Being Emily. Anne Donovan

He could take compliments and criticisms of his work as though it was somebody else’s, as if it was something apart fae him. If anybody said anything, good or bad, about mines, it felt like they’d lifted a flap of skin, inserted a needle intae me.

      Whether it was his attitude or just something about him, naebody else ever bothered that Jas was singled out for praise; he never got slagged like Kieran was when Miss Mulhern raved about his collage.

      Jas worked in black and white mainly, stark urban images: litter gathered under a rusty metal fence, flyposted streetlamps. He wrote cards tae explain what he was daeing, set it in context.

      When I started taking photies in the park, I found mysel homing in on the detail, but it was the natural world, leaves and branches, that took my attention. Urban too but, scabby and scratched. Sometimes I’d take shots of leaves keeking through rusty fences or dirty footsteps in the snow. I used colour, even moved litter intae the picture to contrast wi the snow or the brown earth.

      Miss Mulhern studied them carefully, then said, There’s some nice composition here, Fiona, but try to find your own style. She looked at Jas. More edge, maybe, less … pretty pictures.

      I picked through the plastic jewellery, bits of Lego and dried up felties wi nae tops on, collecting limbless trunks, heidless bodies. A few of the dolls were intact but maist were relics fae the time the twins were obsessed with ER and spent all their time performing operations on them. One had its haunds and feet cut aff, like the victim of kidnappers trying to freak out relatives by sending them a body part in the post. Then there were the makeover Barbies with hair cut in weird styles or painted streaky colours, and one tattooed wi blue biro like a woad-decorated Pictish princess.

      I laid them on the carpet beside me. I knew exactly what I wanted to dae with them but I hadnae the technical knowledge tae realise the vision that was so strong in my mind. Jas would know but I was reluctant tae tell him afore it was done. I was scared that if he was involved it wouldnae feel like my work and I had tae dae it mysel. I gathered the Barbie bits thegether and put them in a poly bag at the back of my wardrobe.

      The deadline for the competition was the 6th of December. It was one of these young artist things sponsored by a company that sold crisps and the form had a trendy design but with this really tacky cartoon potato face stamped in the corners. Miss Mulhern had persuaded the Heidie to pay the entry fees. She thought it was a good incentive for us to get portfolios thegether early insteady waiting till the last minute afore the exam.

      They want a show, rather than just a one-off piece – groups of related work, installations … it’s a great chance to think outside the box.

      What about a group of paintings? Maybe on the same theme? Matt hated Miss Mulhern’s insistence that we try out different media. He didnae want to do videos and photography and place his work in conceptual terms. He just wanted to paint portraits and landscapes.

      According to the rules you can use any medium, but they’re looking for something cutting edge rather than conventional.

      She arranged individual tutorials with us and mines was last period on the Friday.

      So Fiona, what are you planning – are you going to concentrate on photography?

      I was a bit awkward with her, partly because I’d come to the school so recently, and partly because of Jas – I always felt as if I was in his shadow.

      The photies are just a starting point – I want to add other images.

      Great.

      I’d like to use Photoshop.

      Sure – computer-aided images are perfectly acceptable.

      But I’d need help to learn how to use the program.

      She opened her desk diary. I can book time for you on one of the departmental computers – Jaswinder would show you how it works, I’m sure.

      I don’t want him tae help.

      She looked up. Sorry, Fiona, I thought you two …

      No, it’s no that – it’s just – I don’t want anyone else’s ideas.

      I’m not very well up on it myself but I can arrange for Mr Lyons to give you a tutorial – I believe it’s pretty straightforward.

      Thanks.

      If you leave me a copy of your timetable I’ll sort out some sessions, Fiona. I’m intrigued to find out what you’re going to do.

      After he’d shown me how tae use the program, Mr Lyons let me go on the computer in his room any time I was free. I was that absorbed in what I was daeing that, even though his classes were quite noisy, they never bothered me. He only paid attention to the exam classes in fourth and fifth year and ignored the rest of the kids, just set up a still life and let them draw while he got on with his ain stuff, telling them aff occasionally when they got a bit over the top.

      The computer program was easy enough and you could dae almost anything with it – crop and resize pictures, place them on top of one another and move everything round – but it took me ages tae get any images I was happy with. The pictures I saw in my heid when I looked at the Barbie bits were completely different when I put them on the screen, and I tried out every possible variation afore I came up with anything that looked remotely like my vision.

      WE’D JUST TWO hours tae set up our work in a space ten feet by four, like a box with three sides, painted white. Even though I knew which photies I was gonnae use I hadnae decided how to display them. In the end I worked totally on instinct, with nae idea whether it’d be brilliant or a load of posy rubbish.

      When time was up we all stood back. Each space looked completely different: Rosie’s garishly coloured papier-mâché sculptures of exotic birds with sweetie necklaces tied round them, Jas’s stark sleek black and white images, Matt’s ethereal abstract watercolours, and mines.

      Four big colour photographs hung on the back wall; apparently idyllic winter scenes of snow and ice from the November day in the park, crystallised puddles or delicate leaves rimed in frost, but each with an amputated or mutilated doll superimposed over it. One floated heidless above the trees, another looked as if it had been stamped tae bits in a frozen puddle. And in front of the photographs, on a table covered by a white cloth, lay a mountain of doll parts, each with a Barbie Elastoplast over some part of it. Some had their eyes covered, others their ears, and some wore crossed plasters like a bikini. The title ‘Barbie Bits’ was printed in pink italics on a card in front of them.

      Jas stood beside me, looking intently. After what seemed like ages he spoke. Awesome, Fiona.

       Really?

      Yeah, I’d never in a million years have thought of doing anything like that with those photos.

      Hey, Fiona, what have you done? Rosie appeared behind us. Barbie Bits – wicked.

      Miss Mulhern was making her way along our exhibits. When she came to mines she looked critically as if taking in every detail, then started to nod and smile. Nice concept, Fiona – good placing of the doll parts and the plasters – but … She looked around worriedly. Where’s your text?

      I didnae know you had tae write one.

      There’s nothing in the rules to stop you hanging the visual work on its own, but, nowadays, the artist has to contextualise their work … too late now, of course, but you can do it for your exam.

      I don’t see why you need tae explain your art. Turner and all these guys just painted.

      That’s not really the point, Fiona … anyway, the adjudicators are coming.

      We stood back while the three judges – two artists and one guy fae the crisp company – looked at the pieces, clipboards in haund, ticking