1) Each player is given a sealed envelope containing a photographic image of the same window, taken from the outside of a building, without any indication of where it is (or was) situated. The envelope should only be opened at the commencement of the game, when the conditions are right, and the text written in one sitting; the photographic image ought not be used as something to be pondered over retrospectively, off and on, when the mood takes one. The important thing is to be in the right frame of mind and to ‘provoke’ inspiration actively by means of the image.
2) Gazing at the image of the window, through an act of imagination, each player writes a detailed description of the room on the other side, in which are placed objects (whether inanimate or animate) drawn from her/his childhood memories, and any scenario, provoked by the memory of said objects, which might be taking place in that room. This should be an ‘objective’ description, a tableau rather than a narrative, and should be no more than a paragraph of approximately 500 words.
3) When all of the players have completed their written descriptions of the imagined rooms, these are to be placed in common and compared for any similarities and differences. Thus, there will be a number of ‘rooms’ corresponding to the numbers of players, each room containing a number of objects from childhood memory.
4) Taking each of the rooms described by the other players in turn, each player carefully reads the description, scanning the contents, and selects one object (whether inanimate or animate) or detail from the room which most resonates with a childhood memory. 5) After interrogating the object/detail for the resonances and ‘analogons’ that it provokes, each player writes a brief one- or two- sentence explanation as to what this means to her/him. 6) Once completed, the players get together to compare, room by room, which objects were selected and what memories were elicited by them.
Results:
Paul D’s room
Beyond the window and the drawn white curtain…a childs bedroom… a small 10 year old boy…single bed…desk…built-in wardrobe…The boy is laying in bed, his head raised on a pillow, and he’s looking at the wardrobe…All across the floor and emanating from beneath the wardrobe, is a slowly moving, coagulating puddle of thick yellow custard…sticking up out of the custard are rows and rows, perhaps 4 or 5 hundred, of tiny pins…they stay upright but move along slowly within the custard as it oozes across the carpet towards the boy…slowly the wardrobe doors open, they are white, and from the inside a thick reddish brown sausage, about 4foot long, begins the float out…it’s a foot thick, 6 feet above the ground…hanging there…waiting…
Elva’s room
in the room it is really quite dark. The only light is from the lamppost outside. A large square stool stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, near the door. The ugly old clock on the mantelpiece ticks loudly; just on the other side of the door the mahogany grandfather clock gongs even louder. A skipping rope runs taught from one side of the room to the other. Small figures are crouching earnestly in the shadows, holding pillows and other missiles. There are enclaves in the wall that are otherworldly; as if they are portals to another dimension, step in them and you’re gone. A locked cabinet with a name scratched proudly into it on the far end of the room, but you never go that far into the room, it’s unthinkable, as if a Djinn lived in it. The room is still, silent, dark; eager in anticipation, exciting, ominous, dangerous, and not-quite-there.
Patrick’s room
a high ceilinged room with two doors. On the far left side stands a tall wardrobe and somebody is sanding inside crying. On the opposite wall hangs a large oval mirror. The mirror is very dark and a message has been written across the mirrors surface, in an unrecognizable language. By the fireplace, a woman is sitting in an armchair and she is staring intently towards the direction of the wardrobe. Two objects rest on her lap, one in each hand. The right hand, a blade, in the left, a bell.
Kristy’s room
1) No person is in this room
2) A sparrow in a small box, wrapped in toilet roll, still breathing, in a drawer.
3) A butter knife
4) Terracotta faces of a god and goddess, on the wall. Their eyes are pupilless and their heads are filled with soil and overgrown with weeds.
5) A dark, black corner, looking into it and trying to make out rabbits in cages. But they never appear.
6) A cat on the windowsill, always looking outside, part outside, its head cannot be seen as it reaches outside into whiteness and light.
7) Chucky the killer doll.
DIFFERENCE AND SIMILARITES
two bedrooms, a living and a day room.
People in the room:
Elva: unnamed children hidden in the dark.
Paul: himself as a child
Patrick: a woman
Kirsty: no-body
It was noticed that in Pauls, Patricks and Kirsty’s room there was a particular passivity, that something had happened/ was happening that we could not control. Pauls: the custard slowly approaching, the child unable to run away. Patrick’s victim in the wardrobe. Kristy’s dying bird and caged rabbits that cannot be conjured by sight. Elva's dream however had elements of control in its anticipation for whatever was coming/happening, confronting the darkness with booby traps etc.
Pins in Pauls, a blade in Patricks and a butter knife in Kristy’s room
(Elva's) writing on a cabinet and (Patrick’s) name on a mirror= intangible communication.
WHAT RESONATES WITH CHILDHOOD MEMORY?
Pauls room
Kirsty) resonates with being bed bound and being confronted with a point of emanation.
Elva) The custard. The film toys come alive or whatever it was called, there was a scene in which there was a big sea of some kind- foodstuff disguised to capture/kill the two protagonist toys. It was terrifying and horrible but I watched it over and over again.
Patrick) a hovering fat red tongue, pushing through white doors and wanting to shout.
Patricks room
Kirsty) waiting for something to reveals itself to sight. Deconcealment.
Paul) across the mirror, words from an unintelligible language. Like a voice crying out from the other side that can never be heard.
Elva) I had a floor to ceiling built in wardrobe in my bedroom. I cant recall if this is how I felt about them at the time but when I remember them I feel like I was never quite sure what was in them even though I must have looked in them regularly.
Elva’s room
Kirsty) the repetition of clocks creating a menacing consistency.
Paul) A locked cabinet with a name scratched on it- but you never go that far.
Patrick) the enclaves are for time travellers. Trapped forever in a parallel universe and only able to fleetingly visit our world like ghosts.
Kristy’s room
Paul) A God and a Goddess, their heads filled with dirt…as in a universe of ambivalent, pointless indifference, yet with the potential for individual growth and sustenance.
Elva) God/ess plant pots:
This really reminds me of a story I wrote when I was an adult (24 years), it
resonates so much I chose it anyway. It is called ‘Humhiminas Tuft’ and is
about a girl called Humhina who grows a living boy/plant out of the ground who
has hair, called Hessakints.two bedrooms, a living and a day room.
People in the room:
Elva: unnamed children hidden in the dark.
Paul: himself as a child
Patrick: a woman
Kirsty: no-body
It was noticed that in Pauls, Patricks and Kirsty’s room there was a particular passivity, that something had happened/ was happening that we could not control. Pauls: the custard slowly approaching, the child unable to run away. Patrick’s victim in the wardrobe. Kristy’s dying bird and caged rabbits that cannot be conjured by sight. Elva's dream however had elements of control in its anticipation for whatever was coming/happening, confronting the darkness with booby traps etc.
Pins in Pauls, a blade in Patricks and a butter knife in Kristy’s room
(Elva's) writing on a cabinet and (Patrick’s) name on a mirror= intangible communication.
WHAT RESONATES WITH CHILDHOOD MEMORY?
Pauls room
Kirsty) resonates with being bed bound and being confronted with a point of emanation.
Elva) The custard. The film toys come alive or whatever it was called, there was a scene in which there was a big sea of some kind- foodstuff disguised to capture/kill the two protagonist toys. It was terrifying and horrible but I watched it over and over again.
Patrick) a hovering fat red tongue, pushing through white doors and wanting to shout.
Patricks room
Kirsty) waiting for something to reveals itself to sight. Deconcealment.
Paul) across the mirror, words from an unintelligible language. Like a voice crying out from the other side that can never be heard.
Elva) I had a floor to ceiling built in wardrobe in my bedroom. I cant recall if this is how I felt about them at the time but when I remember them I feel like I was never quite sure what was in them even though I must have looked in them regularly.
Elva’s room
Kirsty) the repetition of clocks creating a menacing consistency.
Paul) A locked cabinet with a name scratched on it- but you never go that far.
Patrick) the enclaves are for time travellers. Trapped forever in a parallel universe and only able to fleetingly visit our world like ghosts.
Kristy’s room
Paul) A God and a Goddess, their heads filled with dirt…as in a universe of ambivalent, pointless indifference, yet with the potential for individual growth and sustenance.
Patrick) a dead sparrow in white tissue reminds me of chocolate birds wrapped in coloured foil for Christmas treats.
CUT UP
…then it was decided that we should cut up our rooms and reconstruct! Here is the un-edited cut up…
…then it was decided that we should cut up our rooms and reconstruct! Here is the un-edited cut up…
Eager in anticipation, exciting, the fireplace a woman is sitting, a sparrow in a small box wrapped in towards the boy…custard as it oozes across the carpet. In the room it is really quite ground…hanging there…waiting onto it on the far end of the, the are enclaves in the into the room its unthinkable, outside into the whiteness and light about four feet long, begins to float out across the mirror surface in slowly the wardrobe doors open always looking outside, part outside its oval mirror. The mirror is very slowly moving co-agulating puddle. Dark. The only light is from, form one side of her lap, one in each hand. The the room is still, silent, dark a square stool stand awkwardly a tall wardrobe and somebody is other side of the door the its one it thick six foot above the near the door. The ugly single bed, desk built in of thick yellow custard sticking up, chucky the killer doll. Black corner looking into it, trying a thick reddish brown sausage, quite, there. Tiny pins they stay upright but move along slowly within the gold clock on the mantelpiece, ominous, dangerous and not mahogany grandfather clock gongs the lamppost outside. A large in the middle of the room your gone. A locked cabinet dark and the message has been written. Wall that are other worldly this head raised on a pillow and their heads filled with soil terracotta faces of a god and goddess dimension; step in them and never appear. A cat on the windowsill no persons in this room ticks loudly; just on the night, a blade. Opposite wall hangs a large doors on the far left side stands perhaps four or five hundred and overgrown with weeds. A dark head cannot be seen as it reaches intensely towards the direction of pillows and other missiles allow across the floor and emanating a high ceilinged room with two standing inside crying. On the beyond the window, and the they are white and from the inside the room to the other. Small room, but you never go that far a unrecognisable language by toilet roll, still breathing in a drawer as if a Djinn lived in it and he’s looking at the wardrobe from beneath the wardrobe is a to make out rabbits in cages but they bedroom. A small ten year old boy with a name scratched proudly in the shadows, holding in an armchair and she’s staring on the wall, their eyes are pupilless wardrobe…the boy is laying in bed out of the custard are rows and rows drawn white curtain, a child’s the wardrobe. Two objects rest on right hand, a blade, in the butter knife as if they are portals to another figures are crouching earnestly even louder. A skipping rope runs taught.
