the final tale

I thought I would have so much to say at the completion of this project.

I had developed such a bitterness towards this project – resentment, impatience, boredom, and sheer disgust at the number of portraits that were mounting up.

These are terrible feelings to have about a project that should be important and promote conversation and change. These feelings incite immense guilt, and eventually disconnection and complacency.

It was incredibly difficult to finish the last 20 portraits; I felt like I was fighting myself all the way.

So when I was finally done, I expected to feel some kind of elation. Some sort of great relief. At least a mild sense of achievement.

But I felt none of that.

I didn't even feel overwhelmingly shocked, or angry, or even empowered.

I just felt a kind of hollow nothing.

It was almost as if I couldn’t believe it was over.

There are 74 portraits in total. One for each of the 73 recorded deaths, and one for all the women who died and didn’t get noticed. Went ‘missing’. Took an ‘overdose’. Had an ‘accident’.

I want to share a story with you, one that has been on my mind since beginning this project. You may be familiar with it. Like all folktales, there are various narrations of this story, all differing slightly.

Drawing on several different versions, I have pieced together this one:

The Tale of Bluebeard

There was once a wealthy man who lived in a magnificent castle and owned splendid gold and silver plates, tapestries, and coaches – gilt all over. His name was Bluebeard.

Despite his frightening and unusual blue beard, he courted the fairest maidens across the land. He had married several wives, though shortly after the wedding celebrations, they disappeared and were never to be seen again.

There was a beautiful girl who lived next door to Bluebeard’s castle, and one day he approached her family, wanting to court the young girl.

The girl was frightened of the man with the blue beard whose wives mysteriously disappeared, but Bluebeard insisted on inviting the whole family to one of his country houses so they could be better acquainted. The beautiful girl, her mother, and two sisters spent eight glorious days picnicking, dancing, attending dinners and luncheons. Bluebeard regaled them with stories and songs, and the women found themselves thinking that he was an exceedingly agreeable man. Perhaps they should not have judged him so harshly?

So when Bluebeard asked for the girl’s hand in marriage, she accepted. She had given his proposal careful consideration, and believed him to be a good and honourable man.

The night before the young girl left to begin her married life at the castle, her mother gave her a gift of three birds: a red dove, a white dove, and a black dove.

“Listen carefully”, she instructed. “When you are in good health and living happily with your husband, send the red dove; when you are ill send the white dove; and if misfortune should befall you, send the black one at once and your brothers will come to your aid.”

And so it was that the beautiful girl lived at the castle with Bluebeard, and she had a good life. Her husband was kind and generous, and allowed her to do as she pleased.

One day, he told her that he had to go on a journey for a short spell. He gave her the keys to the castle and told her she could venture anywhere she liked, but under no circumstances was she to enter the last chamber on the ground floor. She promised to obey his orders, and he left, saying he would return shortly.

During the first few days, the young girl explored every corner of the castle, delighting in her new found freedom and wealth. Eventually she found herself at the last chamber on the ground floor. She had the tiny key to the door she had been instructed not to open. She remembered her promise to her husband, but curiosity got the better of her and she needed to see what was behind the door.

She fitted the key into the lock and slowly opened the door.

At first it was so dark that she could not see, but as her eyes grew accustomed she saw there were bodies hanging from the rafters, throats slit, blood pooling on the floor beneath them.

She had found the missing wives of Bluebeard.

In horror, she dropped the tiny key and it fell into the pool of blood at her feet. Picking it up, she hurriedly locked the door and tried to compose herself. She saw that the key was stained with blood, and though she tried to wipe it off, it would not disappear. She washed and scrubbed the magical key, but still it did not come clean, for it was bewitched.

A few days later, Bluebeard returned from his journey and asked her for the keys to the castle. She returned them to him, and he noticed that the tiny key was stained with blood.

“How came the blood upon this key, wife?” he demanded.

She stammered that she had no idea, had it not always been that way?

Bluebeard was furious.

“Of course you know!” he exclaimed. “You entered the forbidden chamber! Very well, you shall enter it again – and take your place among my other disobedient wives!”

The young girl threw herself at her husband’s feet, begging for his forgiveness.

But Bluebeard was a monster, and felt no remorse for his wife.

“You must die”, he told her. “At once.”

The girl thought fast.

“Since I must die, please allow me time to say my prayers”, she begged.

Bluebeard allowed her fifteen minutes, but not a moment longer.

She ran to her chamber and released the black dove, watching from her window as it flew towards her family home.

Bluebeard called from below, demanding that she hurry up and present herself.

“I’m just finishing my prayers”, she replied, her eyes searching the sky for the return of the black dove. She sent the white dove out to see if anyone was coming along the road, but the bird saw nothing but sun and wind.

Bluebeard called again, angry that his disobedient wife was taking so long.

Again she made her excuses, this time insisting that she had to put on more appropriate clothing for her death.

Again she searched the sky for the return of the black dove, and again the white dove searched the road for her, but they both saw nothing.

Bluebeard, furious that his wife was taking so long, came storming up the stairs, roaring that he would drag her down to the chamber by her hair if she did not obey him.

Again she leant out of the window, desperately searching the sky for the black dove. The white dove came circling back back to her.

“Your brothers are on the road”, the bird cried. “They are approaching the castle gates now!”

As Bluebeard approached the young girl’s chamber, her brothers began breaking down the gates of the castle. Bluebeard hammered on the door of his wife’s chamber and the castle shook with the fury of a thousand men. The black dove appeared at the girl’s window, and cooed softly that all would be alright.

Just as Bluebeard broke down the door, the girl’s brothers burst up the stairs, beheading the enraged man as he reached for the terrified girl.

And so ended the reign of Bluebeard and his bloody chamber.

There are so many points to be drawn from this tale in relation to violence against women – Bluebeard’s controlling behaviour; the young girl’s forbidden curiosity; the emotional manipulation that gave her a false sense of freedom.

Whilst working on this project, I cannot tell you the number of men and women who have asked me regarding people in abusive relationships,

“Why don’t they just leave?”

Why didn’t the young woman leave the minute she discovered the bodies? She had time to flee before her husband returned, but for some reason she stayed.

I don’t think anyone can truly understand the emotional control that a person can exert over another, unless they have experienced it. Fear, shame, insecurity, love, are just a few elements that come into the power play of an abusive relationship.

However, the part of the tale that has resonated with me the strongest is the final moments experienced by the young girl.

In some versions of the story, her sister is peering out from the top chamber looking out at the road. In others, knights come to save her instead and she sees the dust from their horses coming closer and closer in the final critical moments.

It is this moment that breaks my heart the most. This moment of desperate hope that someone will come and stop the brute, and save her life.

I can’t help but think about the last moments that these women in the portraits experienced. Were they desperately waiting for the bird to appear in the sky? For the knights to come storming in to save them from their terrible fate? Had they been waiting for so long that they had lost all hope? Did they beg for forgiveness at the feet of their predator? Did they close their eyes and pray as the chamber door was knocked down?

Apart from the sheer terror that these women must have experienced, I cannot imagine the loneliness that they felt. They had no bird to send out for help. No one came to save them. They had to face their predator alone, in the last horrific moments of their lives.

And so we come back to the question of “what can we do?”

Well, the White Ribbon Day oath has been re-worded slightly since I began this project, but the re-wording actually calls for more active change:

Stand Up. Speak Out. Act to prevent men’s violence against women.

It is not on the victims to speak up.

It is on us – men and women alike – to actively change our ways.

Condemn violent and controlling behaviours.

Call out misogynistic comments and jokes.

Educate against gender stereotypes and prejudice.

Have the difficult conversations.

Break down every wall you can.

I promise you will not be alone.