Morvoren (‘Mermaid’ in Cornish), draws on my childhood interest in local folklore to explore
the psychological landscape of growing up in Cornwall, revealing the hidden femininity of the
Celtic county. The guiding metaphor of the ‘Morvoren’ alludes to the cautionary origin of Cornish
mermaid tales now applied to the age of anxiety concerning the natural world, as well as the social
issues deep-rooted within my county.
This is a story of an alien world refracting childhood estrangement and the land’s ancient lore
through sparkles of fish tails. Within this county of ghost towns and pollution, there is a hidden
ecological landscape governed by morvoren. Slippery and un-conventional in its existence, there
is a tension as this dark utopia exists below the surface, transcending time and borders. When I
was a child, I sensed it in the imaginary friends who swam offshore. I felt it as I played on the edge
of the dark moors, overshadowed by granite circles of frozen women, and when I scaled rocks placed
by giants long ago. Monoliths and geological forms map my childhood now alienated by the emptiness
that spreads over the land. Over the crashing of waves, songs of sirens overlap with Bal Maidens tunes,
ribbons get tangled with seaweed in the watery turmoil. Far from the Cornwall I call home, this neolithic
world I desire offers safety and respite as I return underground to the sea.
the psychological landscape of growing up in Cornwall, revealing the hidden femininity of the
Celtic county. The guiding metaphor of the ‘Morvoren’ alludes to the cautionary origin of Cornish
mermaid tales now applied to the age of anxiety concerning the natural world, as well as the social
issues deep-rooted within my county.
This is a story of an alien world refracting childhood estrangement and the land’s ancient lore
through sparkles of fish tails. Within this county of ghost towns and pollution, there is a hidden
ecological landscape governed by morvoren. Slippery and un-conventional in its existence, there
is a tension as this dark utopia exists below the surface, transcending time and borders. When I
was a child, I sensed it in the imaginary friends who swam offshore. I felt it as I played on the edge
of the dark moors, overshadowed by granite circles of frozen women, and when I scaled rocks placed
by giants long ago. Monoliths and geological forms map my childhood now alienated by the emptiness
that spreads over the land. Over the crashing of waves, songs of sirens overlap with Bal Maidens tunes,
ribbons get tangled with seaweed in the watery turmoil. Far from the Cornwall I call home, this neolithic
world I desire offers safety and respite as I return underground to the sea.