Sunshine Sketchbook

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I Love Sunshine

Pencil, 2013

 

I love sunshine, more than you could ever imagine. It smells of spring and I am happy.

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We Made A Tent Rosette

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We Made A Tent, 2011

Hand-made rosette

I was approached by the Fashion and Textile Museum in London following my degree show in 2011, and went on to sell work through their shop. Some of this work was a series of rosettes – commemorative, awards for the little things; signifying important parts of time that have passed. Time that has been lived through. Badge of honour. A cathartic underlining of events. And move on.

I wonder if this is worth exploring again…?

We made a tent. Everything is ok. 

Little Queen – Embroidery

Embroidery. 2009.

“Little Queen”

Embroidery, 2010

Self-portraiture; this tells a story. A sketch of muddled thoughts, sewn without over-thinking. A satisfying way to work, it is nice to look over old art; funny how it all joins together (and sometimes makes sense).

Faint heart never won fair lady. 

see them lend love illustration

I mark the couples walking arm in arm,
Observe their smiles,
Sweet invitations and inventions,
See them lend love illustration
By gesture and grimace.
I watch them curiously, detect beneath the laughs
What stands for grief, a vague bewilderment
At things not turning right.

From “That Sanity be Kept”, by Dylan Thomas.

I bought a one-way train ticket to Gravesend yesterday. Sounds ominous.

I am moving in two-and-a-half weeks! The packing has begun. And I found these words that once upon a time I wrote everywhere… I should read more poetry. I hear that there are other poets out there, other that Mr Thomas. I have unearthed a lot of the past whilst packing, and thrown away probably a little bit too much of it. But it feels nice. SO MUCH ART! Some of which is actually rather good, which was a nice surprise. A lot of shite as well mind you. Now all I have to do is find a new job……. oh god. I don’t want to end up back in a coffee shop, but I actually don’t know what I want to do. Something that gives me enough money, and enough time, to carry on this attempt at being an artist please. Yeah. Exciting!

I Am Fine

Embroidery, 2011

I have longed to move away
From the repetition of salutes,
For there are ghosts in the air
And ghostly echoes on paper

Dylan Thomas

I worry that I’m not making art in the right way, that I’m doing it all wrong, I’m going about it wrong. But then again, that is a stupid statement- there aren’t any rules. I wish I could be content painting pictures. Landscapes preferably. I wish I was just really, really bloody good at painting. People buy paintings, people understand what a painting is. I don’t think about what I’m doing, I make something because it feels right. Why is it art?! Just because I say so? But my work has integrity, and it has power, and emotion, and it is real. Maybe none of it’s coherent, maybe I should plan things out. I need a plan. I have so many unfinished pieces of work… I need to find focus. But it’s hard to go back to work on something when the feeling that inspired it in the first place has gone. I want to sew and I want to paint and I want to draw and I want to write and I want to crochet and I want to….. I want to do everything. Yesterday morning I thought I could take over the world, now it’s all a bit overwhelming again and my confidence is running away….. Maybe all my work is about making art. All my work is about me. My work is about everything. Take that, maybe it makes sense that it’s not coherent. Life isn’t that straightforward. Oh it’s all a mess. It’s best to not think about these things too much isn’t it. Life is too short to be unhappy.

There’s some new work up for sale on Newblood. They want me to sew more words on vintage fabric, so that my page is ‘coherent’, and because people want that sort of thing. I suppose I have to play the game and do that. I’m not a textile artist. I don’t think I’m a textile artist. (But I did sell five bits of work through them last week, so that is rather pleasant.)

In My Craft or Sullen Art – Dylan Thomas

 
In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.

 

 
A favourite poem that keeps coming back to me. Dylan Thomas is wonderful. Sweetdreams x