I’m preparing a collection of photographs for a gift to celebrate my mother’s 70th birthday, which has meant trawling through some very old, very long-forgotten boxes in the attic.
Besides the customary snapshots I wish I’d never kept – photographs I would loathe anyone else to see, I’ve stumbled upon other memorabilia, including the degree show catalogue from my LCP days, humourous letters, love letters, diaries, sketches, newspaper clippings and notes …
The biggest surprises are those that are unwittingly prophetic.
When I left Coventry Polytechnic (since renamed Lanchester Poly) after the first year of my graphics degree, for the dizzy heights of London and the LCP, I had – as one might expect – a booze-fuelled ‘Goodbye’ party in the pub with all my Coventry peers. One of them, called Pog, wrote on a beer mat that he’d see me again when we were “top of the graphics world”. Well I am delighted and proud to inform you that Pog certainly did as he promised and is now a leading creative figure in a top London agency – ironic, given that I have since left. Alas, I suspect he may have a bit of a wait on his hands for me to catch up!
I rummage some more …
I see old photos of my nieces and nephews and discover with awe so much genetic influence between them and my son. I look at old pictures of my daughter as a baby and find it hard to believe it’s her. They bring tears to my eyes and love crushes me in that breath-stopping way – you know, when you feel a tightening of the muscles around the heart.
I also come across more photographs of myself, which engulf me in sadness as they smack me in the face and gut with memories long gone. They are of a time in my life that was full of confusion, loneliness, overeating, over-drinking, yet never really being full at all, just a void. Thank God those miserable days are far behind me, my demons have been addressed, and my life now has meaning.
However, the most pertinent discoveries are of evidence I was very good at 4 things: advertising concepts, drawing (I had a feverish appetite for drawing people when I was in my Art Foundation year), writing, and (if I go back as far as my school reports) pure mathematics.
These raise interesting questions during this time of immense economic change. As the graphic design industry starts to fall to its knees, I need to invest more energy in the more reliable training side of my business. But these reminders of other potential within me bring a ray of bright sudden light into my consciousness. The only drawback is that there are 4 possible routes for me to take. It may seem ungrateful to say it, but I find myself wishing I had only recognised 1.
Will I meet Pog again one day (we have not met since 1986), when I too am a leading Creative Director? Will I be a writer in 5 years’ time? Will my drawing hunger come back? Will I defy all this and turn to maths, much to the delight of my statistician father?
Watch this space: I hope one day I can wave to you and shout: “Hey, I’m over here! I came such and such a way, and found my true vocation!”
By Traci Rochester