11th February 2014
A Slide Presentation for Splore 2014, 14th -16th Feburary:
My name is Hisa Isa Ray Margaret Fountaine, I was born in 1862, on the Faroe Islands.
When I was young, we used to walk all over the island in a squadron of tramper's. We would perch on craggy protrusions upon the mountains. Layers of basalt laid down by gigantic volcanoes. I loved the feeling of immensity. Looking out over the vista. My little blanket of earth. But this was before the butterflies...
Some people get abducted by aliens, others experience divine god and spiritual awakening. Me, I was abducted by good old garden variety monarchs. A dainty creature, known for its powers of metamorphosis. But yet unknown was its ability to travel through time.
When I disappeared, people said I had run away to join the circus. And yes, after the butterflies I was all sorts of things. Struck down with the affliction of never standing still, and crippled by a strange obsession to perch on flowers. A monstrous giant looming over a delicate bud. I would frequent botanical gardens, and was a regular guest at wedding upon wedding upon wedding upon wedding. And when it came time for the bouquet toss I would launch myself upon it, devouring it. Wistfully wishing to be light enough, dainty enough to perch on some petal.
This is what led me to the Hastings Blossom festival in 1959. And this is where I met Precious McKenzie, a wood-chopping king, who unbeknownst to me at the time, would become my husband and co-conspirator, in my quest to claim the crown of Blossom Festival.
You see the blossom festival afforded me the opportunity to smother myself in my beloved blooms. And sit like a cherry on a cake of flowers. In 1959 the parade of floats went for 1 mile long. There were over 100 floats as well as a pipe band, stragglers and marching girls.
But due to the congestion, and an unfortunate run in with another contestants float, Precious and I became embroiled in a bout of float rage resulting in the infamous Blossom ‘riot’ or as some call it the “Second Battle of Hastings’.
The float parade had to be cancelled. Moral panic inflated it in popular imagination to be a full-scale riot instigated by Precious and myself. In reality only a small number of people were involved. But the damage had been done, the Blossom parade of 1959 goes down in history as the year of the “Blossom Riot”.
After that Precious and I fled the region, but fate drew us apart. And I drifted from town to town in my little aqua ford escort. Nesting in lonely motel rooms. Until one day I ran away, and joined the circus…
In the circus I learned how to dodge many bullets, how to change a tyre and how to french kiss a lion's tail. I befriended a young lad called Peter. He was like the son I never had. Together we trained Frederick, the 1st lion cub to hand reared in New Zealand. Like Frederick, Peter had been raised in the circus. And his sister had been killed by a tiger. His father had lost his fingers trying to prise her head from the tigers jaws. Now I don't know about you, but I find it hard to separate bravery apart from passion, especially when it comes to cats.
But then again as Peter once said, we when are young we are far wiser than we will ever be, because we still believe anything is possible. A slide presentation with words, at 'Camp Curious, A Mysterious History...' 2014.
A Slide Presentation for Splore 2014, 14th -16th Feburary:
My name is Hisa Isa Ray Margaret Fountaine, I was born in 1862, on the Faroe Islands.
When I was young, we used to walk all over the island in a squadron of tramper's. We would perch on craggy protrusions upon the mountains. Layers of basalt laid down by gigantic volcanoes. I loved the feeling of immensity. Looking out over the vista. My little blanket of earth. But this was before the butterflies...
Some people get abducted by aliens, others experience divine god and spiritual awakening. Me, I was abducted by good old garden variety monarchs. A dainty creature, known for its powers of metamorphosis. But yet unknown was its ability to travel through time.
When I disappeared, people said I had run away to join the circus. And yes, after the butterflies I was all sorts of things. Struck down with the affliction of never standing still, and crippled by a strange obsession to perch on flowers. A monstrous giant looming over a delicate bud. I would frequent botanical gardens, and was a regular guest at wedding upon wedding upon wedding upon wedding. And when it came time for the bouquet toss I would launch myself upon it, devouring it. Wistfully wishing to be light enough, dainty enough to perch on some petal.
This is what led me to the Hastings Blossom festival in 1959. And this is where I met Precious McKenzie, a wood-chopping king, who unbeknownst to me at the time, would become my husband and co-conspirator, in my quest to claim the crown of Blossom Festival.
You see the blossom festival afforded me the opportunity to smother myself in my beloved blooms. And sit like a cherry on a cake of flowers. In 1959 the parade of floats went for 1 mile long. There were over 100 floats as well as a pipe band, stragglers and marching girls.
But due to the congestion, and an unfortunate run in with another contestants float, Precious and I became embroiled in a bout of float rage resulting in the infamous Blossom ‘riot’ or as some call it the “Second Battle of Hastings’.
The float parade had to be cancelled. Moral panic inflated it in popular imagination to be a full-scale riot instigated by Precious and myself. In reality only a small number of people were involved. But the damage had been done, the Blossom parade of 1959 goes down in history as the year of the “Blossom Riot”.
After that Precious and I fled the region, but fate drew us apart. And I drifted from town to town in my little aqua ford escort. Nesting in lonely motel rooms. Until one day I ran away, and joined the circus…
In the circus I learned how to dodge many bullets, how to change a tyre and how to french kiss a lion's tail. I befriended a young lad called Peter. He was like the son I never had. Together we trained Frederick, the 1st lion cub to hand reared in New Zealand. Like Frederick, Peter had been raised in the circus. And his sister had been killed by a tiger. His father had lost his fingers trying to prise her head from the tigers jaws. Now I don't know about you, but I find it hard to separate bravery apart from passion, especially when it comes to cats.
But then again as Peter once said, we when are young we are far wiser than we will ever be, because we still believe anything is possible. A slide presentation with words, at 'Camp Curious, A Mysterious History...' 2014.