This week we finally get away from the writer types as I entice one of my oldest pals to join us. Please make welcome the utter chanteuse that is Katie Holland:
“But a caged bird
stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts
on a nightmare scream
his wings are
clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his
throat to sing.”
Maya Angelou
I hate to trot out the tired cliché
of feeling trapped but that is precisely how I spent the first three decades of
my existence. A perfect storm of poor life choices, unfulfilled dreams and
mental illness came to a head in 2012 forcing me to make a decision: leave an
unhappy marriage on my own two feet with some shred of sanity left, or leave it
in a pine box. To avoid any confusion, the problem with the relationship was
not a fundamental failing on behalf of the other party, it was my dawning
realization that you can live the truth, or go bat-shit crazy trying to live a
lie.
Birdcages may seem an odd choice of inspiration for a mild claustrophobe with a fear of enforced deprivation of liberty and general dislike of being restrained but there you have it. I love birdcages more than I love sequins (and as a half European showgirl I really love sequins). The birdcage motif adorned the house I purchased after the marriage, a sanctuary for myself and my children. An empty birdcage with an open door fills me with calm and peace, which when creating on a deadline enables the kind of focus that a working parent can sometimes find hard to muster.
Birdcages may seem an odd choice of inspiration for a mild claustrophobe with a fear of enforced deprivation of liberty and general dislike of being restrained but there you have it. I love birdcages more than I love sequins (and as a half European showgirl I really love sequins). The birdcage motif adorned the house I purchased after the marriage, a sanctuary for myself and my children. An empty birdcage with an open door fills me with calm and peace, which when creating on a deadline enables the kind of focus that a working parent can sometimes find hard to muster.
There is a beauty and simplicity in the design. In my mind, I can enter the
cage and still observe the world around me from relative safety. The open door
means I can leave at any time. Today the
symbolism of the birdcage is alive and well in the house that I share with my
current partner. Hanging outside, tucked in corners, peeking around door frames.
To me they whisper ‘home’.
The bird still sings, but not for the dream of freedom. She lives the
dream already.
Katie Holland is a Perth based vocalist, musician, artist and occasional
writer of amusing Facebook updates generally centred around “Who done a poo?” When she isn’t wrestling with the ubiquitous day job she performs with her 8
piece rock/soul/jazz/funk band “Random Act”, records as a session muso for
anything from country to jazz to metal, gets her Burlesque on as saucy minx
about town “Holly Hooray” and generally takes part in anything that will allow
her to wear sequins, red lippy or PVC. Preferably all at the same time.
Katie lives with her partner, 3 mostly adorable though occasionally sociopathic
children, and (in her dreams) a pet goat. Her partner won’t let her obtain said
goat so this biog may shortly be amended to remove him, and substitute the
goat. She isn’t addicted to white wine, Pepsi Max and crackers as she could
give them up any time she wants to. She just doesn’t want to.
Are you a creative artist? Fancy joining in and letting us know about that special item, object, location or cosmic state of being at the heart of your creative process? There's always room for another lunatic in the asylum: email me and make your most excited Horshack noise.
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