sidebottom in Timperley and Frankophilia

i was able to see how Franks demise was being dealt with by thousands of others. It spurred me on.

Lets get a statue of Frank Sidebottom in Timperley

Is a group of people who have developed ideas for Frank’s memorial. An artist Colin Spotforth is now in the stages of making a bronze sculpture for franks home town. I was also in the process of making my own statue when another group materialised Frankophilia- an exhibition of Frank fan art. I’ll have that I thought and like a scene from “close encounters of a third kind” proceeded to once again ignore work and family commitments to pursue artistic pleasure.

Blow up

Frank 1, my first attempt at unabashed fandom celebrated franks great arms out pose, I also had one eye on Jesus type arms out pose. It blew up in the kiln and no amount of araldite would put the pieces back. I still believe it was the technicians sabotage ( a Shuttleworth fan).

Time Team 

what would people make of Frank in the future? How could his greatness be recognised when all traces of him have gone? the relics and icons from christianity heavily influenced the finish of my work and the inebriated joy exuded from Time team helped formulate how the sculpture should be exhibited-underground.

Out of the flames rose a phoenix , and GEO frank was born. I’d been looking at the Greek and Roman figurative sculpture especially those massive pieces of Emperor Constantine in Italy. Huge and slightly caricatured, they both appealed to my machismo SCALE and HUMOUR.

A friend had been banging on about geocaching for ages and it came to me in a stella haze.

·         Bury the pieces of Frank

·         Geotag the position

·         Announce a Frank Geo cache day

·         Let the Geo cachers resurrect Frank

·         Let the geocachers reassemble Frank at a nearby gallery

·         Let the process of finding and doing connect with peoples own experience of loss.

·         Spread the gospel of Frank according to Shaw

this is still a maybe and needs a lot more thought and organising.

Blow up 2

i decided to try another Frank sculpture-although GEO frank was a possibility i was still unsure with the ethics- hes only been gone 5 months and i'm ready to bury him and dig him up again.

i wanted to show frank on a modern memorial. the road sign

watch this frank