Factory Night @ Joplings Department Store, Sunderland
Tuesday 8th December 2009
Joplings is Sunderland’s oldest store and has served shoppers since 1804. The rich history of the store has involved a number of highs and lows and the current building on John Street was built in 1956 following a fire that completely destroyed the original building and it's contents. The current premises were known in the 50’s for it's escalator that could only go up and the famous clock that still stands on the outside of the building. This Factory Nights event will involve a full tour after hours by the Store Manager including store rooms, original 1950’s features and it's rooftop view of Sunderland. You will also have time to explore the building and have refreshments in the staff cafe. rednile presents this second Factory Night in collaboration with New Writing North who have tasked 2 local writers, Sarah Shaw and Claire Lewis to bring stories inspired by themes of shops and visual art to perform during the evening.
"Shop"
There are ghosts
in the safety glass;
obese and smile-less,
trapped like genies
in cages of nostalgia.
And like I ’ve never been away,
thirty seven years dissolve;
I am staring at a beige
camille bra & pants set,
imagining them occupied
and laden with mystery.
The dada-ist has wrapped himself
in a fast-fit ironing board cover
but no-one has noticed.
Undeterred, he contemplates
sculpting a replacement head
from a memory foam mattress.
Save pounds, loose pounds,
cheap rounds, pet sounds,
coffee grounds peppering
the sheen of your perfect teeth.
The strip-lights spill their sepia stains
& everyone is glossed with a watery
burnt sienna , like an alcoholic's eyes
or a lazy students’ piss-stained bog.
An anorexic stares at a rank of yuletide logs,
& i’m drawn to a pair of porcelain dogs
sniffing at the trim of a chinzy lamp-shade:
what would sigmund make of all this?
There are elephants in the room.
They masquerade, they wear our faces,
mimicking our voices, conjuring up places
where saccharin memories fill the gaps
like 70’s, sun-bleached truprint snaps
Mam preferred the Co-op’s fake-tan pine
this shop is someone else’s past, not mine.
Bulimic Barbie in a gold prom frock,
a stylish Ken Hom non-stick wok ,
union jack cuff links & leatherette,
broken marriages & bad debt,
famous names & Tampax,
Hornby trains & heroin tracks,
asbestos dust & hair,
vitreous enamelware,
countless short-lived crazes,
posh Beau Brummell blazers ,
dark mahogany formica ,
a 1:72 scale Airfix model
of the Soviet space-dog laika,
the all new, all improved,
Saddam Hussein, cloven-hooved
W.M.D. chemistry set,
a rabies-ridden virtual pet,
a melancholic Santa Claus
posing with a chequers board
surrounded by a grinning hoard
of overly made-up midgets.
God bless ye merry gentlemen,
let nothing ye dismay...
And in the backroom,
reek of dust & damp,
where in between each
foot-fall creak, you speak
your tales of isamabard,
the tramp with jam-jar geps,
on the road, his Thursday schleps
to share in the warmth of
late-night shoppers’ breath.
And then, the mannequin morgue,
a shadowy smorgasbord
of severed star-jump limbs
framing the pert arse
of Michelangelo’s David.
Power balls & cap guns,
milky coffees, pink iced buns,
miniature zulus & blu-loos,
a battle-group of kangaroos
& polar bears in plastic tanks,
a tinny tannoy soundtrack
of “Christmas with the Unthanks”
not unlike a dozen cheap kazoos
played through the arse-cracks
of a swarm of drunken squaddies.
And always wrestling, as I am,
with the tension between
attention seeker and altruist
I toy with the notion of creating
a prize-winning photo opportunity
by spiking myself in the knackers
with a Playmobil narwhal.
luckily, for all protagonists
I decided against it.
“And this is Sally from Zapf,
she is soft, and interactive.”
Chapman Brothers freak dolls
with provocative mouths.
“I love you Barney”, but
you sound like a republican.
Flood-stained, blood-stained,
hair-brained & like damaged
stock with legs, we the retained
scoffing hula hoops and cheap
white wine; and this is a shop
not a factory – not a means
of production but consumption
and seduction. Beware the comfort
of the maddening crowd, the truth
is always standing somewhere by itself.
By Paul Summers
Session Images
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View video of Joplings Factory Night
Funded by: Northern Rock Foundation and Arts Council England, North East.
In collaboration with: New Writing North (Website Link) and Joplings Sunderland.