The Ghost Swift

‘The Ghost Swift’
‘The Last Door of Autumn’

It feels like such a relief to finally be sitting here, writing a new Wonderland entry. In recent months the series has been completely taken over by exhibiting and writing endless letters to people about the future of the project. Progress is so slow that some days I find it agonising, but there is simply no way to create these photographs quickly. They are a labour of love and I just have to keep working until I make it to the end. Over the last few weeks during the London show many people have asked me why I insist on making everything by hand and spend so many months to make just a couple of pictures. My only explanation was simply that my mother did the same for her pupils and I, except in her case it was years devoted to helping us grow and develop. I wanted to produce works that reflected a similar belief in investing time and love, and I suppose this is one of the most poignant parallels between our relationship and my work.

So, at long last I can introduce ‘The Ghost Swift’. She has been locked away in my head for over a year, and her character has been one I’ve constantly returned to. I have slowly made her costume in stages, adding a little piece here and a little piece there, while her scene has evolved from being relatively small to something much bigger. Her character represents a creature born from the essence of stories, a body of books and forgotten ripped pages, created by the natural elements and insects that surround her. I wanted her half-human form to be a marriage of the earth and printed words; spun together by the moths and butterflies that shared the hollow she would spend her life guarding. I named her lair ‘The Last Door of Autumn’, a place that was impassable without the heavy iron keys that hang in her lap from her pale long fingers.

For this scene I wanted to create an image steeped in the trickery of tales, and so my choice to use paper was a direct link to the true story and hoax of the Cottingley Fairies, which my mother told me about when I was young. I have been mildly obsessed with the history of the Cottingley photographs for most of my life, the fact that it was all a lie maintained by little girls until their old age both inspires and intrigues me. I have never liked sickly sweet stories, it is the underlying darkness of folklore, broken promises, and moonlit curses that makes my skin prickle. So it was their tale that inspired me to stage my own elaborate illusion in the woods, made entirely from paper, for the next photograph.

The first of the five Cottingley Fairies photographs, taken by Elsie Wright in 1917, showing Frances Griffiths with the alleged fairies.

I began by collecting books of moths and butterflies from the same historical period as the original hoax and once they arrived I then spent weeks cutting out the illustrations to build a costume made from hundreds of paper cuts. I also designed embroideries based on fine anatomical etchings from the 1900s, which were sewn onto sheets of delicate sheer silk, and layered with glue to make sculptural trims. The tiny prayer books on the costume’s bodice were the same precious ones I had previously made a necklace from for the Bluebell shoot in 2010. A family whose grandmother had received them in condolence after her husband had passed away, had donated them to me and I felt this mix of beauty and sadness was perfect for the costume. So I embedded them into the bodice and varnished the handwritten messages to the front page, where they would be preserved and never be forgotten.
It was while cutting the butterflies from the collection of books that I stumbled on the description of a small British moth called a Ghost Swift, found in one of the oldest tomes. Its markings had a white top wing with a dark underside, so when it hovered at twilight it seemed to appear and disappear with each beat of its wing. It was perfect and magical, and instantly brought ‘The Ghost Swift’ character to life in my head.

Wiring the finished paper butterflies and moths into The Ghost Swift’s lair

On the day of the shoot I wanted to translate this elusive characteristic into my picture. So we painted our model Dasha’s face and arms completely white and embedded her into the twisted dark roots of a fallen tree to create extreme light and shadow for the finished image. As well as the full-frame scene, I choose to bring the camera in further, with the hope of capturing an intense portrait. I intended the viewer to feel as though they had happened upon ‘The Ghost Swift’, silent and asleep after years of being left undisturbed in the forest. I wanted to convey the experience of her hypnotic gaze as a swirling blur of dark beauty and anticipation; her awakening, and our apprehension in one moment. I wanted the slight curl of her fingers and the parting of her lips to leave us feeling arrested. That is what I now love the most about the image. Now that it’s finished I often find myself staring at the picture on my laptop slightly unnerved, and so in love with the details. It’s impossible to guess that the shot was taken outdoors, in the roots of tree, or to believe it is a completely real image. Which is something that I’m now incredibly proud of and excited by.