Mrs Dalloway is always giving parties to cover the silence.

 

 

“She had the perpetual sense, as she watched the taxi cabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very, dangerous to live even one day.” 

Mrs Dalloway  – Virginia Woolf

Commission: Peace Lily Lady

Ta-da! Here’s the finished commissioned drawing (which ended up with more watercolour than originally intended…so I guess it’s a painting?!), for a lovely little beauty salon in Barry. I am quite pleased with her. It’s a very different thing making work for someone else, and not something that I have done much of…. Although I think that there is an embroidery commission coming my way soon, so that could be exciting!

(Peace Lily Lady – Indian ink, fine-liners and water-colour paint)

Rightmove.com has taken over my life, and I am bloody fed up. Just want to move to London already… One day, one day, one day, one day, we will find the ‘right’ place, in the ‘right’ area, the ‘right’ distance from the centre, and for the ‘right’ price. Does this place exist?! Don’t be so impatient and impulsive Emma. You’ll get there won’t you. Anyway.

I started a painting today. It is a bit scary, but a different scary to normal. She hasn’t got any eyes yet, which probably isn’t helping. And I made a truly wonderful loaf of bread. Possibly the best yet, but I say that every time.

It’s high enough to feel yourself falling. (And a proposal.)

I have so far had a productive morning. I’ve made raspberry pancakes, and, more importantly,  finally got around to sending my installation proposal to lots of Cardiff galleries… fingers crossed someone out there will be as excited about the idea as I am. Did I tell you about it? I think I did. But have an extract from my official proposal!

 I have realised that in sketchbooks I am being entirely open and honest with myself, because when the pages were written I knew that they would have no audience. Nothing is censored, nothing is toned down. Whilst I was so worried about being contrived and fake within my ‘real’ work, I had an epiphany moment. I want to exhibit a sketchbook. Take something intimately private and show it to an audience. I want to tear out the pages from one of my recent sketchbooks, and nail them to a wall in perfect, neat rows, in chronological order. There will be 110 A6 pages, each attached to a wall with a single little nail. 

 So all I need is a wall. Hmm.

6 of the 110 pages… some are blank, some are crossed out, some make no sense, and some are horrible! But they shall all go up. It is a prospect that scares me somewhat. So I really want to make myself do it.

Similar to camping last week. Jumping off of cliffs into the sea with my dad and my little sister. It aint natural to throw yourself off of a rocky ledge 20ft above deep, cold, turquoise water. It’s high enough to feel yourself falling. But you make yourself do it, and it IS terrifying, and it is wonderful. It’s a bit like that feeling. That anticipation and adrenaline. I like that feeling. I love the sea.

Just realised what that noise was. There seems to be a torrential downpour outside my window. Fuck off rain. My coffee’s gone cold.