Studio Notes no 84

a stitch revival

Hello and I hope you have had a good week. It has been a busy one here.

The brighter, longer days are giving me a little more confidence. I am taking chances on exploring different paths. Some paths lead back to older ways and ideas: this is fine. Too often, I feel, our ‘modern culture’ encourages a moving forward/away from previous dreams, when really life is cyclical and we tend to meet ourselves in the past more than the future. Just this week, an old friend got in touch after many years - and it sparked so many memories, ideas yes, but also reminded me of how I used to be and how I am that same person, only that person now.

Photo: A small ‘revival’ piece that I will keep for myself - I am thinking of framing with patchwork.

I got my sewing machine out from under the stairs. It was as if poor M had been banished from my studio life. She was very chilly from sitting in the dark and had to be given time to warm up. I took many deep breaths. I had told no one I was about to stitch that day. It felt a bit like I was going to try getting in the deep end of the pool again. Or, perhaps a better analogy is: it felt like conjuring up an old song and trying to find a singing voice, or, failing that, a good phrase of bravado.

photo: feeling a little more confident, after making various warm-up pieces - I began on this intuitive drawing in stitch

This was a big deal, for me and no one else. Just me and my loud-spoken machine who likes to clunk and hum along to herself. We sing together, me trying not to get carried away. My son came downstairs and told me to pace myself; he was concerned about my foot (the bones still mending). I promised to take things gently. I had no expectations, just the hope that I might be able to see a few old faces in the threads. It was a euphoric time, but also one that had me feeling a little cautious, careful.

I have always stitched intuitively, finding faces and allowing them to guide me to the next one.

Well, where have you been? The faces said. We have been waiting. They seemed a little impatient to appear, but I told them they must allow me to catch my breath. Tiny stitches, more tiny stitches. It felt a little like old times. Later, my son again checking on me, said that what I had made so far reminded him of things from much earlier. We were reminded of how I began drawing with the sewing machine when he was just a very small boy. And now he is twenty-two, a smidge taller than me but a lot wiser.

I made myself go out and take a break. I got on a bus and went to a supermarket to look at their garden plants, just to get a change of scene. Feet back to earth. The assistant by the self-serve tills looked at me with weary eyes when I plonked my basket down in the wrong spot.

Having returned home with a few prize plants (how growers make a living when a clematis sells for £2.39 I don’t know). I realised, after stitching for just a while, that this was going to take time. It really always does and has. The best things take time, so true. I wanted to stitch and stitch, but dared not push it. Eventually, the machine and I found a harmony, of sorts. And we rested.

I feel as if, without wishing to overstate things - I feel quite rejuvenated by stitching again. I have missed that part of myself. But perhaps the break was needed (no pun intended) to help me realise how much of the drawing with stitch matters to me. And yes, yes I will pace myself.

Over the next weeks ahead I will write more on stitch and other aspects of my creative work. I cannot say when there may be a new collection of work available to purchase. My gut feeling is that I will simply have pieces available as and when. However, I will most likely offer my stitch work to subscribers of this newsletter first of all. I will vary the times/days to allow people in different parts of the world an opportunity…

photo: the completed portrait in stitch - (I will make this available in my shop later today at 4pm UK time).

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A few new sketchbook pages. Revisiting more intuitive, quick and playful ideas. Sorting out my older sketchbooks has made me value this approach. I no longer feel I must make perfect looking pages - oh I have never felt that! I like the freedom to try anything and to have myself as the primary audience. But of course, I do like to share my sketchbooks with you. And am thinking of a new challenge to host! Fill a sketchbook in a weekend challenge. Anyone interested? This is the chance to not be precious about your pages….

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A few small stories from this week

For months now my friend Kath has been gently suggesting she take me to Wisley. She even offered to wheel me about in a wheelchair, when that would have been necessary. However, now I can walk more confidently that was not necessary this past Tuesday when we did indeed get to Wisley. It is a Royal Horticultural garden, open to the public, with sweeping lawns. We walked around a lush tropical glasshouse, both fascinated by the jungle of things, spotting familiar leaves grown as houseplants. I went home inspired to paint jungles and textures, shadows and faces between leaves. Thank you Kath.

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On the bus, an older lady sits down with a wheezy sigh. She is dressed in a fleece jacket patterned with wolves. We exchange the usual remarks on the weather (too cold, disappointing with a chance of sunshine next week). She tells me she is worried about her friend. She tried calling Wednesday, Thursday - and so on, but nothing. Thing is, her very elderly friend is so independent and will shift furniture about in that little flat of hers. She doesn’t like to think of her wedged between a wardrobe and a table, if I know what she means. I think I do. I ask if she is going to check on her friend? Oh no, she tells me, she is off out shopping for dog bones today. Her friend will just have to wait. Her friend doesn’t like people fussing. I spend the rest of the day every so often wondering…

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The sparrows have taken over the front garden, joyfully. I watch throughout the day. Come early evening, I look out to see a large ginger tabby cat nestled in the prickly orange-flowering bush (I have never seen this shrub growing anywhere before and have no idea what it is, but it is prickly). How uncomfortable must that be, I wonder, for a big tom cat to perch so still between branches. He has is eye on the sparrow. He has his eye on the goldfinch and blue tit, and the little wren.

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Thanks always for reading here, for your kind comments, likes and emails. If you enjoy these notes you are welcome to buy me a coffee. Thanks to everyone for their ongoing support.

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