Category: Lift a Sister Up

Lift a Sister Up /

Darling Don’t Be Silent*

Mairi Campbell performs *Darling Don’t Be Silent, from her album Pulse

The creation of something new often involves a letting go of something or someone that has been holding us back.  The first time I came across Mairi Campbell’s work was when my fiddle tutor recommended that I look her up if I wanted to experience something a little different from the mainstream trad collections I was familiar with. As luck would have it, Mairi was touring with her show Pulse around the same time and so off I went with a dear friend to Eden Court Theatre in Inverness. Little did I know it at the time, but there began a delightful foray into the more creative side of my own life, and like a magpie to shiny things, I found myself drawn to learn the creative techniques Mairi had to share, and tentatively began to apply them to my own life.

As I got to know her work a little more, I became intrigued, captivated even, by the song Darling Don’t be Silent from her 2016 album, Pulse. (https://mairicampbell.scot/shop/#cds) Initially, I was mesmerised by the simplicity of the tune and the way in which time seemed suspended for three sweet minutes. In the way that many of us play and repeat new material until its charm gives way to something different, I listened to it daily, at times of joy and despair, and waited until my interest would run dry. 

Not so. My fascination and comfort from the song remain as strong as ever and nearly eight years since I first heard it, I invited Mairi to discuss the song’s roots and whether she thinks it has resonance beyond what was in her mind when she first wrote it.  Graciously, she accepted.

I was keen to know how the song came about. Was it a catchy little tune that simply appeared to her one day on the Portobello Promenade or was there deeper narrative she was trying to express?  She tells me clearly that connecting with Kath Burlinson on her Authentic Artist course was a turning point for her in her career that helped to break her open and in turn, break new ground and bring forth new material.

Mairi says, “I was classically trained in viola and very immersed in the traditional music world, so as a hybrid player I was neither a classical only nor a trad-only player. It felt to me that there wasn’t space to accommodate a wider bandwidth and I was frustrated by that”.

As I read my notes afterwards, I search for connections to what she is saying from my own experience, and I listen again to the song.  As she plucks out the tune and establishes the beat, I start to feel into the spaces between the notes and the words, which feel as important as the sounds and lyrics themselves. Something soulful strikes me as I get carried away on the melody, simultaneously enjoying and being distracted by its sweet divergences, but then always back to the beat which keeps its own time, before I’m left wanting more. If only I could have found a way back then, to speak or to write what I’d kept inside for so long, I think to myself.

My early encounters with the song coincided with a thesis I was writing on women’s experiences of fertility treatment, a subject close to my heart. I was struck by how my own silence had caused great suffering in me and was desperately trying to make sense of what was happening to me as treatment after treatment failed. As I interviewed countless women on their experience of fertility treatment, I was unable to find the words to express my own difficulties.  To acknowledge one’s own suffering is to acknowledge its existence and while I wasn’t ready to do that then, I did find comfort in a beautifully composed and deliciously resonant, perhaps even universally appealing, soundtrack.

I was terrified to speak my feelings out loud, lest I be judged too intense, too vulgar, too much, and so the lines “I don’t care if you scream, it’ll help you hold your ground” and “I don’t care if you look crazy, it’ll help you find your feet” struck a chord somewhere deep in my psyche that comforts me to this day, as I navigate new challenges and make my own new beginnings. As women, we aren’t often encouraged to express ourselves, far less do it imperfectly, so the idea of making any sound at all and being free to do so, seemed like a simple yet bold invitation.

Mairi goes on to reveal that in her fifties she had to learn to dissolve who she thought others needed her to be musically, and to find a new place in her that represented what she wanted to express through her work. Using improvisation has, she says, freed up her voice and her movement.  “After twenty years of learning to play in time with others as part of the scene, all of a sudden I found myself wanting to connect to my own beat, to discover this pulse within me that had always been there, if a little dulled by the conventions of either the trad or the classical scene.”

By this point in our conversation, I want to jump up and down in my seat and shout yes, that’s what I felt, this is what I’ve been looking for, this is what I felt in the song.  I know that I’m not alone in thinking this as a short post I made on social media later revealed a wider following for the tune’s resonance. 

We chat about whether it is different now for the next generation and she mentions, with warm pride, how her daughters are making their way in the world, full of dreams and with a clear sense of what is important to them. She mentions wistfully the halcyon days of the punk generation and how little energy there appears to be, since lockdown, for speaking out against the machine in ways that musicians of her generation were once famous for. It makes me think of my endless fascination with, and fear of, the current culture wars being played out in mainstream and social media. I wonder how the power of art and music can interplay with the personal and help us find ways to express ourselves that set us free, not bind us to the norms we’ve become accustomed to.

I feel certain that this is an anthem for our time, and indeed, for any woman who wants to unlock the power of her own voice. Seeking refuge in art, through music, and creative pursuits, can offer us all new perspectives.  I invite you to find your own inspiration and to check out Mairi’s work below.

*Ends*

With thanks to Mairi Campbell, pioneering musician and wise woman, can be found here @mairimusic or www.mairicampbell.scot

Part of the Lift a Sister Up series.

Uncategorized /

My Journey to the Red Tent

Ever since I read Anita’s Diamant’s novel The Red Tent I felt the draw hosting one, but I didn’t really know how to get over my fear of doing something spiritual, something women-centred, something so completely different from anything I’d ever tried before.  My first attempt resulted in a meeting in my living room of about nine women whom I thought might be interested in a conversation about the things that mattered to women. We were animated and angry, and annoyed and frustrated but we were also keen to help make a difference in the lives of other women and young girls. We settled on doing some campaigning work on abortion rights and access to period products, and we then wrote and signed letters to MPs and MSPs in the hopes of adding our voices to the more organised women’s groups actively campaigning for reform and change.

After the initial flurry of activity, I was glad to have organised the meeting, but I felt instinctively that I wasn’t getting to the heart of what was missing, and what I was drawn to in Diamant’s novel.  I was too in my head, using the patriarchal ways I’d learned about how to organise and get things done, but it didn’t come close to satisfying the inner yearning I had inside me for something deeper, more spiritual, more connected to other women. It wasn’t until the confines of lockdown that I decided to venture forth once more and set up an online Red Tent group of willing friends whom I thought might be interested in getting this tent up. Lockdown seemed to have an impact on people’s need to connect so the timing felt right, and we met for about eight months before I felt brave enough to try offering something face to face.

The whole time I was organising this work, I was quite anxious about what I was doing, I felt scared about what I was offering and whether it would resonate with anyone.  I was having a hard time seeing myself as someone who held space for others in a sacred space when compared to the professional roles I’d held throughout my career. But as with much in life that challenges us to come out of our comfort zone, I decided to explore in earnest what connecting with other women could mean on a spiritual level and I signed up for Molly Remer’s Red Tent Initiation course.  Molly is a priestess, author, creator of all things divine feminine and together with her husband Mark, they run Brigid’s Grove (def worth checking out www.brigidsgrove.com).

Over the coming year I would read and learn all I could about facilitating red tents.  I went to other women’s red tent spaces, I watched You Tube videos and took inspiration from Isadora Leidenfrost, De’Ana L’am, leaders in the Red Tent movement. I listed my Red Tent offering with the Red Tent Directory in the UK, and slowly over time, any awkwardness I felt about offering a sacred circle to other women disappeared and became replaced with the magic of holding space for women to come together and share, connect, feel uplifted and be heard and seen in ways our society rarely stops to think about, far less offer.

I’ve since had the honour of listening to the experiences of many women as they journey through life; words never spoken aloud before, stories of joy, of shame, of fear, and wonder. I am regularly lost for words after hosting a Red Tent and I am drawn to the power of a circle of women speaking and sharing their own truths.

Sitting with other women in circle is a tradition lost to many of us in the western world, but it needn’t be.  Free from the expectations and demands of daily life, for an hour or two, you too, can find the magic of stillness, peace, connection and a little piece of soulful acceptance in the Red Tent. I only wish I’d known this magic years ago.

Education /

For The Love of Teaching

Anna-Wendy Stevenson, Teacher Extraordinaire

Anna-Wendy Stevenson comes from a long line of musicians, tradition bearers and creative talent. Her father, Gordon Stevenson, most well-known for his exceptional workmanship as a master violin-maker, her grandfather, Ronald Stevenson, a gifted composer and violin player, and her aunt Gerda Stevenson, poet and actress, author of “Quines, a selection of poems in tribute to Scottish Women”.  It is hardly surprising then, that Anna-Wendy herself has many plaudits to her name as a player, composer, poet, and teacher.

It is the latter that I wish to turn a spotlight on. So often we can focus on the tangible achievements such as the awards, the albums, the stage performances, but having known Anna-Wendy for nearly 15 years, it is her remarkable character and exquisite gifts as an enabler of all that is good in her students. Some people say that like attracts like and if you’ve ever been taught by her or been in her presence as she seeks to bring together the many disparate elements of musical collaboration, then you will recognize that you have been touched by her talent and passion for teaching and enabling.  Her style welcomes you as your own thirst meets a drink.

I recall over a decade ago now, a time when we arranged to meet at a youth hostel in Perthshire. We hadn’t known each other too long then but we chatted and caught up over coffee, and she taught me Stan Chapman’s Jig, which I’m sure is still somewhere under my fingers. Later that day, we were driving to Perth when she tentatively asked me if I would like to listen to something she had recorded. She put on “My Edinburgh” and waited for some feedback while I listened. As my mind was treated to the full-bodied, delightful details of all that my ears could handle, she told me casually how she wrote all the parts for each of the musicians and instruments, which of the characters she knew and what the Edinburgh scene had meant to her.

My eyes leaked a little, and I knew I was listening to something special, not only because of her skill in playing and interpreting music, but because of who she was and what it must have taken to produce such delicate, sweet notes, each one carefully considered or spontaneously heard in her mind. A person of ego might have spoken incessantly of her own work, and maybe she thought it, but all I felt that day was the true joy of learning a jig from a beautiful soul who stepped with ease and grace between her own highly talented world to my own stumbling one of the adult learner, replete with bum notes and those screeches.

Since my own personal gains arising from her teaching talent, and throughout the growth of our friendship, I have also seen Anna-Wendy blossom into the highly skilled professional educator and leader she is today. I clapped (online) as she won the MG Alba Na Trads Award for Best Tutor in 2018. I listened to her exceptional talk at the University of the Highlands and Islands International Women’s Day event in 2019 and I barely recognized the now-blossoming feis tutor from years back. She owned that stage and had every woman in the room inspired by the way she wove story into music, and back to story again, as she let her career unfold in the most creative of ways. She reminded me of the university professors at my old Alma Mater, Heriot-Watt, whose breadth of talent allowed them to teach in their second language while working as active interpreters and translators in their mother tongues, teaching students, and marking essays and handling all the other aspects that must surely come with academic life. Anna Wendy was, and is, a truly creative professional, able to do and to teach with equal ability and flair.

If it weren’t for the considerable skills in her self-effacing playbook, then I’m certain others would be jealous of her abilities and talents. But the quiet way she works through each challenge to produce such beautiful work, whether it’s a student event, or degree assignment, or a house ceilidh, her love for her work shines through, and it is hard not to appreciate those talents in others, even if we might envy their position. She, of course, is too modest to even consider that someone might think her so capable, but it is my duty as her friend and student, to shine a light on her, the most beautiful of musical souls.

I still smile inwardly at the delight I took in her teaching me Stan Chapman’s, while she hid the true extent of her talents. But that is who she is. Barely a glance towards her own considerable talent and potential, and always willing to help an eager student like myself. If you ever find yourself in her class, bask in that glow.

*Ends*

You’ll find her here https://www.anna-wendy.com/ and here https://www.uhi.ac.uk/en/research-enterprise/cultural/institute-for-northern-studies/staff/anna-wendy-stevenson/

Feminism /

Lift a Sister Up

Queen Bee syndrome, women tearing women apart, women “behaving more like a man” once they’ve achieved a certain level of status or power, revealing or concealing sex or gender as deliberate acts of fitting in and getting on, these old tropes abound from the workplace cafeteria to the most senior positions in government. Yet who is it that stands to gain from all the backbiting? Certainly not women.

Kept outside the corridors of power in our most lauded public institutions, entitled to full suffrage only since 1928, predominantly doing the lowest paid, most insecure work and doing the bulk of all unpaid care work, I’d go so far as to suggest that women have hardly made it, while men, for the most part, have it made. Perhaps not just their tea, but their beds, their bank balances in some exceptional cases, and most often their kids raised as well.

Every once and a while, there comes across a small opportunity to be heard, taken seriously, truly supported in every aspect of our lives and it being so rare, sometimes, we don’t even notice what’s being offered. At other times, we find the weight of patriarchal conditioning so heavy that we start to erase ourselves out of the very support or recognition that we deserve. How many times have you found someone offering you help, only for you to say, “no, no, it’s fine, I’ll manage”, then in the next sentence go on to talk about how exhausted you are by the busyness of life.

I’ve often been dismissed or outright rejected when I’ve tried to offer words of support to another woman doing fabulous, interesting or important work. We are neither expected to want that recognition and nor do we know how to accept it graciously, far less pass it on. I’ve sometimes felt embarrassed when giving someone a compliment, worried that as a lesbian woman, I’ll be judged by the blokey standards of wanting something in return (and yes, I do mean “wanting something” as a euphemism). What a waste to avoid saying something heartfelt and true that would lift a sister up, because I’ve worried I’ll come across as too passionate, too intense, too much, or worse, creepy and entitled.

If COVID has taught me anything (after handwashing and the polarities of science), it is that we have lost a sense of deep connection to one another and our planet. And so it is true that pre COVID, there was plenty of room for improvement to support one another as women, it is even more essential now.

Lift a Sister Up series focuses on the cool, the quirky, or the fascinating work of ordinary Highland women. We are an exceptional and talented bunch of women living and working in rural and remote areas, so why not find ways to shout about that? The series aims to highlight some of these women in ways that might inspire and uplift others, or simply give them recognition for their contributions to life in the Highlands. Historical accounts may often reduce us to the caricature of the herring lass, or weaver, of the 1900s, but we were at Culloden too, and our skeletons live on sites of the Clearances. We burned for our talents (see Katherine Stewart’s account of witchcraft in Women of the Highlands, 2006), we worked the land, bore children, and today, we educate the next generation, we operate at Raigmore, consult at the Belford, we clean the public toilets at Garve, and serve customers at Glenfinnan. We make artworks, write books, care for elderly people at home or in homes, we shoe horses, run businesses, herd cattle and much, much more besides.

Yet despite these achievements, we are not overflowing in recognition, often scorned for self-promotion which is ironic in a world intent on living life through socials, and waiting for improvements to be handed down from up above. Since my own mid-life awakening, everywhere I look, I see the less often-told, s()heroic efforts of hundreds of Highland women and I am making it my business to write about, learn from and share their work with my audience. If you are a woman with an interesting project, job, business or hobby and would like to take part, please email lisa@thehighlandfeminist.com. Equally, if you would like to refer a woman doing fabulous things or with an insightful or interesting tale to tell, please tag her in one of these posts, I’d love to hear from her.

You do not need to be a feminist, call yourself a feminist to take part, nor are the views expressed on this blog a reflection of any of the participants in the Lift a Sister Up series. The session will usually last about an hour, then once written up, usually within the fortnight, you get the chance to review it for factual accuracy before it gets published. The whole point of the articles is to work together so that the end piece is a collaborative effort that you are comfortable with and that promotes you or your work.

What are you waiting for? Let’s chat and see if this series is right for you 🙂

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