The knife

The knife comes from a time when the Art Psychotherapy Department at Goldsmiths College was situated in a tall Georgian house near the main campus buildings. A small room at the back of the house had been converted into a makeshift kitchen with a door opening onto a pleasant garden area. The door was left open during summer months, which created a rather cozy, comforting domestic atmosphere; it also provided a route to an open space where some staff members could enjoy a much needed cigarette! The kitchen often became the site of many interesting discussions, perhaps enabled by being away from the stresses and professional discipline of the teaching rooms and studios. The kitchen was mainly used to prepare tea and coffee in the short breaks between teaching sessions and meetings. Sometimes it was also used to store, prepare and serve food for end of year parties and occasionally, the impromptu picnics that sometimes surrounded the firing and opening of the raku kiln built in the garden. All this led to the accumulation of a motley collection of cutlery and crockery in the kitchen unit drawer, the knife in the image being one of these items.

 When I took on the role of admissions tutor the knife somehow migrated to my office and became a paper knife to open the increasing mountain of mail that then came my way. There it remained until I retired from the college. Its second and final migration was to my desk at home. I took it without asking - who would I have asked? I think I just wanted, as well as the usual retirement gifts and cards, a very ordinary everyday souvenir of all those years.

The knife itself is somewhat unremarkable. A friend recently suggested that it looks rather like a steak knife of 70’s Berni Inn style. A rich host of vintage connections there- at least for people of my vintage! The hardwood handle and brass rivets have stood the test of time well and have acquired that smooth, comfortable patina that comes with constant handling. The blade, once sharp has moved on from being capable of inflicting an accidental cut, although the point could still be a potential hazard. I haven’t tried to sharpen it; I like it just the way it is. On one side of the blade is the inscription ‘Argyll Stainless Steel’. On the other side is stamped ‘Foreign”. These two terms seem contradictory, although in these days of possible UK reconfiguration, perhaps apt.

I think the knife has found a good home. As well as still using it for opening post, I often reach out for it for purposes such as scraping of scratching through a thick layer of oil pastel, or for cutting through a folded sheet of drawing paper to make smaller pieces; its softened serrations leave a nice fluffy edge as opposed to the very precise one which a sharp blade would make. It puts me in mind of things beyond the purely professional aspects of Art Psychotherapy; the friendships, support, shared beliefs and ideals of like-minded colleagues.

Terry Molloy was employed in the field of art therapy for over forty years, and taught on the Art Psychotherapy training course for over twenty years, before retiring to develop his personal art practice. He was involved in the British Association of Art Therapists (BAAT) since its early days, was a BAAT Council Member for several years and Vice-Chair for two. His practice as an art psychotherapist included work with adolescents in special education, adults with learning disabilities and with adults in private practice as well as in secure, acute and long-term psychiatry.