The tales what happened to me

A Book of Ours, Projects

We are slowly building a big, big book. It is a book made by many hands, telling many people’s stories. We go slowly. Some of the pages in this book have taken weeks, they’ve been made painstakingly, built up in layers. Others have been made in a burning hurry, with the urge to say driving them onward.


When this book is finally shared, even if you were to see the pages themselves and the fantastic detail they contain, I wonder if you or I would be able to understand the enormous effort needed to make them. The giant leap required to jump over a mountain of self-doubt, self-hate, distrust, trauma. And although Lois and I witness the moment, we can only observe from outside. Perhaps nobody can fully understand these pages, except the makers. They’ve survived experiences that are seared into memory so deeply that retelling them means reliving them.


Roy writing



But from such things we are delighted to see something joyous emerge. There’s deep delight in this Book of Ours, it shines out from every page. We constantly refer to medieval illuminated manuscripts, their colours, patterns, illustrations, calligraphy and layered meaning. Inspired by these 500 year old books, ours share an abundance of flowers, pouring colour from the pages. There are dancing trees, there are birds stretching out into the big freedom of the skies. There are poems that celebrate simply being here, simply waking up alive and breathing. There are poems that conjure angels standing guard around all our souls, held in a bubble of love.

May flower.jpg

Detail of May calendar page

Today we were in a fever of making. So many poems that I’m dizzy with the words, chock full of the stories and the conjuring spells of hope and sadness. Today we were also at times rocked by outbursts of anger and of grief. People are letting out their demons and putting them on the paper. It’s a shock to hear someone scream out a gutfull of sorrow, a shock to hear a story of a human burning alive. To be told, by someone weeping with desperation,

“I used to cry into my pillow, now I don’t have a pillow to cry on.”

But from such things, also:

“It’s 5:30 I have been awoken by the sun shining and birds singing, thinking about my possibilities…”

 (Robyn, Prime)

Craig- August page

Craig holding his August page (work in progress)

arthur+martha are making an illuminated manuscript, at the Booth Centre and other support centres for people with experience of homelessness. It gathers together significant events, dates, people, celebrations and memorials, all in one book, giving a wide cross-section of hugely individual lives. Our hope is that by doing this we reassert the identity and the individuality of people who are sometimes dismissed as “homeless” when they are so much more. Supported by HLF.

Lawrence and page of book

Lawrence, with his poem/artwork Vespers


One thought on “The tales what happened to me

  1. Paula’s “Skylarak” was such a delight to read – as are all her poems which have a kind of magic and they always lead me into a higher state of awareness. Thank you Paula. Shirley x


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