Many of my friends are aware of my reasonably well-proportioned fascination with my late Grandmother, Dulcie. I actually do not have any saturated memories with her which can validate the thoughts I have surrounding who she was. However, since I was fifteen I have accumulated a combination of factual experiences people have actually shared with her, a long side, I’m sure, quite a few ficticious beliefs about who she was.
Fact; she was not the ‘ordinary’ grandmother who had all her grandchildren over to feast off her mountains of home baked goods. Quite the opposite; I have been told she could only handle a few hours in the presence of her grandchildren. Fact; she was very connected with creating ‘experiences’ and ‘events.’ Being a women of her time, she was quite the scene-setter with all her glamourous garments. This is how most of my friends have been made aware of her. She lives on through the clothes I have resurrected today. Often when I am wearing an item of hers out with friends they casually point, raise their eye brows inquisitively and state, ‘bloody Duclie?’
Fiction; I have decided that we would spend a considerable amount of time together if she were still around and I would have learnt a lot earlier on how to embrace femininity. This would have been quite helpful. Fiction; we would have been very close friends.
And so, Dulcie in reality remains a mystery to me and perhaps this is where my intrigue has stemmed from. But she has received the title to this space because she is someone that lived in 1950, a year I have an irrational fascination with, she is someone who effortlessly joins my mother, my sister and myself together and she is someone who all knew her as an expression of beauty. Something I will always try to exhibit.
This is solely a space to explore all the experiences, which Dulcie loved to embrace, that food, which I love to embrace, can create. This is rather ironic considering Dulcie unfortunately had a cook.
Danielle Rebakah Russel