The Herring Lasses

By Martin Sercombe

Herring lasses with baskets of herring.

 

Herring lasses were groups of women who would travel the east coast of the United Kingdom from as far north as Aberdeen to as far south as Great Yarmouth, following herring as they migrated throughout the year.

Herring, sometimes called ‘silver darlings’‚ are a small fish that were caught in huge numbers in the North Sea from the eighteenth century right up until the mid twentieth century.

Over the course of the year, the herring migrated to new breeding grounds, so the best place to sail from to catch them would change depending on the time of year.

Men worked on trawler ships catching the herring, but on land, it was the women‚ whose job it was to preserve them. Because there was no refrigeration, when herring were caught, they needed to be salted, smoked or frozen quickly. The herring girls typically salted their catches.

Women worked in groups of three or four, gutting and salting, each group packing one barrel at a time. The women were paid depending on the amount of barrels they finished, so it paid to work fast.

The work was all outside, so it could be freezing cold in the winter. Standing in a quagmire of mud and fish guts (imagine the smell!), the women worked with sharp knives to gut the fish, which could cause injuries. It was also extremely tiring‚ as the women had to work for as long as it took to gut and salt the whole day’s catch, which could be up to fifteen hours a day.

Herrings were over-fished by 1960 and from 1977 to 1981 fishing herring in the North Sea was banned. When fishing resumed, the herring industry no longer existed.

Night is Paper

by Martin Sercombe and Thom Conroy

 Night is Paper is a cine-poetic collaboration with novelist Dr Thom Conroy.

The artistic process began with a slide show of images generated in Midjourney. The images prompted a sequence of text-based fragments which combine to evoke a sense of eves-dropping into a shadowy, indistinct world where nothing can be fully understood.

A mix of found sounds and electroacoustic music from the Free Music Archive build upon this mood of unexplained mystery.

Songs

By Martin Sercombe and E.E.Cummings

 

 

The American poet E. E. Cummings’ work began to enter the public domain in 2019, which then allowed other artists to make use of his poetry in derivative works across a range of media.

 

 Taking advantage of this, Songs chooses five short poems from his first three volumes: Tulips and Chimneys, & and XLI Poems as the basis for extension into the realm of the moving image.

 

 The translation poses a number of challenges, namely finding ways to preserve the lyrical flow of Cummings’ language as it might be read or spoken, whilst preserving his idiosyncratic use of syntax, line breaks and punctuation. The second challenge is finding appropriate ways to illustrate Cummings’ word images without over defining or misconstruing their meanings or intents. 

 

These five works make no claims to have solved these problems. Rather, they attempt to preserve the spirit of the original works via complementary sounds, music and imagery, reinventing and reimagining them in the process.

 

All the images were generated using Midjourney, and the soundtracks comprise of public domain music selected from the Free Music Archive.

The Bather

This illustration depicts the legend of the moment before Dooth, the leader of the Funnelbeaker peoples, first gazes upon Mar-Thol (who is about to disrobe to bath in the Nile) and becomes besotted with her beauty. They marry only later to be cursed with immortality with their memories of each other's appearance erased by Arka-Arkitutti, the Witch-Queen of the Sea Peoples. For eternity they criss-cross the planet searching for one another with aching hearts.

Somebody needs to write an opera about this.

The Marriage of Arnold Finley

 By Glen L Bledsoe

The Marriage of Arnold Finley painted by Eyk Van Jens circa 1433 has been the subject of little controversy since its discover in an attic of an abandoned home in Amsterdam more than 150 years ago. Most art historians view it as a simple picture representing the matrimonial bond between Arnold and Marie Finley. However more recently a group of speculative phenomenologists have proposed that it is the first record of what is called iPhone Brain Swap Syndrome (iPBSS). This occurs when two people (usually teens) share the tangly bits of iPhone earphones and due to the circuitry of the iPhone their conscious minds momentarily switch bodies. While the couple in the painting do have a certain vacant look on their faces they most certainly are not wearing a shared iPhone earphone. The technology hadn’t even been invented then and most people in those days used flip phones.

somewhere i have never travelled

 By Martin Sercombe. Poem by e.e. cummings

 

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands


 

The Woman from One Million Years AD

 By Glen L. Bledsoe 

Governmental representatives and news reporters from around the world gasp as the air shimmers over the plaza of the United Nations building. A metallic sphere appears out of nothingness and settles softly on the ground below. A door hisses open and a tall woman with a large, hairless head and wearing flowing coral colored robes ducks through the opening and walks down the ramp.

"I see you received my invitation," she says. "Good. I bring you greetings from one million years into the future. Know that Mankind survives. Science, Arts and Culture flourish. Our kind has spread throughout the solar system and the galaxy. It is important for you to know that, in spite of the challenges, you will prevail. Do you have any questions for me?"

Professional Henry DuBois of Pierre and Marie Curie University in Paris holds a microphone in one hand and a stack of cards in the other. He says, "I have so many questions from my colleagues from around the world. But before I begin I must make a comment. Your appearance clearly demonstrates the founding principle given to us by Darwin. Evolution! I am gratified to see that mankind continues to evolve in the future and physical changes take place. Our puny heads have so little room for brains. Your beautiful head has evolved to increase its capacity for a much more massive brain. I cannot even begin to grasp your ability to cogitate compared to our own."

"Evolution? This?" The woman from the future points to her head. "This isn't evolution. This is the latest spring fashion.

The Curse

 

By Glen L. Bledsoe

The story of how a group of Funnelbeaker tribespeople from the area which today is the Netherlands were driven south by a megadrought 1400 years BC must wait for another day. How Dooth their leader joined forces with Egypt to defeat the Sea Peoples must also be delayed as well as the history of the establishment of the brief but powerful Egypto-Dutch Empire.

Today the tale you will learn is how Arka-Arkitutti, Witch-Queen of the Sea Peoples cursed Dooth when her ships were sunken, and her army made slaves. How she blessed and cursed Dooth as she was about to die.

As Arka-Arkitutti stood bound to the stake she said, "Dooth, you are a mighty warrior and leader of your people. You have defeated me in spite of all my magics and charms. You and the Egyptian Pharaoh will build a mighty but short-lived empire. You and your wife Mar-Thol will live forever as is your reward. Your punishment: you will be separated, perpetually seeking one another across the world and across time. Dooth, while your heart continues to burn with love, you will be unable to remember your wife's face as she will be unable to remember yours. You may cross paths a thousand thousand times looking for each other and not recognize each other's features."

And so across time Dooth, now known as Father Duvall, searches without hope for his wife. He knows not to waste his immortality. He performs good deeds wherever and whenever he is.

The Dreamweavers

by Martin Sercombe

In the dark of night, the forest comes alive with a strange and ethereal light.

It is a light that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once,

and it dances and flickers amongst the trees.

If you are lucky enough to be out in the forest at that time,

you might see the source of the light

strange creatures that float through the air.

They are translucent and iridescent, and pulse with a soft, hypnotic rhythm.

These creatures are the Dreamweavers,

and they have the power to turn light into music and music into light.

They weave their way through the forest,

creating a symphony of sound and colour

both mesmerizing and soothing.

As they glide through the forest,

they search for children having troubled dreams.

If they find any, they approach them quietly and with a gentle touch,

add happy, reassuring thoughts to the dream.

These children always wake up refreshed,

ready to face whatever new adventures the day might bring.

One Night in Paris

By Martin Sercombe

It was a typical Parisian evening, the streets bustling with people going about their business. 

But as the night progressed, the sky grew darker and the rain began to pour down in sheets.

 The Seine, which runs through the heart of the city, began to rise alarmingly.

 

Panic set in as people realized the seriousness of the situation.

 

Bicycles were quickly commandeered as people tried to flee the rising waters.

 

But not everyone was so eager to leave.

Some chose to celebrate the rain, performing comic rituals in the streets.

 

Two fashionable old ladies sat in a bar, deep in conversation and oblivious to the chaos outside.

 

 

Meanwhile, a young girl was out in the rain, rescuing a stray cat from the rising flood waters. She held the shivering animal close to her chest, trying to protect it from the elements.

Homeless men sought shelter from the storm in the doorway of Notre Dame Cathedral.

 

They huddled under blankets, trying to stay dry and warm. 

 

 A busker sang a lonely song, ignored by the panicked passersby.

His voice echoed through the streets, a haunting reminder of the fear that gripped the city.

 

 Two young boys, separated from their parents in the confusion and chaos, stood, frozen, uncertain what to do next.

 

A mime artist walked slowly down a rain-washed street, mourning the sorry state of a world driven to madness by climate change. 

 

As the night went on, the rain continued to pour down, the Seine continued to rise,

and the floodwaters spread across the city.

It was a night that no one would ever forget.

 

The Song of the Dawn

 

By Martin Sercombe

 

On the Planet Agartha, a traditional song is sung each morning to greet the rising sun.

“Lorath kaletha, elenath vorinne.
Fenrith echadar, arandur vaelyth.
Namarie, mellyn.

Sarnitha, mellyn.
Sarnitha, mellyn.
Eldar vaelyth, arwen vorinne.
Fenrith echadar, arandur vaelyth.

Lorien kaletha, elenath vorinne.
Fenrith echadar, arandur vaelyth.
Namarie, mellyn.

Sarnitha, mellyn.
Sarnitha, mellyn.
Eldar vaelyth, arwen vorinne.
Fenrith echadar, arandur vaelyth.

Lorath kaletha, elenath vorinne.
Fenrith echadar, arandur vaelyth.
Namarie, mellyn.

Sarnitha, mellyn.
Sarnitha, mellyn.
Eldar vaelyth, arwen vorinne.
Fenrith echadar, arandur vaelyth.”

Hiding the Children

 By Glen L. Bledsoe 

The mother of my new student asked to speak to me in the hallway. She showed me a photograph of a man who could have been the winner of a Charlie Manson look-alike contest. She said, "If you ever see this man around the school immediately call the police. He is my children's father and he has sworn to sacrifice them to Satan."

My jaw fell open. Not the usual greetings exchanged between a parent and a teacher on a new student's first day.

She continued, "We've been moving from campground to campground, town to town trying to escape him for two years."

I looked back at the students through the door to my classroom. "I will see that your son is safe," I said, "and l'll talk to your daughter's teacher. We'll have a plan to hide them if necessary."

We did make a plan, but it was never implemented because within six weeks they had moved on. I have no idea whether they are still on the run or not.

True story, I'm sorry to say.

The Guardian Angels

By Glen L. Bledsoe 

Every third Thursday of each month, year round, a group of women meet. Ostensibly they are a book club, but that is just for appearance sake. These women are watching those who don’t believe anyone knows or cares who they are. They watch the deserving who need a break. The watch the unrecognized talents who just keep trying. And when these women can they tip the scales in the favor of those unrecognized. These Guardian Angels aren’t everywhere. They don’t have chapters in every city. But they do what they can. Which means just because you don’t believe that someone is watching, don’t believe that your work and talents are being recognized, that doesn’t mean that you don’t have a Guardian Angel who is going to unobtrusively see to it that your talents and skills get what you have earned and richly deserve. Someone is always watching.

Amika and Amilia

By Martin Sercombe

 

Amika and Amilia are discussing a typical day at their school on Venus.
Apparently, things were not entirely to their liking.

Amika: "Sproin-gent-wumpf?"
Amilia: "Fargen-bloopadoodle!"

Amika: "Thump-fu-glarpen flop-proin-gent-wizzle?"
Amilia: "Glarpen-fargen-thump!!

Amika: "Bloopadoodle-smee floopadoodle-glorp."
Amilia: “Thump-zoo-bloop, sproingent-wump-fargen.”

Amika: "Glarpen-floop-smee??”
Amilia: "Bloopa-doodlethump!!"

Amika: "Fargen-zargo-bloopadoodle."
Amilia: "Hoofoo-luxilo-flimzee-jo-jo!"

The Magical Shepherdess

By Glen L. Bledsoe 

A Shepherdess by the name of Miss Gowz

Tended Sheep the size of large cows

She sold wool to the spinners in town

So they might knit socks, scarves and gowns

Retold Children's Rhyme from the Egypto-Dutch Empire

The Berlin Train

 

By Martin Sercombe

It was a foggy night on the train to Berlin, and the passengers were huddled in their seats, trying to stay warm. Among them was a man named Winston who had just heard false rumours of his wife’s infidelity. In a fit of rage, he stabbed and killed her in their compartment, then fled the scene.

The police were quickly alerted but Winston slipped away into the night. The next morning, the newspaper headlines blared the news of the gruesome murder and the failed capture of the suspect.

 
The passengers were left in shock and disbelief, wondering how such a terrible thing could happen on their peaceful journey. As for Winston, the guilt of his actions would haunt him for the rest of his days, knowing that he had taken the life of the one he loved, in a terrible misunderstanding.
 

 

 

The Autobiography of Jacob Henrik

 

By Glen L. Bledsoe 

Jacob Henrik was a man dedicated to perfection. The secret of his success, he would tell everyone he knew or happened upon the street, was his attention to details. No problem could escape solution if one methodically applied his resources to sorting through the intricacies and correcting errors every step of the way. It was his formula for success. It had made him one of the wealthiest men on the eastern coast of the Americas. 

As Jacob Henrik approached his fiftieth year he decided that it was incumbent upon him that he share his secrets to the world at large to not only running a successful business (or string of businesses as was his case), but to lead a better, healthier, happier life. To that end he decided to write an autobiography--an autobiography of a man who attended to details. 

Jacob Henrik knew his strengths and he knew his weaknesses. While he was master of ledger books and business agreements, of railroads and coal mines, and he knew that his 8th grade education left him unprepared to take on the telling of the story of his life in print. He understood that certain work had to be delegated, that one man could not take on every task, but could oversee the tasks of those who he managed. 

Over the period of several months he dictated his life’s story to a secretary who in turned handed the text over to an editor who in turn sent it to a team of proof readers who line by line wrangled the tangled rules of spelling, punctuation, grammar and capitalization, then double- and triple checked their efforts until they were satisfied that their work was polished and perfect in every way without error. Upon Jacob Henrik’s approval they sent the book to the printer. 

Upon receiving 35,000 copies of the book, almost seven and three-quarter tons of paper, which were placed in a special storage unit designed to preserve the volumes in pristine condition until ready to be given away to relatives and business associates, Jacob Henrik opened a fresh copy of his leather bound life story to the title page to autograph it and noticed: 

“The Autobiography of Jacob Henry” 

His last name was misspelled.

The Lost Children (Part 2)

 

 The Lost Children (Part 2) by Martin Sercombe

 

Two of the boys decided to take matters in hand.

Together they would hunt for a new home,

a place where life might be a little easier.

They looked for a boat to take them down river.

On a misty morning they rowed downstream towards the ocean.

Soon after, two of the girls followed behind.

But the coastal town proved as desolate as the city they had left behind. 

Wild storms had destroyed much of what they found.

 Making it hard to choose a place to call home.