As a child I loved to shock others with the tale that I had been abandoned at birth by gypsies and raised en famille with kindly mice in the crypt of an old church.
Alas! The truth is altogether more unremarkable for although blessed with an illustrious and extensive lineage, I was in truth raised in genteel affluence in the shadow of the ceremonial stone gatehouse of Micklegate in the ancient City of York – a Yorky who lives by the ethos that a book, a decent cup of tea and a bar of chocolate can ALWAYS make the world a better place.
A dreamer from birth with a taste for history and the irresistible urge to create – by day you can usually find me along with my battered tool box inside my atelier creating away with the radio blaring out and surrounded by shelves of strange creatures, baskets of fabric, tubs of paints, the odd pot of glue, stacks of paper, exotic woods AND usually under the watchful eye of a black feline with an abundance of cattiude!
However, and as the sun falls on another day and with the messy apron discarded – I go in search of the dead.
For if I’m not thrilled by a bundle of old documents, poring over the details of a tatty burial record or recording an exciting discovery of an elusive ancestor in my old notebook – I will be leading unsuspecting visitors through the snickelways and secret passageways of York as the Lady Brigante while sharing the tales of the illustrious, miscreants, artists, misfits and those ordinary folk ALL lost to history – until now!
I have been asked on more than one occasion how I can move between two very different worlds – one which indulges my passion for creating all things miniature and the other in which I can be found wandering through cemeteries in a quest to wake the dead.
For me, it’s not a question of ‘why’ but rather ‘why not?’
AND although it has long been rumoured that the very name of Brigante is of notorious origin signifying rascals and bandits and that I share the blood-line of a famous outlaw – it is also a truth universally acknowledged that this familial connection has offended the more delicate sensibilities of my Brigante clan in the years following and as such we must speak of it no more.