everybody has a story

Lorna tucker went from being homeless to an accomplished filmmaker.

I ran away from home when I was 15. I didn’t want to go to school, and was really attracted to anything that seemed fun and dangerous. There was a group of older kids who would burgle shops and sell the stuff they stole, spending the money on drugs and partying, and I got in with them. That snowballed

– I started getting in trouble with the police and putting a lot of pressure on my family. I was arrested and had to go to court, and I remember that being the moment when me and one of the other kids were like, “We have to get away.” We ran away together, and befriended a couple of the younger homeless people around. As a young teenager, that was really fun – we’d drink beer all day and smoke weed, just hanging out. It wasn’t like what you’d imagine homelessness to be. But then the autumn started coming on, and people who had somewhere to go started disappearing. From there, it was a really steady descent into heavy drug usage.

During that time, I was approached by a woman with this wild head of hair from Select Model Management. I remember her kneeling down and asking me who I was, why I was there and why I had no home. She could clearly see that I was suffering a lot, and she gave me a card and said, “Once you sort yourself out, come see us.” Eventually, I managed to get off the streets. It made me want to do something with my life, but I didn’t quite know what. I didn’t know a woman could be a filmmaker or artist. You could go and work on an airplane serving food or work in a bar or shop – that was the sphere of what I felt I could do.

I wanted to go back to school, but none of the colleges would take me because I didn’t have any education. Someone told me to apply for an art school because you don’t need GCSE qualifications for that – it’s based on talent alone – and it pricked something in my head, because I’d always been really good at drawing. I got a place and a bursary for an art school. I only managed to stay for a year, because I relapsed and found out I was pregnant, but it made me realise how much I enjoyed creating. I’d done a short course in photography there, and I felt like an adventurer going out to capture something. It was very romantic and something I really loved, so that was when I decided I wanted to try and learn more about photography.

After I had my daughter, I was scouted to model again. Within six months I was going to New York, and it blew my mind because it was a world I’d never dreamed existed – being bought champagne in fancy bars and having my make-up done by amazing artists. The money wasn’t great, but it was enough to be able to buy a pram for my baby and rent a flat. After about a year-and-a-half, I started getting an eating disorder and ended up relapsing back on drugs; that’s when I realised I wasn’t emotionally fulfilled. I knew if I carried on in that industry it wouldn’t be good for my mental health, so I decided to really throw myself into photography.

I started working in a pub in East London, and this band called Unkle came in one day. I was like, “Oh, you’re in the recording studio across the road. Can I come take some pictures?” It was really good to see artists working and making and creating. They asked if I wanted to go on tour with them, so from there I started getting paid to make something, which was incredible. I went across America, photographing and filming them, making little tour videos. I started watching people’s personalities and realised I wanted to explore film, if I could capture the real

essence of people and what makes them tick. That tour was the moment I was like, “I’m going to be a filmmaker.”

It was at that point that Ian Astbury from British band The Cult gave me a book called Conquest by Andrea Smith, which explores the enforced sterilisation of Native American women. I said to him, “I’d love to make a film about it for the rest of the world, because I didn’t know anything about this.” So he paid for me to go and do a couple of test shoots, and I met these incredible Native American women who’d suffered horrific abuse without their knowledge. I went out there once a year to film, then I’d come back to England and work to get money and equipment, and when the bands went on tour I’d go with them. That was quite a slow process.

About 10 years ago, I got a call from Josh Homme from Queens of the Stone Age. Vivienne Westwood had cornered him at a party and said, “I’ve written this rap song, can you do it?” He said yes, but asked Unkle to record it for her because they were in London – they said to me, “You should totally come and film this.”

I didn’t really know anything about her – I knew she was a famous fashion designer, but knew nothing about her past, so I went along not knowing what to expect. I remember the day so clearly: this older woman walked in with these six-inch platform shoes and I remember being struck by lightning. She was so sexy and beautiful, which we’re never told women can be as they get older. She asked who I was, where I’d come from, what I was doing. I explained the project I was working on with Native American women, Ama, and she was really interested. We spent time chatting, and the following week I got sent a t-shirt of hers with a letter saying she enjoyed the talk, thank you very much. About four years ago, I bumped into Vivienne again and she was like, “We’re doing a fashion film, so maybe you should do a pitch for it.” I wrote a piece called Red Shoes and they agreed to make it. It was a really special time for me, and through that process I got to know Vivienne a lot more; she’d tell me little anecdotes in passing about her childhood, or how hard it was when she started out on her own – those years of being in the wilderness, trying to make it work. As a young woman starting out in the world of art, I listened with my jaw dropped, so inspired by her sheer determination. That’s when I decided I wanted to make a film about her. She wasn’t into it at first, but she slowly came around to it.

I realised she wasn’t just a punk in the ’70s and ’80s – she’s actually more of a punk now. She’s always been an activist, she’s always been a punk, and what she is today is an embodiment of everything she talks about. All in all, making the film was about a four-year process from start to finish. We found out last December that we got into Sundance, and I think I almost had a panic attack. This year is the culmination of everything I’ve wanted to do – two scripts I wrote a couple of years ago have been optioned. One is a story based on my time on the streets, which we’re shooting in spring next year; the other I wrote when I was in rehab, and that will happen afterwards.

I hated what I put myself through my whole life, and I really scarred myself emotionally. But now I realise that’s why I am who I am, and if you took any of it away, I wouldn’t be able to touch people or talk to people or work with people or empathise with people. I’m at peace with what I went through, because I’m really happy with how I am and what I’m doing now.