Studio Notes no. 179

artwork, textiles and small stories

Hello Everyone

I hope you are well. This week I would like to share with you new artwork, some notes on textiles - and small stories.

photo: still life with art books - a new book pages painting

These books are both small gems. The Vermeer book is a concise look at the master’s work. The Hitchens book was a gift sent to me by a lovely friend when I had surgery in 2019 and could not make it to the exhibition at the Garden Museum in London. The flowers are inspired by those seen growing in cheerful displays in town. The portrait is Vermeer-inspired but my own invention…

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You may note, I rarely if ever make comment on world events. I will be keeping to this. These studio notes are just that: notes on my day to day creative life, what I have been making, ideas I am exploring and thoughts beyond the images. The stories I share with you focus on the small details that may reveal something more. Thanks for your understanding.

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It’s been a terribly, terrifically, gloriously warm - hot week here in the south of England. The early mornings have been my favourite time of day. As an early riser, I have made the most of them. Since moving here a few years ago, we have learned much about living in an attic space in an old building. There is a routine to my day, of opening and closing windows and blinds. Having portable projects to work on allows me to move about, work in different rooms according to the sun’s movement.

As I have mentioned previously, I am deeply into drawing, the humble pencil being my preferred drawing tool. How welcome it has been to have this drawing over the past week! I can also take it outside with me, or to a coffee shop, into the cool space of the church across the road, the library (though they don’t always have their fans going!). There’s usually somewhere to draw. My drawings are nearly always made in stages and I may have two or three on the go at any time. The completeness of a drawing can be tentative - I will leave it for a while and reconsider.

photo: woman at a table with book and bird - have to get a bird in somewhere, I suppose - the bird is inspired by one I made in fabric that sits on a windowsill here in the attic.

Painting on a very hot day is a tricky experience, but can be done, if you work carefully. Ink, however, is a very tricky medium if you like to tip just a little into a pot and work from that. I was able to draw ‘gentle days’ one morning.

photo: ink drawing - gentle days - continuing on with my series of concertina-style drawings, exploring the merging together of women’s lives and stories

Shop News

I am updating my shop today, Sunday 22nd June at 7pm UK time - you can preview all the new work now. There are four new book page drawings and three drawings, plus the ink drawing.

(I have several other drawings on the go at the moment - but these things cannot be rushed and will be, I hope, completed for next Sunday).

Future updates: Wednesday 25th June 7pm - new tiny paintings

There is a link to my shop at the end of these notes. Many thanks always for your support and interest in my artwork - it is much appreciated.

photo: still life with feather pitcher and paintings - a new book page painting

Several of this painting series feature flowers but I wanted to create one that did not. Instead, I wanted to paint a still life that was not so seasonal, but instead featured a collection of ceramics with a collection of painted portraits. As you may know, I enjoy the challenge of painting a suggestion of a painting - and here you can see something of a conversation, with the feather motif to suggest a timelessness.

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Textiles

You may have noted I have not been stitching much lately - at least I have not been sharing my machine embroidery or doll-making with you.

I always have many textile-based projects on the go - it's just that they are personal projects rather than work for sale. I am currently taking an extended break from stitching with my machine. Marjorie and I worked a great deal earlier this year and we really do need a break from each other, for all the right reasons. She is getting a little older - as am I, and we cannot simply stitch and produce work. My embroidery has never been something I can simply sit down and just do - indeed nothing I create is simply made on a whim, or a wish - but takes much careful thought and the right frame of mind for that.

But I love working with needle and thread, with textiles, wool, oh the possibilities. I have been stitching quietly on cross stitch designs, just for the pleasure of careful stitching. And because I love old samplers.

This month I have been attempting to hand stitch a patchwork square each day. I knew the ‘each day’ part of this would be a challenge - and so in my mind I have a happy target of around twenty patchwork squares.

photo: an example of my imperfect hand stitched patchwork - I admire antique hand stitched scrap quilts and so very much want to recreate something with that same tenderness and playfulness

Working this way allows me to see a larger project - piecing together a cloth or quilt - is possible if you give it a little time most days. The patchwork has got me thinking again about doll making but to be honest with you here, I am not feeling it at the moment - that is the desire to create new dolls. I want them to always be special, and possibly I will wake up one morning and feel a sudden urge to cut a doll shape from cloth - but right now, no.

That is fine. I do have an itch to make doll-size patchwork quilts! I do want to make a series of tiny patchwork pincushions - and have indeed started on these. During July - which is not all that far away - I will be giving more time to textiles-related projects, I hope. And I look forward to sharing some of these with you.

photo: another hand stitched patchwork square - only finger pressed at this stage, not perfect, don’t want it to be perfect!

I tea dye some of the fabrics. I am also using fabrics that I have plant dyed. here you can see in the centre grey-brown triangles that were dyed with tea, onion skin and iron - if I remember correctly. Some of the fabrics I am using are pieces I have had in my baskets for a long time. I am quite happy to mix plant dyed with commercial prints - I am no purist in this, but am simply enjoying the process, the slow and simple puzzling it out. And I look forward to stitching all these squares together and showing you something transformed into a single cloth - such is the magic of patchwork.

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Small Stories

These stories are inspired by my day-to-day creative life - I invite you to read them as small fictions

Stripes

Down by the river, my eyes are distracted by the tall figure of an elderly-looking woman standing in a nearby rose garden. She appears to be wearing a striped kaftan and a broad-brimmed hat. Something about this figure has purpose and a need for magic. I look back at the river.

I get up from the bench and as I turn, I see the figure in striped kaftan has moved toward me and I see now this is no elderly lady but a middle-aged, bearded gentleman. He is tanned and barefoot, and holding a clutch of small feathers. The colours are telling me he holds a posey of duck feathers. He offers a feather to someone who sits on a nearer bench. The person he has approached does not seem impressed by the offering. As he approaches me I say: I am going to see the wildflowers - as there is indeed a tribute to meadow wildflowers growing just along the river bank. He nods, sagely. They are heaven on earth, he says. Yes, I say, they are.

I wander toward the meadow flowers hoping not to be followed. Gratefully, I look at the remnants of foxgloves, the ox eye daisies, roses growing amongst grasses. As I walk beyond the meadow I see so many striped fish in the shallow river, orange fins bright in the sun. Like the flowers and grasses, they mingle and weave together.

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Huxleys

Someone has been moving my books around and I can’t find my Aldous Huxleys! I say to my daughter, who has a day off from work and is busy on her computer designing a unicorn. She shakes her head at me. We both know there is only one person who might have moved my Aldous Huxley books and it's not her. All her reading is strictly digital: manga on her phone. My son is a paper book reader but he has his books in his own room. I am the only person who can be blamed for the frequent disappearance of books. Despite my best intentions, reorganising, regrouping - books get lost and reshuffled, without memory. I know the books are somewhere here; I am experiencing a reader’s anxiety of just wanting to be able to hold them.

The next day, whilst looking for a suitable Pym to add to a still life painting, the Aldous Huxleys are discovered. They are in an obvious place, of course, as if a phantom librarian has helped to find them and has left them for prominence - right here under my nose. I have found my Aldous Huxleys. I thank the phantom librarian for her kindly assistance.

Time

Deeply engrossed in painting, it is only when I hear the church bells chime that I realise how late it has become. So much for giving myself forty minutes, or so, to gently wander through the park, to my hospital appointment. I am going to have to move at pace and that is not clever on a very warm day. Regardless, I hate to be late and must get there. The bus times are not in my favour, I could get a taxi, but no I will walk. I leave the flat at just past three and my appointment is 3:24. It is impossible, but I am going to try - no time to stop and admire any roses, though there are several beauties on the way. No time to walk via the park. I take a zig-zag through residential streets, hoping I am making short-cuts. Noting small details regardless of my time limit: a profusion of deep purple irises, lost cat poster. I get there, heart pounding. Angry at myself, I climb the steps to the portable cabin and step inside hoping for air-con. The clock above the reception desk says 3:20 - it could be wrong but I will accept that as the correct time. There are a few other women waiting, so I sit and calm myself, knowing I am the colour of strawberry mixed with beetroot. A woman steps out of a changing room, adjusting her veil. At first glance she appears to be a grey-dressed nun. It is only when she continues to move and fasten her veil that I see she is of a different faith. Just a few small changes and she is transformed from one to another. Reflecting on this helps me collect myself. My name is called.

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photo: still life with summer blooms in a blackbird jug - a new book page painting. I enjoyed the blues and oranges together here. The hot golds and oranges of the flowers are favourite tones. I love autumnal colours but here you can see it is possible for them to be quite summery. The cat has it’s eye on the bird, possibly?

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