97 Years by Jo Hellier is an interactive installation, facilitated by the artist, in which the audience are given strings that control a delicately balanced soundscape featuring Jo’s granddad talking about his garden and his wife Marian. The composition of sound, film and performance has a light touch yet enormous emotional weight, evoking tears and leaving your heart stirred long after.

Waiting in the corridor of the Royal West Academy of Art we hear the echoing mumble of art galleries. Two large impressive doors are opened and as I enter 97 Years the room is filled with a slow pulsing low drone, a sound almost like difficult breathing. On the wall is a projection of blurred colours; above is a long wooden pulley system by which strings are weighed down with bags of apples on one side, then pinned down with a stack of red bricks on the other. Jo Hellier is sat in the middle of the space quietly arranging a collection of rotting apples on the floor in order of decay. She considers how they smell, their touch and look. She is dedicated to the task and takes her time. As Jo’s collection reaches order the film comes into focus and we can see apple trees.

Jo describes a garden that has been ordered and cared for. She tells us that this order is fading. She is talking about her grandparents’ garden. She removes the first string from the stack of bricks allowing the bag of apples to drop, and the sound in the space instantly changes. The strings, when released, bring a cacophony of sound. She hands the string to an audience member and whispers into their ear. She whispers ‘Pull the string until you can hear his voice’. As the audience member tentatively pulls the string we can hear an old man’s voice becoming recognisable and we strain to listen. He speaks from within a still present drone and swell of noise; he talks about his garden, which is being shown in fragments on the film. As more strings are handed out and pulled we discover how he met his wife, what he’s got in the kitchen for dinner and that Marion, his wife who he met when he was fifteen, has dementia and that sometimes she wont go to bed and just starts singing. The distorted speech and blurred film creates a general sense of disorientation that communicates Marian’s dementia before it’s even been plainly said.

When all fifteen strings are held by the audience, the buzz of sounds has transformed into silence and we can hear the last recording clearly. He says that all he values is Marian; he values her over faith. I feel that this is a poignant statement to make. I know for a fact that this would be a very bold thing for my own grandfather to say and so reveals how committed Harry is to his wife.

In the silence Jo explains that this is an empty moment, a moment of clarity and we are asked to hold onto it. Physically holding onto clarity, hands on a small piece of string, is emotive to the point of distress. The chance to identify with the situation of dementia like this is very powerful, because it is so tangible. The silence allows for the film to play out a beautifully mundane moment, Jo and her Granddad talking about teabags. This moment acquires a joyous sparkle as a few seconds of understanding amidst confusion and disconnection – to be with those you love.

Jo leaves the room, and we are left desperately holding onto our strings; everyone is reluctant to let them drop. As we do the drones enter back and the film fades. Clarity slips away as the string slides through our fingers.

A quiet yet attentive performance from Jo Hellier allows us to focus on the illness of dementia, the reality of mental decay. What prevents this piece from being completely heart-breaking is the love that Jo’s granddad, Harry, has for his wife Marian. We are allowed for a time to dissolve into this lifelong relationship in which they built a beautiful garden together. The piece introduces a simple yet memorable metaphor connecting relationships and gardens: both take time and love. Harry Hargreaves put a lot of time and love into both, and the garden we see in the film is so very beautiful.