Elly
Elly is a musician and photographer based in Glasgow.
Her mum died by suicide in 2016.
“All of my art ties together in some way. Each piece is a snapshot.
That’s the way I write music too - it’s a slice of time. I’m aiming to record it in as much detail as possible.
I’m driven by beats, by layers of harmony and voice. I’ll start with a looping riff or a vocal line, inspired by a mood or moment, and gradually build from there.
The thread between it all is, perhaps, finding a spark of joy or clarity. Even one as fleeting as a snapshot.
Ever since I was a child, I’ve used creativity as a way of coping. I just knew that I felt a lot better whilst making something.
Talking wasn‘t an option for the longest time. It felt too real. If I could turn it into a visual metaphor, however, it felt somehow conversational - a different way of communicating.
I started building little codes into the art and music I was making.
That was when I was happiest: when I was creating.
“I play her violin. Or I play some of the tunes we used to play together. It feels like a gentler way of accessing those memories.”
I had a few years of classical lessons but my real love was writing and playing tunes.
My mum played the violin in orchestras and string quartets and often took us along to concerts. I remember we went to see Derby’s version of Last Night of the Proms and the orchestra played Home Sweet Home.
I could only have been five or six, but I remember getting goosebumps when the audience started humming along.
It was incredibly affecting; seeing people so impacted by music.
After losing Mum, there was a real struggle.
I was fighting to keep my business afloat and help with the practical admin which follows a death, and I found myself wondering whether I could still be creative - whether I could even still access that part of me.
I had to make myself feel it all properly, and it was brutal.
I locked myself away in a cabin on the Argyll peninsula for a week in 2019. It was really simple, right by the beach. There’s something very therapeutic about the landscape there.
I took my instruments and recording gear and created music in response to my grief. I actively chose to sit with those feelings and find an interesting way of articulating them.
I play her violin sometimes, and I play some of the tunes we used to play together. It feels like a more gentle way of accessing those memories.
More companionable, somehow.
I wasn’t and I’m still not angry with her. I’m devastated, but not angry.
Before she died, Mum was training in music therapy. She was enjoying playing music in hospitals and for people with dementia, and she was surrounded by more creative characters. It was lovely seeing her begin to show more of her quirky side.
The night before it happened, my Dad texted to ask if I wanted a couple of units from home. He sent some pictures and my Mum was posing with one of them. There was a huge smile on her face. She looked perfectly happy.
Afterwards, we didn’t want to see her body. I wanted to choose the final memories I had of her.
The last time I saw her was getting on the train. My last words to her were ‘Love you’, for which I’m glad.”
You can see more of Elly’s work on her website or listen to her latest album here
Written by Laura McDonagh