FoR in Focus: The Origin Story

An entry from Founder and Creative Director, Phil:

‘Where it all began’ is a dogma that has most likely been debated since ‘the beginning’ itself. And however intangible ‘the beginning’ may seem, Creation and Origin Stories have long-held a captivating charm for me. Such stories seem curiously pertinent when considering the beginnings of Frames of Reference – not least because they are often penned in the reflections of anthropologists and documented through ancient art.

When I walked the base of Uluru back in 2008 I was told the story of the Dreamtime, including those nuances that could be read into the physiognomy of the rock itself. While there is no singular creation story among the indigenous Australian groups, an overview of the dreamtime was imparted to me as follows:

In the beginning the earth was bare and cloaked in only darkness. No life existed and there was no death to counter it. Beneath the earth itself lay the sun, the moon, and the stars in slumber. And alongside them slept the eternal ancestors, until one day they awoke themselves with their need to create.

This awakening marked the beginning of the Dreamtime, in which they walked the earth; sometimes as animals, sometimes as humans, and sometimes somewhere between the two.

The Ungambikula were two such creatures, self-created from the nothingness of the world that they began to pace. They came across half-made humans, shapeless and as-yet indecipherable for what they truly were.

Using their great stone tools they carved faces, limbs and bodies into these unfinished beings, until as humans, animals and plants they became present in the world. And upon the completion of their work, the ancestors returned to their slumber – either becoming the ground once more or taking the form of various landforms, rocks and trees. Yet, all those who were carved into being by them maintained a bond of allegiance with the totem of the animal or plant responsible for their creation. It was through this dreamtime that the world and all those within it came to be. And the dreamtime is still visible in the world today – the sacred traces of the ancestors’ presence being marked into those places that they worked their power.

I love this story, not least because of the imagery it conjures up but also because of several key ideas that it elicits. I like the initial notion that before anything is created there is nothing of importance in existence; suggestive of how essential it is to create. Secondly, the understanding that the ancestors were awoken from their sleep by the need to create is somewhat enchanting. And finally, I really enjoy the prospect that the ancestors cannot rest until they have finished their creation, and that a bond then remains between the creators and that which has been created.

While I would never go so far as to directly match an origin story like that of some Indigenous Australian communities with the genesis of an art company, it can been fun to draw upon some of the themes evoked and then parallel the resonances I see in the beginnings of FoR. Starting a company is daunting: Very daunting. Not only does it take a lot of preparation, but on a daily basis it takes continual reaffirmation of self-belief and your belief in your ideas. And while it isn’t quite possible to give a measurement for the effort involved in waking an indigenous ancestor, I can confirm that pedalling a start-up in the early days can feel like you are trying to create an entire universe at times(!)

Yet, perhaps akin to the drive of the eternal ancestors depicted above, it has fast become something that feels as if it must be done. As many others who have built their own companies from nothing will surely attest, there is certainly a deal of sleeplessness involved. A new business really does seem to exist as a creature that will not let you rest until its daily quelling has been achieved. And although it may appear like a relentless beast that chases you onwards at times, a start-up only has legs when there is genuine passion behind it. And that is something that I have never doubted in the case of Frames of Reference.

In my time working within anthropology I have always been endlessly fascinated by the way people make meaning from the world that they inhabit. This meaning sees them steadily construct and continually adapt a framework through which they then perceive, interact with, and express their ‘self’ and their world. And as we all live different lives, in different contexts, and through different and ever-evolving frameworks of perception, the worlds that we come to exists within are all inevitably different and carved with the gradations of our personal experiences. The challenge, to my mind, is in finding common connection, language and understanding between our different worlds. And, as timeworn as it may sound, one language that I believe permeates across all plains is that of love. This makes the expression of love and it’s form a beguiling prospect.

Yet, this idea becomes even more curious when put into conversation with the understanding that we live in a society that places multiple stipulations on love and its expression. In the United Kingdom we are still haunted by gender stereotypes of men who do not cry or express emotion. We are unsettled by our families not fitting into antiquated familial models, as are highlighted to us by traditional rituals such as Christmas Day. Many of us also find that we inhabit a cultural climate that encourages us to view ourselves as competitive professional, romantic and social commodities, which can inspire feelings of isolation and personal insufficiency.  I don’t find it surprising that the mediums through which authentic love is expressed in such a setting are varied, sometimes complex and quite often only subliminal. We don’t inhabit a social space that typically encourages us to be emotionally open, as with that sort of expression can come vulnerability – which we are typically programmed against. However, I am pleased to say that I think there are lots of miniature revolutions taking place in response to this sort of archetypally British ‘stiff-upper-lipped-ness’. And I would very much like to think that Frames of Reference constitutes one such mini-revolution.

My own personal origin story probably goes some way to explaining the starting place of Frames of Reference. I grew up within a household that was partly characterised by my older sister’s severe autism and simultaneously coloured by my mother’s profession as a psychotherapist. As a result of this curious socio-emotional cocktail-living, we existed in a home that operated using what was probably quite an usually direct level of emotional communication. In response to the challenges that my sister’s autism brought about for both her and us, we readily talked through our feelings, our emotional responses, and were re-granted our agency by my mother’s emotional guidance across many situations. And so a way of staying as sane and as happy as possible was crafted. We were emotionally brave; and crucially, direct. It was only in later years when I came to form meaningful connections with those beyond my immediate family that I was surprised to find that this way of managing my own and others’ emotions was not commonplace. And with this realisation came the further revelation that thinking in this way could be both advantageous and very problematic.

Working out just the right balance of engagement in this type of thinking and when to draw upon other frameworks of thought has been an on-going interest. And while it can be challenging to find the equilibrium in all situations I am certainly thankful for one familial trait: we are not emotionally cowardly. Regardless of the situations or challenges that we face in our daily lives, I have arrived at the staunch belief that we need to communicate about the feelings we have been prompted to have on some level – be that an internal communication or one that reaches out to others – should these feelings compromise our happiness. It is in this communication that we not only stand the chance of finding resolution but it also enables us in the art of actively defining and thus carving out the people that we are willing to be. Yes, it is an art that arguably takes a lifetime to master, but in a world of increasing depression, disconnectedness and social anxiety, it is one that seems well worth the effort of honing.

It was as someone operating within our unusual and family-specific rhetoric that I found myself two years ago having a minor panic. Mother’s day was fast-pending and I was running short on time. Living in London, and working within the creative arts, my days were so regularly devoured by commuting, extra working hours and the necessary evil of travelling long distances to see friends. Yet, with an unexpectedly free afternoon one weekend, I set about generating ideas on how to tackle my Mother’s day dilemma before I visited my parental home in Edinburgh the following week.

Initially, I began by trawling the internet for something that held a personal charm. With the recent upsurge of sites such as not-on-the-highstreet and Etsy, I was enthused by the more personal approach to the gifts available on these platforms. However, I found myself progressively disengaged with the subtly generic models that many of the online gift options seems to follow; merely inserting basic details into pre-made products that seemed rather general. To my mind it felt slightly like a cop-out.

I was also mindful of the fact that both I – and my mother – were all too aware of my interest and ability to physically create things. There are also few things that generate more pleasure for me than spending my time making something out of nothing (or from little, at least). So, with this awareness, and the clock ticking, I set about concocting a plan of action to create a gift that would be original, heartfelt and emotionally intelligent enough to satisfy the motherly wants of a psychotherapist.

What I sought more than anything was to give a gift that said, quite simply, “I remember all of the things that have informed me of who you are, and it is in that knowledge that I can say I truly love you”. Though less verbose. Obviously. So I began to mull over those things that seemed apposite within my shared history with my mum. As I thought, various times came to mind; adventures, journeys and pivotal moments of growth for us and our dynamic. And with these I was able to identify accompanying specifics that could take physical form as documents. Suddenly I was onto something: I could create an artistic work with these materials! The question that followed though, was what exactly should I make…?

On the basis that I wanted whatever I created to be similarly relevant to our relationship and her I decide that the greater format needed to be similarly well-considered. My mother’s name is Rosalind. Upon looking into the derivation of her name I discovered that its spelling was influenced by the Latin phrase rosa linda, which means ‘beautiful rose’. And there was my ‘in’. It made sense that I should construct a rose of sorts, the petals of which would hold the songs, stories, and reference points of our shared existence. And that was what I did.  And so, this very first Frame of Reference (although it was not to be known as such for some time) was born. The result can be seen in the accompanying image. However. It was not until I had travelled north and delivered this gift that I came to see the emotive power that such a gift might have.

While my mother possesses an exceptional emotional intuitiveness, she is certainly not an overly emotional figure. But upon receiving this gift she was very moved: surprisingly so. Once she worked out exactly what its form and content signified, she was soon to be found walking around the house with it, keeping it by her all day until it was then mounted on the wall by her bedside.

What was more surprising still were the reactions of others who came into contact with the piece. Intrigued by its appearance and then inquisitive about its constituent parts, people seemed to be genuinely shocked by the duality of thought involved: it was both artistic and very personal. And while I look back to this piece now with amusement for its simplicity it is undeniably the starting point for what was to follow. Others soon placed orders, and with no other business model specifying this process of working, a need was identified. This all became exciting because the ‘need’ involved the doing of something that I fundamentally love: artistically creating. The fusion of this artistry with an anthropological approach then added another vent of personal passion. And with no further effort, the seed of an idea had been planted. All that was then left was the gathering of enough gall to grant such a seed the sustenance and determination required to grow.

It was over the next few years that such a determination began to accumulate. This drive was largely powered by my quest to pursue my own authenticity. A pivotal moment in this mission was my reading of a book in which the author meditates on what he identifies as joys and passions. To paraphrase, he unpacks ‘joys’ as activities or engagements in life that bring us a lightness and a happiness that is generated from within; so crucially, joys are not those moments of happiness that are granted to us by others, and more specifically by the external validations of others. Joy is a personal experience of happiness, often best identified by the feelings incurred in their absence. Then, ‘passions’ occur when we find ourselves amid the repeated practice of a joy but without any diminishing effect.  Such passions are not common, but this text stressed the importance of pursuing them when we locate them. It is in this engagement with joy and with subsequent passion that we can in part pursue a path toward our own authenticity. Upon indoctrinating this thought model into my own rationale for life, it started to seem foolish to chase any other way of existing.

With creating and then engaging with people emotionally constituting two of my greatest passions, the creation of a business that incorporated both elements seemed ideal. So following the construction of a business plan (a task of surprising temporal demand), the forging of several key contacts for progressing with a business identity and the general accumulation of enough nerve to proceed, I took the ultimate leap. Within the space of a weekend, I packed in my perfectly lovely job working creatively and as a researcher within film, I left a flat and flatmate that I adored, I locked my life into storage and I drove the 500miles home to Edinburgh to take up residence in a city that I knew of old; and crucially one that would be more financially forgiving of my status as a new business founder. And without further ado, the hard work commenced.

What was initially required of me was the creation of an opening collection. Oh and the founding of a brand identity. Then the establishment of a financial, legal and governance system that would be profitable when placed in a three-year and five-year trajectory, the trademarking, administration and safeguarding of my intellectual property, the marketing, PR and sales management of a product, the rearing of a social media presence that was multi-platform and coherent with brand aesthetics, the writing of all website and company copy, the networking among artists, entrepreneurs and other start-ups within a city I hadn’t lived in for 10years… and the list goes on. As does the continual rollercoaster of summoning courage, strength and humour on those days when things simply do not go to plan. There have already been many times when I have woken into days and questioned, ‘what battle am I fighting today?’ Which I suppose begs the question, well, why do it?

And the answer is two-fold: 1) because this time they are my battles to fight, which makes all the difference. And 2) because I can’t not try. It is at this stage that I am daring enough to draw upon the creation myth detailed above again, because I really do identify with the notion that I will not rest easy until I have created the vision that my experiences in the world have led me to hold. I believe totally in the importance of expressing emotional sentiment, and of telling people how we feel before there is no longer time or the opportunity to do so. I also believe wholeheartedly in the power and capacity of the arts to give voice to this in beautiful and sympathetic ways. The more that the Frames of Reference vision grows and develops and particularly when it is experienced by those who come into contact with it, the more I believe in the importance of working like this. It is undeniably a privilege to live in a society and a context whereby this sort of business is even attemptable; and that I acknowledge. But as people living in such a cultural space, I think it would be timorous not to attempt such engagement, and with it to embrace the possibility of expressing our emotional sentiments and selves in a way that holds the potential to move others and to progress our ‘self’s and our interpersonal connections.

And so it has come to pass that this is the path. And while it may be rocky and full of unexpected twists and turns, it surely cannot fail to be an education. And it seems important that any learning we do at FoR should be offered up as an experience that might be shared, hence the importance of this company blog. It is here that we will not only relay the meaning behind the artworks we are working on and the significance we see in the work we do, but we will also include reflections on the start-up journey, the significance of the arts in a model such as this, and of course the anthropological elements of note. We hope you enjoy these musings and experiential take-aways as much as we enjoy producing them. We also very much look forward to your comments, thoughts and contributions to the dialogue that is beginning in these pages.

A final influence that should probably be noted relative to my personal origin story is that of Walt Disney. Afterall, when the daily cognitive behavioural therapy of our family home didn’t seem to be ridding us of our personal turmoils, there was always The Aristocats. And while Walt himself has been outlined as having some debatable character traits, his ability as a businessman was undeniably impressive. So with that in mind, I will leave this entry with two of his pearls of his wisdom when it comes to ambition. The first is this:

If you can dream it, you can do it

Unrealistic expectations of romantic love aside, surely Disney at least teaches us that we should strive to be as great as the men and woman that we are capable of imaging ourselves to be. Admittedly, I have never seen Snow White amid the act of financial forecasting for a business, nor Mulan preparing a stand for a wedding convention, but the parallels of determination, and belief in that which can be envisaged is totally applicable to business.

And finally, with the awareness that this entry is now longer than any of its heirs will every likely be, the second quote from Walt comes into play:

The way to get started is to quit talking and begin doing

So without further ado we leave you to continue the pursuit of your dreams, your dreamtimes and your ambitions for this day at least, as we crack on in carving out our story.