I want to explain why we are inviting absolutely every last one of you to The Green Door Gallery art event on Wednesday. It’s taken me ages to write this out. It’s meant I’ve had to say his name over and over again.

In January we launched a mental health awareness campaign at the Irish Embassy. The inimitable “Darkness Into Light” team also donated an incredible 48,000 Euros to partner organisations that provide therapy training and mental health helpline services here in Belgium.

Here is my full speech from that evening:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mq151HP3rSg

It was an emotional moment, to say the least.

And here is your invitation to the art event this Wednesday:

Ever since my friend took his life in 2007, I’d been looking for a charity that supported people. Supported them in the way I believed my friend and his family had not been supported: I wanted to donate to something that helped individuals and families dealing with mental health crises and bereavement.

From the day of his funeral until the day of this year’s Darkness Into Light launch, I avoided every photo of him. Without thinking, I believed I could control my grief if I avoided reflecting on him. It felt like too much. I’d also, tragically but in a different way, refrained from reaching out to mutual friends. As if the pain would be too great and the floodgates would open. Me! Avoid talking? With friends! Can you imagine?

Then, 17 years later, after the speech when I FINALLY opened up, a family approached me and spoke eloquently. They described how some of us stop ourselves from connecting, even talking, to friends and family, as a form of control. I thought of a diagnosis in psychology: “Selective Mutism.” And a term in popular culture: “Stonewalling.” They explained that some people have such big feelings, they get overwhelmed, and in order to gain a sense of control, some people cut others out.

They had been discussing their own mental health relationships, but it sparked my own long-dark lightbulb.

I’d been burying my own grief in isolation.

I’d avoided looking at old photos.

I didn’t even mention his name casually until last year.

Around this time last year, walking with a friend Sarah Ironside she mentioned she was painting these hearts when she goes for walks. Sarah explained these yellow hearts help people process grief and connect to a charity that supports individuals and families. I was so inspired. I painted a yellow heart in my friend’s memory as we discussed the complexities of grief.

In the post I had written:

If you, or anyone you know are working through suicidal ideation or grief after the loss of a loved one, you might want to check out the incredible support and free services of the Darkness Into Light organisation: www.darknessintolight.ie

You see better than I could; I wrote his name in rain-proof paint, but I still couldn’t bring myself to say it regularly, even write it in my post online!

Sarah had written:

Here is the transcript of her whole post from May 2023:

#60for60 Walk #59

#Suicideprevention

#darknessintolight

My Penultimate Walk.

Walking for Dominic.

I walked with my beautiful friend Tamar Levi. She is an artist and she painted her friend Dominic ‘s name with love, sadness and hope.

She told me how Dominic liked to do theatre where there was no theatre. He brought theatre audiences on boats, he was like a theatre doctor who made plays better.

But at 42 he took his own life to the immense grief and sadness of all who loved him.

HOPE – that is the word for me which defines my walks. I walk with the hope that someone will reach out and get help. I walk with the hope that together we can play a part in reducing the stigma that surrounds mental health problems.

Tomorrow I will write these words in lights in the park.

Hope. Dochas. Hoop. Espoir.

I look forward to waking my 60th walk together with people all over the world and sharing the same sunrise.

Thanks to your generosity my personal fundraiser is now at almost 7000 euros – but every euro counts and donations still welcome.

You can donate here :

https://www.darknessintolight.ie

or to a/c of DILBXL asbl BE90 0018 6162 7232

Your donation can help support those around you by raising life-saving funds and awareness of the free services which can help.

Register to walk on 6 May at

www.darknessintolight.ie (choose Belgium)

“Suicide doesn’t end the chances of life getting worse, it eliminates the possibility of it ever getting any better”

#SuicidePrevention @PietaHouse

@suicidebelgique @113preventie

@PietaHouse @zelfmoordlijn @suicidebelgique @dilbxl

I had so many blind spots. Sarah Ironside mentioned his name in her post. At that time, I’d been holding my grief too close to my chest. Believing it too personal, even for my personal friends to read on my personal wall.

There are also odd circles British society draws around who gets to grieve to the depth they feel they need: I wasn’t his girlfriend or mother, why should I be as shaken to my core as I’d felt?

Up until Sarah and I walked in 2023, I’d rarely mentioned him. Of course, he was referred to and grieved openly at the time of his tragic death and during the time of his funeral in 2007. Back then, I had to say his name to apply for time off work to attend the funeral. I requested bereavement therapy from my work. I’m sure his name was mentioned in those three corporate-office therapy sessions. It wasn’t until SEVENTEEN YEARS later, in 2024, this family, deep at the heart of an event close to my heart, surrounded by their community and friends, speaking of another grief entirely, external to my own self, only THEY helped me reach this private, hidden, personal epiphany: I had been stonewalling my own community around my own grief. My way of controlling my feelings had been to avoid discussion with mutual friends and certainly, to avoid any photos.

That evening, I went home and looked him up. His face flooded the internet. Newspapers, tributes, memorials, projects he’d done for Cornish community, the heritage community that grew from his theatre projects, a whole new theatre atelier built in his honour, credits for films I’d never heard he’d acted, productions I’d no idea he’d founded or scripts he’d fixed… articles and articles and articles… and even an entire photo album dedicated to a life of sensitive beauty.

I was stunned.

Of course I was not the only person mourning Dominic Knutton.

The manager of the Dutch language helplines here in Belgium had spoken only this evening of statistics. It was reported, on average, 130 people are affected by every individual life lost.

I smiled at photos of his successes and laughed at photos of him playing instruments I didn’t know he’d even (tried to?) play.

I saw evidence of his naughty-academic playfulness in a Bacchanalia he’d done at the iconic Eden Project, his historical recovery of Ordinalia (three medieval mystery plays dating to the late fourteenth century,

written primarily in Middle Cornish),

even what a cheeky chappie he’d been as a child.

That evening I’d finally reached out and felt the parallel rays of all 130 people+ remembering my friend, our friend, with similar loving sadness, and suddenly I felt the isolate release after seventeen whole years.

Weeping, I emailed Dom’s friend and theatre producer, Jason Squibb:

Hello Jason, you might remember me, if not, that’s ok. Dominic Knutton and I were close. I’ve been a “Cornishwoman abroad” since then and I don’t think you and I have met in person since Dom’s funeral. At that time I felt a lot of guilt for not having been able to support him… [more effectively, through his darkest end thoughts]. I also really struggled with the bereavement (as we all did). At the time I felt I wasn’t able to help him, and the frustration there was not any mental health support that I knew of, was angry-making. At his funeral I thought about how much I wished there had been a free and qualified professional who could have talked with him in a way that might have led him away from self harm. So for years I was looking for a charity to donate to in order to make sure there could be support for people struggling like Dom had been at that time. Since moving to Brussels I witnessed a lot of people raising awareness for suicide and bereavement and mental health. I reached out to one of the organisers of the most transparently effective support groups and asked if I could donate and organise an event for donations to the 24/7 free therapy hotlines they run in 3 languages here. It’s taken us 4 years to get this event underway and yesterday, (with the benefaction of the European President no less!),

we finally launched the campaign. My artwork, inspired by Dominic’s illness is on auction and all donations go to the professionals on the phones helping thousands every year work through both the pain and processing that both Dom and we had to do without their kind of support.

Anyway, whether you remember me or not, it doesn’t matter. We both had big love for the same guy. I did this thing in honour of him and I wanted to share with you because, well, you’d get it. I hope hope hope other friends and families and colleagues and classmates and acquaintances don’t lose anyone even partially as important as Dominic was to us. I hope my illustrations help young people, especially, see that they are seen and these telephone lines help them feel listened to and these professionals support them away from the darkness that swallowed up our friend. I send you the warmest regards from Belgium and a big Knut kind of hug from, Just Another Person Who Loved Him

Jason responded!

Hi Tamar, yes of course I remember you! Wow, this is amazing. Great that Dom is not only remembered but continuing to influence others who meant a lot to him. I know Dom’s death affected so many people in different ways. But fantastic that you have worked so hard to provide support for those in crisis. Belgium is lucky to have you! Sending you warmest regards from Cornwall, much love xxx

We talked a little bit more online and Jason explained that Dom’s visionary founding of the Cornish Theatre Collective continues to thrive.

…I’m running the company now and since working on the Ordinalia in 2021, I’ve been trying to get funding for a play. The Knut is hugely successful in St Just, a wonderful community space...

Jason is referring to how the company expands and grows as the Collective Arts Ltd. 

Now the Artistic Director, Jason’s often juggling playwright, shipwright AND navigator. Fantastic current projects deliver large-scale outdoor epic theatrical experiences alongside touring theatre. Solid in the same values as Dom’s first Ordinalia, the Collective continues to function as a catalyst for communities to explore their own artistic endeavours. For those of you looking to support awareness and appreciation of Cornish cultural heritage, or interested in celebrating and interpreting our past: the collective works with freelance performers and practitioners and are developing the next exciting thing. Get in touch with them here.

…The Knut is hugely successful in St Just, a wonderful community space...

When Jason spoke of The Knut he helped me settle deep into the understanding that our friend Dominic Knutton’s memory is very much alive and still passionately active in the theatre world.

Art events coordinator Mary Ann Bloomfield managed to raise enough money to build a theatrical facility for the St Just community. It was that community that first worked together with Dom to revive the uniquely Cornish medieval Ordinalia plays.

I wrote:

… It’s just amazing how much community orbits his memory. Thank you again for all your hard work over there and all your kind words here. If, for whatever reason, you find yourself passing through Belgium, ping me a message. I’ll buy you a Belgian beer and a Belgian waffle with some Belgian chocolates so you can go back well welcomed

The warmth in our brief exchange was incredible. I hadn’t spoken with any mutual friends in 17 long years. I wasn’t even in the same VPN country, wherein I might’ve glimpsed award-winning shows, seen Jason Squibb acting in there: proximity might’ve inspired a more casual reflex to pick up the flippin’ phone!

The geographical distance was not the true divide.

Why do we do this do ourselves? Why do we look to isolate our feelings, to control what makes us human, why do we try to lock our little hearts in little boxes? Why do we sometimes hide when the truth is: community is one of the main healthy ingredients back to mental health.

Talking with friends or finding a community who are willing to discuss the trauma or tragedy or grief in your life is one of the biggest healing tools we can tap into.

I made the mistake of taking my own dang time finding my snail pace back to the place where I can heal more healthily amongst friends.

Please don’t isolate yourself.

If you have been through anything at all, there are others around you ready to listen, walk with you, remember with you, well up with tears and talk too.

In fact, aside from my friend and my art and my delayed epiphanies, the charity that I chose to support in my friend’s name, they are meeting for a community walk on May 11th. I’m just realising now, similar to Dom’s Cornish Theatre Collective, they too work to make a space for community. They hope that people who join the walk will find a space for their grief, an outlet for bereavement and a catharsis that can only come from shared memories and open hearts. You can join in sadness or in solidarity.

Here are the details to meet up on that morning:

https://www.darknessintolight.ie/event/brussels

Hope to see you there. Learn your name. Learn the name of the person you might have lost. And learn how to say my friend’s name again and again and again too.

-T-