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NewYear'sHarvest


'New Year's Harvest'

Catriona Stamp
NFS

This book was conceived as a response to the drowning of 23 Chinese cocklers in Morecambe Bay in 2004, on a date in February that was the Chinese New Year.

My initial seed idea was of a book of torn pieces of paper stuck together in thick layers, as if the book itself had been in the sea and then dried out.
The paper fragments include found papers, as well as hand-made papers, and the cockle shapes are made from Chinese New Year paper money. The way the papers have been torn and layered is intended to evoke the bars of sand and gravel revealed when the tide is out in Morecambe Bay.

The poem evolved with the making of the book. It has 10 verses, but each verse is also intended to stand alone. The Chinese character on the facing page picks up one of the words in the verse. It has been immensely interesting to learn about Chinese calligraphy and how words and sentences are constructed. The internet was marvellous for this, and I especially loved the animated calligraphy. I hope my attempt to incorporate these characters has not resulted in terrible errors or offence. I felt that there was a resonance in using the torn characters from the book, and characters to represent only part of each verse, with the scattering of the drowned cocklers in the vastness of Morecambe Bay.

The cover is made from a piece of sea- and wind-worn wood, found in the Lune estuary, and cut in half, so that the book is encased inside it. The pattern of the eroded wood-grain suggests tide-formed ripples in the sand. The book has an open spine binding with decorative stitching.

Materials
Watercolour paper - aquarell.
Calligraphy papers - Washi paper, and Clairefontaine's Japon paper.
Handmade papers - including silk paper, banana paper.
Found papers - paperback novel, paper bag, Chinese New Year paper money.
Found wood.
Linen tape and thread.
Archival glues - PVA reversible, and Pritt.


Low tide
Exposes bars of sand; the cockles Harvest ripe.

Migrant debt-slaves
Hard at work - with dreams
Of better lives.

Backs breaking
They rake and shovel and load,
On this bleak evening.

Gangmaster ashore,
Lights his fag, inhales, and turns away - Getting richer.

The tide turns,
Distantly, silenlty,
Seen by none.

The swollen spate
Floods the channels, skims the sand;
Cuts off escape.

Frightened,
And surrounded, seeking courage,
Hand in hand.

The surging tide
Rips away the fragile bodies,
Still urgent to survive.

One by one
Listeners' hearts are broken -
Silenced mobile phones.

Bitter harvest
On New Year's Day -twenty three
Are dead or lost.


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