(I worry sometimes that there is too much in my mind that I shall never be able to capture, pin down, remember or write down or make or draw or sew or…. and things will get lost for ever. I should write more perhaps. But then you still have to remember where you wrote it down. Remember that you wrote it down. Don’t lose the notebook.)
“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
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.
Some dodgy scans of some decent sketchbook pages from the last couple of weeks. All in biro, which I like very much. My illustration tutor in uni was so anti-biro, I have no idea why….. I am currently thinking about moving to London. And I wish I could make my mind up. I think I may just have to do it! Apart for that massive, life-changing decision, not much exciting happening. I have wasted many days theoretical London house-hunting on rightmove.com, and I have a big pile of unfinished textile work, but all I want to do is draw and paint. Almost finished a watercolour commission I’m working on. I want to spend all my time making art and absolutely no time with admin and applications and scanning and resizing and photographing and emailing and blah blah blah.
But it was ridiculously sunny today and I love the sun. More than you do. And I have tomorrow off work and am going to the beach with my little sisters and my picnic basket and I shall swim in the sea. I love the sea more than the sun. It’ll fix everything. Nothing matters.
“For your touch there are no words, I fly with high hopes and the birds, and I know there’s nothing better ‘cos I’m smiling.”
Or something of that ilk. I’m not as grumpy as I sound, promise.
Watercolours and fine liners…. maybe even a bit of pencil. I like her.
DAFFODILS MAY CURE DEPRESSION, said my newspaper. Ha, I laughed, no shit Sherlock, OF COURSE they cure depression! Look at them.They are the happiest flowers in the world. They are my favourite flowers, and always make me smile. I wish you could buy them all year. I love daffodils. Anyways. The scientific breakthrough is because of some important chemicals-or-summat actually in them. Not because of their cheerful exterior. I feel some embroidery coming on. Daffodil prescriptions?
I went to the Washington Gallery in Penarth this morning to pick my work up from the exhibition, and OH I sold a piece! My swearing, fuck you embroidery. Which I liked very, very much- I am glad someone else did too. I wonder who bought it…
I have been drawing a lot lately. Sometimes it’s hard to stop…? Have to start scribbling the next one down before I’ve even finished the picture I’m on…. Been using indian ink, fine liners, a paint brush and a dip pen. It is going well, and feels lovely. Here are some ladies. I think they are the same person. In-fact I am starting to think that all of the women I draw are me. They’ve been following me around for years.
for a commissioned drawing.
My grand sketchbook installation exhibition plan isn’t going to work. You know know ‘the wall I bought’? The wall I could do what I wanted with? Well I can’t. I can’t hammer anything into it. You can do what you want, as long as it happily lives in a frame. I do not want to be making work that lives in a frame. That is not what I want to do. So the gallery have offered to give me a refund, and I think I shall take them up on it. Sigh. Shall just have to find somewhere else to exhibit the piece.
Haven’t been oh-so-happy lately, which does seem to happen from time to time. So making work, and indeed washing up and brushing my hair, have been a little tricky. But things have started to look a bit brighter, and I am off to my friends open mic thing tomorrow, and there shall be life drawing on Thursday, and the boyfriend is coming here on Friday, and I have another GRAND PLAN to keep me occupied… May let you in on it one day! Exciting, innit. Everything shall be fine.
Oh and you should all watch True Love on iPlayer. Like, seriously. It’s good. David Tennant was wonderful. Harsh, realistic ‘love’ stories. It’s not all fairy tales.
Irresponsibly drinking port on a sunny afternoon, and I have installed my new scanner. New drawings, all done with Biro. I need to get my work out of sketchbooks and onto walls, I think these are quite good.