She-She

I finished making my doll this week. It has been the catalyst and tangible expression for so much change. It is definitely one of those things where the nexus between what is real and what is true has become so deeply entwined there is no telling what is what at this stage.

In one of the first sessions with my therapist, where we were exploring what might be possible for me, at the end I said that I thought it might be important for me to make a shrine to honour myself and a spell to express and affirm myself. It was one of those moments where the me I tend to keep hidden came spilling out. I expect if you’re into that kind of thing (which it very much and increasingly appears that I am), it was the entire point of the session and the universe/my unconscious mind was taking care of me and making sure what needed to happen, happened.

I had previous form with shrine making. Last year, I made a shrine in honour of Joe Lycett and submitted it to the R.A. Summer Exhibition. It didn’t get chosen. It didn’t matter. It’s in storage, waiting for me to get back to the grand plan I had for it before I submitted it.

When I started thinking about my shrine/spell I couldn’t get to grips with what it might be. Joe’s shrine started off as a small bathroom cupboard but when I started haunting junk shops I couldn’t find the thing that sparked my imagination for my own shrine. I parked the idea and tried to ignore my chattering monkey mind telling me I had failed. Then, weeks later came the doll and the realisation when I had finished her, that she was my shrine. In her case, it was very important that I didn’t put her inside a box or behind doors. No bathroom cabinets for her.

As for the spell, well - that’s this newsletter. It’s a writing of myself into being without the need to make myself entertaining or palatable or dial back on the weirdness that might put people off. It’s a writing without the need to check subscriber numbers or reach. It’s just writing because I must.

I think that last time I wrote about the doll I had just finished her dress. Since then I have made her a long sleeved t-shirt, some socks, some shoes, a coat and bag and a blanket. She needed layers. We all do. We need aspects of ourselves that are not always visible to everyone but which we can take off and put on as we choose. On a different level, I made her all the things I would have wanted her to have when I was a child. Symbolically this seemed important, to honour little me and give her what she needed and didn’t get. It made physically real the promise that I can and will take care of the little girl inside me. It is safe for her to grow up now.

Her face was super hard to make. I had three attempts at it and the third attempt was final, not because I was happy about it but because if I fiddled around with it anymore, her skin would fall off. It seemed true for my actual face as well as my doll face. Her mouth needed to be open because she has to have the ability to speak. It’s difficult to make an open mouth not look weird and in the second iteration she looked like a sex doll rather than an emancipated woman who can speak her mind. I spent quite a few hours staring at her mouth, which was a mildly trippy experience and surprisingly uncomfortable. The best I can say about her face is that it’s acceptable to me. Again, something I think about my own face on the daily.

Her hair is a different matter. Most of the last day of making was spent on her hair. I wanted it to represent her thoughts and ideas and dreams. I stitched all kinds of things into it, a small bird, a silver cloud, flowers and quite a bit of The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole Aged 13 and 3/4 because Adrian is one of my spirit guides. Also it was important to represent Leicester as the place of my first becoming. I also stitched some feathers into her hair, for flight and shamanic rituals and also as a nod to Dumbo and Timothy mouse.

The last thing I did was to fill her pockets and her bag with important things. These are the totems for my shrine of self. My Blue Peter badge, a Little My badge (another of my spirit guides along with Adrian), a hag stone, an egg for becoming, a fortune from a fortune cookie (today you will uncover a big secret), tiny tarot cards, small books, some money, tiny toasted cheese sandwiches, flowers for growth, a mirror to remind her of who she is and reflect what she wants to see. There is a small Moomintroll for the first book I read that made me think about complicated, grown up feelings (Moominvalley in November)

The final, most important item is a comfort blanket. A comfort blanket was my most treasured possession as a child. Apparently, when I was only a few weeks old I would pull my cot blanket up over my face all the time. My mum thought I would suffocate and kept pulling it down, but I persisted and it became the first of many blankets, which as a child I called my she-she.

I still have a comfort blanket. I used to be ashamed of it and for a few years I weaned myself off of having one. Then I realised that I didn’t want to wean myself off of something that made me feel safe and nurtured and gave me comfort and that wouldn’t hurt me. I am sure that it has kept me sane where other things have failed. Without it, I don’t know where I would be. It’s the thing I would save first in a fire after my people. It is the most magical thing I own. It’s the closest thing I will ever get to the manifestation of my soul. So I made a version for my doll and stitched my name into it. It feels like the last stitching of the shadow to my person.

What does it all mean?

Firstly it means that I made something that I dreamed of. I took the thoughts and manifested them as a real, tangible thing that belongs to me. I did something I told myself was not possible for me. I proved to myself that I can do impossible things. That’s a pretty strong spell, right there.

I made art. I created something that has no practical purpose but which gave me great joy and incredible amounts of satisfaction. I will enter it into the R.A. Summer Exhibition. It won’t get chosen because it is scrappy and pieced together and it’s what gate keeper type people would call craft rather than art, but it deserves to be considered as art so it’s going in. It’s a statement of intent and belonging and it’s important to stand up and be counted in places where I may not be welcomed.

It’s art that’s made from things that people discard, from torn things and valueless things, from things that belong to women. It’s art that flies under the radar. It’s a representation of what women do daily, they make magic from ordinary things. They make art in ways that don’t look like art. Chicken soup, bread, quilts, gardens, their faces, their clothes, cushions, curtains and homes. All these things are art and magic both.

It’s a symbol of intent towards myself. It’s about integration and spending time on things that matter to me and which are important to me, regardless of whether they are important to or appreciated by other people. I made myself for myself.

I love her. And because she is me, I made a way to love myself, which is far, far harder than it has any right to be.