My sister, me and David Bowie: You’re Not Alone
Words & Imagery by: Evie Summers
Hidden from the hammer of London rain, the Lightroom became home to a collection of quickly gathering people. I plodded in laden with rain, made ready for what seemed an evening above my station, a notion confirmed as the remnants of my attempts at sophisticated dress, dripped and marked my path into a room of decidedly dry onlookers. Clearly, I was the only one thoughtless enough, or as I felt immature enough, to forget the existence of an umbrella. Truthfully, I didn't own one to remember a fact; I cursed myself as I sped to the event. In my infinite wisdom, or more accurately infinite stupidity, I had elected to wear a suede jacket, red heeled boots and flares. Suppose I was masking my incongruity with an admittedly poor Bowie evocation. Something I quickly realised only I had done, strike 2.
In an attempt to acclimate, I made my way to the bar where I spied, rather sweetly, Bowie-inspired drinks. My hand wavered toward one, a small, heavy-based Allegro glass topped up with a pale gradient of peach liquid. Accompanying it was a small chalkboard sign that read “Ground Control (non-alcoholic)”, the latter part of the sentence I had initially failed to see. So while the offering of lychee, elderflower, lime and soda seemed pleasant enough, after my less-than-stellar entrée, it felt just slightly insignificant. I stood singularly and silently in a crowd of chattering and giggling, still half soaked, so non-alcoholic, with little to be desired. I followed the direction of the staff, left across the bar to a highball glass and a sign that read “Major Tom Collin” Thankfully, the little phrase was omitted. Gin seemed good. Sophisticated even.
Truthfully, despite damp foppar, I was thrilled to be there. Bowie had been a recurrent figure in my life. My oldest sister had, from her adolescence, been, some could say, obsessed with the star and had as a result spent a great deal of time preaching his talent to me.
Memories of my sister, be it sat in her kitchen, or her car, or her bedroom, her living room, or outings together, threaded together by Bowie. All of our small sisterly moments seemed bound by his presence, a painting in the backdrop, a song as we drove, my latest update to her about some Bowie-related something or other. Music has always connected the two of us. As much as I'd hate to admit it, my taste was unmistakably a rehash of hers. Which we were happy to remind me of, to tell me she had, in fact, seen this new band I'd found, and worse still, “back when they were good”. In a strange way, I relished the brag. I struggled as a child with feeling alone, exacerbated by the gap between my sisters and me. I found myself desperately looking for proof of our likeness, for ways to be connected to them, and our serenity in music offered me that.
That is to say, when I found her love for Bowie, I loved Bowie; it became a great focal point for my attempts at connection. I can't explain the sheer amount of David Bowie iconography I myself have produced over the years – including but certainly not limited to bags, lightning gingerbread, t-shirts, and no less than 9 portraits.
Suffice it to say, Bowie represents a great deal to me. And so attention at this event meant a similarly great deal. Maybe more than it should, which is why I elected for gin.
Just behind the bar read a sign, “David Bowie, you are not alone”
I sat, in fact, alone, with my drink and observed quietly. The room is a pale terracotta, with lily-like lamps dropping from the ceiling. I thought primarily of what I would tell my sister about the show when I undoubtedly called her immediately after, that was my marker of success. Then, as I watched everyone coalesce and go on, I imagine what Bowie meant for them, who they would tell if anyone, what would be their marker of success for this show. Was my marker philosophically methodical enough? The sting of thought broke as we were ushered down, serenaded by echoes of Bowie's voice that bled through the red-lit corridor, then down further to an expansive black box room.
Each face of the periering falls displayed a bowie of varying eras. The primary screen, which sat parallel to the entrance, read again “David Bowie You are not alone”, and it occurred to me once again that I was in fact alone in this circumstance, a fact that I had attempted to push away as it made me feel small and insignificant in a room of conversation.
I took my seat towards the back of the dimly lit room on a set of raised seating.
Again, the thought of my sister and her approval entered my head as I watched the remaining crowd shuffle in and arrange themselves on the ground level.
It struck again just how few of tonight's audience had come alone, the peculiarity of sitting alone, acutely aware of the shared nature of this kind of viewing.
A small intern=mission introduced us to the piece, then returned to the darkness.
A poster of the pop star's face appeared – the words ‘show a souvenir David Bowie’ framing his face in yellow paper. His voice, crisp, set to a melodious and sighingly sad piano, reflects on the significance of life, resolving that “okay if this is our only life, let's play with it”. With these images of London littered with images of Bowie's face rolling down the screen, London's Hammersmith Odeon is circling the audience. We tear through to an iconic performance, the night Ziggy Stardust died.
The room is enveloped in a hypnotic hue of red and blue that overlap and spin dizzily around the audience. The sound of ‘rock ‘n’ roll suicide’ swells through the space.
Hazy predictions cut in and out of David Bowie's face, challenging the drunken haze of the late 70s and the entrancing glamour ofZiggy himself.
We are transfixed as we move to his face, his eyes fixed in the distance, crooked. Again, we hear that central phrase “oh no, love you're not alone”
Waking me for a second from my dream-like wonder, as I paused on how presently unsolitary I felt.
I think that the power a figure like Bowie holds is the ability to pick you up out of the realities and constraints of life through his characters and performances. He emboldens you with his mystique, his commitment to reinvention as a means of both survival and creativity regulation is undoubtedly personally freeing.
I couldn't tell you how long we sat watching the clip, dropped into the middle of a narrative, never really wishing to leave it, never really knowing where we are.
Following a short Q&A from the creators, I left being unencumbered by my previous sense of loneliness, replaced with a wish for myself to be reinvented, to explore my own strange multiplicities.
As I walked the short path back to King's Cross, I felt changed by my time in this experience. The thought of my sister and my excitement to share this revelation re-entered my mind.
Two tickets were bought promptly on that walk home, and I wait now until I can to once again let David Bowie bring us together. Though finally I can say I saw it first.
DAVID BOWIE: YOU’RE NOT ALONE LIGHTROOM UNVEILS MAJOR NEW SHOW OPENING IN APRIL 22
Lightroom announces a groundbreaking show, David Bowie: You’re Not Alone, which will transport visitors into the iconic performances and creative mind and spirit of one of the world's most visionary and influential artists. Featuring the artist as its sole voice, David Bowie: You’re Not Alone is both a multimedia spectacle and an intimate and revealing self-portrait. The 360° experience, produced by Lightroom and designed by 59, a Journey studio, is written and directed by 59’s Mark Grimmer (Creative Director for the V&A’s David Bowie Is exhibition) and Tom Wexler. You’re Not Alone will showcase some of Bowie’s landmark performances that redefined popular culture, using a mixture of iconic, rarely seen and never-before-exhibited material, selected from thousands of hours of film in the vaults of the David Bowie Archive in New York, from Space Oddity through Diamond Dogs and ”Heroes” to ★
