Moving House, First Impressions, Re- Visiting Sea Moon and It All Happens on Geddington Chase

The Year ending 2010 to the year ending 2011 was a year in which life’s patterns and rhythm’s changed and it became a challenge to stoke up the fires of creativity and at times to keep alight the embers. We moved house and yet, even if just a few streets away, the emotional upheaval caused by loosing essential items in hidden cardboard boxes and negotiating new, smaller room layouts is enough to dampen any thoughts of creation. But, I have been here before and what saved me then, came to my rescue this time as I gazed out of my new studio window.
Roof tops, angles, chimneys, trees, slates, bricks, windows, distant woods and car headlights at night. It was a new Geddington vista; once again, compelled to document what I saw. I stole some time and amongst the piles of stuff, grabbed the nearest drawing support and implement and attempted to capture my first impressions of our new surroundings. Just before the house move, the computer died and once moved, BT decided to keep us waiting for 6 weeks to connect our phone line; this combined double whammy of technology deprivation was on the one hand frustrating, but on the other, wonderfully liberating as my mind was able to open to the real world, rather than experiencing the sensation of ones brain tunnelling like a hard, live, broadband wire.
I wasn’t able to indulge myself for long, as the unpacking was a more primary concern, but I produced enough to know that there was something there to return to, that like an old friend we could pick up from where we left off.

Before the move, in Dec 2010 I took part in a yearly group show called ‘Whisper Through the Trees’. Along with Open Studios, this is a great date to have in my art calendar as it is a goal to work towards; knowing that I have X amount of wall space that needs to be filled with new work. I was so pleased to be asked to take part and it was also an opportunity to show at The Yarrow Gallery in Oundle, which I hadn’t done before. After the move, the next main goal, once again was Open Studios. This time I hired a room at Barton Hall for the duration, which afforded me the opportunity to dedicate some serious time in attempting to finish ‘Sea Moon’ which I had begun in 2009; a seascape on canvas relating to a memory of a holiday to St David’s in Wales. My mission was to finish it, but although I put in a valiant effort, it will be some time before I make the last mark upon its surface.

The painting represents my talents mixed with areas of technique with which I struggle. I have often been described by other artists as a draughtsman rather than a painter. My skills lie more with delineating shape, carefully carving out space and form with line and tone, rather than the layering of colour and the accepting of the unpredictable nature of free flowing painterly brush strokes. This painting began as an abstract, an act of frustration, or more positively, experimentation, an un-thought out mission to conquer the act of painting, to allow myself to be led rather than lead. But I needed to bring order and organise the shapes and colours into something recognisable. A seas cape began to emerge from the crashing waves of marks and smears of paint. A memory started to surface and a need to describe the emotions attached to it. It was an interesting way to start a painting, because my natural way of working is to plan, to have at least, a mental map of a composition. The resulting first painting contained a dynamic composition, strong deep colours but with an un convincing geography and a confusing narrative. I knew I needed to change the whole painting to make it work, but to do that would mean that vast swathes of the painting, hours of work would need to go. I wasn’t ready to do this yet, it wasn’t the right time to say goodbye. For the next 18 months the painting became a teaching tool, an aid to demonstrate the theory of painting, colour work, composition ,visual storytelling and a tale of ‘what not to do’ in schools. In between its social engagements it rested, hidden from view, its owner too scared to face it.

The fear passed and with renewed vigour this September, I used chalk pastel to bravely obliterate areas, wetting in the chalk to fix it to the canvas and then over painting with acrylic, careful to keep the paint to a thin layer. In other sections I zoomed in and methodically and cautiously added detail. I felt a need to theorise the work and to pin down its intent and the story I wanted to tell. I made notes, researched and produced various sketches and plans. The act of painting, those first subconscious abstract expressionist marks gave birth to a vision. I had in part embraced a new way of working but now I needed to bring it to order, to use my key skills in order to produce a painting of merit. Casper David Friedrich, Leonardo Da Vinci, the Fibonacci Series and The Golden Section have all played a part in it’s re birth. But, I am not yet there; there are further areas that need re painting, and once again it is facing the wall, turned away from my stare, waiting until I am ready to face it again.

This December, I took part in the Whisper Through the Trees exhibition once again at the Yarrow Gallery. My goal this time was to complete a set of works continuing on from the initial sketches made of the scenes from the studio window and some new small paintings of Geddington Chase. Before venturing out and up into the woods and onto the fields, I scrutinized rooftops and chimneys from various angles and in different lights. I observed the interlacing vertical lines of the telegraph poles and the embedded trees, with the church standing high, surrounded by its congregation, its flock of cottages and garages. At night time I would see twinkling lights moving across the horizon - the distant traffic of the A43. Once dark, the same two windows would shine, street lights would flicker into being and the glaring beacons on the church roof would pierce the darkness.

A few of these pieces were inspired by the mid light; that time of day that passes by without us noticing: dusk. I would sit there and wait for this daily event and would have 20 minutes at the most to convey the passing of time, that point between day and night. Sitting there, ahead of me on the table, spread out, were my pencils, chalk pastels and paints; a murky cup part filled with water needing to be emptied and cleaned and a half finished painting waiting patiently for half past three. My eyes wide, darting about the scene, my mind absorbing what it could, noticing the smoky greys, the violet roofs, the yellow ochre bricks, raw umber trees, all beginning to melt into each other as this grey curtain draped over them to disguise their identities, their shapes and colours. The scene before me was reminiscent of C19th writing, great descriptions of romantic locations, such Silas Marner (George Eliot), or Great Expectations (Charles Dickens); this picturesque’ness acting as a veil disguising the real C21st lives being lived behind each plastic front door.

These vignettes of village life were documented onto small pieces of recycled cardboard, using mixed media. A technique perhaps started or at least made popular by Alfred Wallis who had a passion for describing his beloved fishing boats. A retired fisherman, he used pieces of found driftwood, on which he used household paint and an assortment of other materials. He could not afford fancy canvases and oil paints, but used materials that were free and familiar to him. It is one of my aims to embrace this ethos: art can be created out of anything.

It all Happens on Geddington Chase

After getting some way with the little cardboards, it was time to venture out and march up the track to paint Geddington Chase. I had stuffed my rucksack full with essentials: rags, paints, boards, water, mats to lean on and a hat, pair of gloves and a scarf. My mission was to complete 3 small boards. As it was cold, I intended not to be out for more than a few hours. I wanted to utilise the elements; the chill in the air and the biting breeze being a motivating force, my brain and hands needing to work at speed, engaging with the environment in an immediate way, thus creating dynamic responses.

I decided upon the three scenes, each with a near panoramic view of the valley below. For each I outlined the image with chalk pastel and then after fixing this sketch onto the board with water, worked on top with acrylic. By working quickly I was able to filter the image and portray only the key qualities that would describe the landscape. In one, from where I was first sitting, a mauve hedge with spiky branches dominated the picture frame and divided the landscape into two parts; from around the corner of the hedge I painted the second in which the distant church spires of Geddington and Newton shone in the sunlight; the third was painted from on top of a hill that boasts a vast space of rural idyll, a glorious continuous stream of Englishness; copses, glades, ploughed fields, farmland, houses nestling into valley’s and hills and woods cradling the scene on one side and then leading off into the distance on the other.

The process of painting is in itself an engaging and stimulating activity but the physical act of journeying, traversing the geography can be equally interesting and at times out of the ordinary. As well as navigating through the infinite interpretations of this precious landscape, it soon became apparent that I was participating in an impromptu Geddington Chase survival course, as I found myself encountering various natural and man made challenges.

The beginning of my expedition began at the bottom of the track at the end of Wood Street. The track way was strewn with torn branches and twigs, wrenched and hacked from the bodies of the hedge rows. Stacked along the edge, lay neat piles of logs, their orderliness a contrast to the cluttered pathway ahead. I negotiated my way along, mindful that tractors were at work nearby and that I may need to step aside to allow it access. I turned right up the little hill carefully avoiding the dog mess camouflaged by the ‘look a like’ stones. I met a man looking into the field on the left, his two dogs waiting by his side. He was watching another man, standing with his two dogs by the far edge of the field. I noticed the gun in his right hand and the dogs alert waiting for his command. I then heard some shots from inside the woodland. I asked the man if he knew what they were shooting, birds or deer? He wasn’t sure. ‘Great time for me to come out painting’ I quipped. ‘Mind the loggers up there; they are felling the trees’. ‘I better go this way then!’ and I turned right, past the old rusty kissing gate, hoping that my planned day of solitude, harmony and focused production wasn’t encroached upon further. I marched along, head down, targeted in my direction, past the empty pond and then left, continuing up the track. I glanced up and saw a small group of deer racing across the top of the field. The came to an abrupt stop by the junction and looked directly at me, a startled and frightened look in their eyes, their ears pricked and legs stiff with fear. I stopped and returned their gaze. I tried to communicate to them using my eyes that they were not to fear me. I spoke to them in my mind, urging them to carry on along the crest of the hill and into the safety of the next wood. I looked down to the ground for only a moment and when I returned my attention, they were gone.

Maintaining my course, I soon arrived at the spot where they had halted just moments before. It was here that was to be my first stop. Usually, when creating, I need to be in a hypnotic state, my mind disconnected from the realities of life; but sometimes I have to find a way to remain elevated, when the daily lives and needs of other humans are clashing with my own. After forty minutes or so, I heard a rumbling noise to my right, it was a tractor. I assessed the ground around me, attempting to calculate the surface area of the track against a rough approximation of the tractor. I ascertained that I could take a calculated risk and remain where I was without the need to pick up everything I had around me and possibly damaging my painting in the process. I waited nervously as this mechanical beast approached and when I could see the driver, looked up imploringly and hoped he would understand if I didn’t make way. Although seeming perplexed he obliged and steered his charge at a safe distance from me and away down the hill. I relaxed and continued the rhythmical pattern of looking painting, looking painting, rubbing hands to, keep them warm, looking painting, looking painting, standing, de tingling, looking painting, looking and painting. My farmer friend embarked on his return journey, chugging up through the mud and veering off around the corner with a nod of his head as he past me.
Thirty minutes went by. I had been working on two paintings simultaneously, so that the paint could dry in between coats; as the air was cold and damp this was taking considerably longer than if in a warm studio. I swiftly moved from one work to the other, spellbound, and mesmerized by the space around me; the subtle colours of the earth, the hazy cobalt blue of the sky and the rolling petering Northamptonshire hills. I was gripped by a determination to convey to the viewers of these paintings the beauty and sense of place of the landscape that surrounded me.

Suddenly I heard this terrific roar, a deafening screech which jolted right through me and wrenched me away from my work, my heart leaping into my mouth. Above me, directly above me, so low to the ground, a fighter jet tore through the air, piercing the atmosphere with such force and violence. The peace, the solitude was destroyed in an instant. The resident birds panicked and ascended into the sky en masse, flocks of terrified creatures forming a cloud of fear above the trees. The jet sped off, oblivious to its destructive force and the absolute alarm that had descended onto the Chase. I watched as it fled the scene, I stared hard with anger at this monstrous weapon as it rapidly diminished in size and its shriek and growl faded away to nothingness; how dare it invade our realm.

It took some time for us all to calm ourselves, to settle and resume our activities. The ringing in my ears lessened and the birds returned to their nests and resting places. I was feeling quite cold now, my fingers loosing control over the brush and emotionally I was feeling quite unnerved. I needed to return home soon and so the remainder of my time would need to be spent analyzing this work and taking mental notes as to how the paintings would progress back in the studio; I also need to move to another place and begin the third painting. While contemplating how the paintings may evolve I noticed a dark silent shape directly above me. I looked up and saw the underbelly of a red kite, resplendent in the winter sun. It gracefully glided past, taking its time as it was examining its territory for carrion. I am quite sure we exchanged glances as it looked directly at me. Being scrutinised by such a magnificent creature evoked a sense of awe and restored my sensibility. I was able to proceed with my tasks with renewed vigour. I gathered my materials together, packed up my bag and set out, back along the path.

I soon arrived on the brow of the hill at the place where the view over the village was it its best. I swiftly unpacked and with my chilled hands framed various sections of the valley in order to decide which section I wanted to focus on. I decided on the most subtle part, which contained the least visible identifying signs of human life. I sketched in the patchwork of fields and with the short stubs of pastel and then the remnants of paint on my pallet, blocked in the landscapes features. I wanted to use a limited pallet, inspired by the understated tones and shades of what lay out before me. On the horizon a soft violet grey sky blended in with the woods near Stanion and in front of this, in direct contrast, it was pure and bright. With my head bent down in concentration and placing the last marks of the under painting, I felt a sudden chill descend and the bright light suddenly vanish. I glanced upwards and ahead of me was this thick, near black ominous wall of cloud, spreading out across the whole outlook. Realising I was soon to be engulfed in a sea of rain; I promptly crammed my belongings into the bag, careful not to distress the surfaces of each landscape and strode home to safety.
As I approached the road on which I lived, the rain came, descending heavily onto the tarmac and my body with might. The material of my coat soon was soon sodden and drenched. I fumbled for the key in my pocket and hastily unlocked the door.

A Postcard from Cornwall

A honeymoon planned, packed with cultural experiences, amongst which I intended to get reams of sketches and watercolours produced (or even just a few) to facilitate two things: the creation of some ‘Cornwall Scenes’ to adorn my friends health food shop in Camborne (Four Seasons Foods) and to write pages of notes inspired by this most romantic of settings that would then transform into my ‘An Artist's Diary – A Postcard from Cornwall’. But, I was far too immersed in having a wonderful romantic experience (a honeymoon being a cultural experience and work of art in itself)so my postcard has now become a Connoisseurs Tour of Devon and Cornwall.

Before our first major scheduled stop we (my wonderful new husband and I) began our tour in Salcombe, South Devon (where we stayed in a B and B with the hostess from hell) but then escaped to the fishing village and harbour of Bantham. This is where my step mum grew up, her father and grandfather were the harbour masters there; and there is a bench dedicated to their memories. Wonderfully eccentric boat houses and cottages cling to the cliffs or nestle amongst the rocks and two ships figureheads adorn the harbour masters house that sits at the foot of the cliff. Across the bay, in the distance, is the grand Burgh Island Hotel, a place in which I had always wanted to stay and a place where (my step mum) Alison’s grandfather would have watched as the hotel was being built by Archie Nettlefold (in 1929 and then modernized in 1932 by Paul Roseveare) and known of the celebrities of the day who were staying there.
No doubt he had his opinions as the rich transformed his heritage into their giant playground.

But, it is these characters, their way of life, fashions and culture that has always intrigued me; I wanted to tread in the footsteps of Agatha Christie and lounge in the cocktail bar imagining Noel Coward entertaining the guests. We had been instructed to ring the hotel from the golf club and our ‘driver’ would meet us at the private car park. We arrived in our rusty red Micra but then transferred ourselves and our luggage into a blacked out landrover and driven across the beach. As soon as we had passed through the electric gates and were escorted through the heavy entrance doors we were existing in a different time; we became aristocrats or icons such as Amy Johnson, who stayed here and who, while gazing at the Devon skies was possibly inspired to plan her daring solo flight across the world.
Cocktail drinks, dresses, tuxedos, silver service, champagne, parasols, walk in wardrobes, billiards, libraries, lido’s, rowing boats and private coves, the 21st century was just a few yards away but it was a ghost of an existence, it was as if we had strolled through a parted curtain into a lost world, a forgotten time. Modern life transformed into this monster, a monster which I no longer wanted to face.

Twenty four hours later, we were back in our little car, driving through a metropolis, past lorries, through florescent lit tunnels and under concrete bridges; the jaws of reality were on the other side of the car door. A cramped Sainsbury’s car park in Plymouth jolted us back into the ghost world, this parallel universe that I had never quite felt part of anyway.
I had glimpsed from the dual carriageway the Peninsula Art Gallery, part of the University of Plymouth and while we were momentarily back in the clutches of the beast decided to grab the opportunity to view drawings by two contemporary contentious art icons: Jake and Dinos Chapman who were on show there.
We weren’t however inspired by their work as much as hoped but were mesmerized by an animation called ‘The Moon Bird’ by the artists The Brothers McLoud, a disconcerting, eerie, beautiful moving drawing, telling a sad and macabre story of a little girl being cooked by a witch. Studying animation has been one of my goals for developing my arsenal of skills; it would add such an interesting dimension to my drawings – enhancing the narrative elements, to tell a whole story rather than a snapshot.

After being truly inspired, we set off armed with our Sainsbury’s plastic bags full of items for the next leg of our tour.
We arrived late to the campsite (Court Farm)and had one hour to erect the tent (in the rain) before the start gazing event at 8.00pm. It wasn’t the location of this campsite that attracted me, but what it had to offer. At the side of a secluded field full of tents, way down a long windy road, a few miles from St Austell, is a hidden observatory (Roseland Observatory) and in the middle, a family of tall telescopes tucked under some tarpaulin. There is also a wooden hut containing plastic blow up planets, space charts and boxes of meteorites. Outside is a barrel collecting cosmic dust, washed down to earth via the rain. One hour and a broken tent pole later, we were sitting in this hut listening to Brian the astronomer telling us all about the classification system of distant galaxies and unknown celestial objects; the pole star and his communications between the MOD and the media regarding mysterious audio disturbances in the sky.
As soon as the sky was dark enough his congregation headed up to the telescopes and an incredible hour was spent peering into them and gazing at distant stars and the moon, seeing with acute clarity the craters around her crisp milky white edges.
A couple of days later we visited the amazing Lost Gardens of Heligan packed with six foot rhubarb leaves, redwood trees and rhododendrons bushes: a botanical artist’s delight. We then trundled onto our next destination, the campsite at Noongallas,a remote farmhouse two miles down an unmade track. Open only for one month of the year, they allow campers to have open fires and BBQ’s. Burgh Island now seemed a distant memory as our hands blackened with coal and our feet became increasingly filthy with the pure Cornish soil.

High up on the hill, we could see the distant St Michaels Mount and behind us in fields below ancient standing stones. From Noongallas we travelled to the Geevor Tin Mines, a world heritage site; an amazing insight into the lives of miners and which provided an awe inspiring sight: the vastness of the barn where they sorted the tin from the rock – tumbling down the hill, the building, made entirely of wood, hugged the hill as it sloped down to the sea. The building was deceptive and it is only when you traverse through layer upon layer of machines and equipment do you realise its true scale. Imagine a game of mouse trap designed for a giant and made entirely of wood. The mines were steeped in atmosphere and were incredibly moving: the visibly harsh working conditions; the strong bonds between the men, documented through their graffiti left on the toilet walls; the remains of their clothing hanging from pegs and in lockers and the notable legacy of the early miners as they emigrated all over the world.

The Minack Theatre was our next stop. After languishing on a nearby beach for an hour we queued up patiently for our tickets, full of anticipation for what we knew was waiting for us. The Minack Theatre is an amphitheatre open to the elements, carved out from a cliff face. The stage floor is seemingly perched on the edge of the cliff, with the illusion that the actors are seconds from a dramatic plunge into the open sea. The scenery is beautiful and the actors are in direct competition with it for our attention. It provides a wonderfully romantic backdrop and as the evening drew in, we huddled beneath our blankets and strained to hear the muted whispers of the actors voices against the crashing of the waves below.

The following day we visited St. Ives. Billed as ‘The Artists Destination’, I had walked its winding streets nearly 20 years before as an art student. I must have journeyed there out of season or before it’s popularity exploded, as my memory does not compare to the St Ives that exists now. My visit then coincided with the opening of the St Ives Tate Gallery, a perfectly designed monument standing proud, white and stark against the huddle of seaside cottages. I was truly inspired back then with its contents, packed full of my favourites: Alfred Wallis, Peter Lanyon and William Scott. This time I was left disappointed. I may have viewed the work of some masters: Rothko, Pollock, Bourgeois (some of whom are my heroes) but it was not the work I had travelled to see. To increase my levels of disappointment further, the guest artist Lily van der Stokker, had created an incongruous and meaningless welcome, adoring the walls with pastel pink murals and doodles. I pride myself on my open mindedness and appreciate all forms of art, all its isms and styles, but this to me was a weak mix of pop and folk art dressed up as being conceptual art layered with hidden meanings. I was bored visually and intellectually and struggled to understand any positive argument as to why this work should be shown in any contemporary art of standing, let alone The Tate.
Our unfulfilled visit to The Tate, preceded by an uplifting swim in St Ives Bay, left us with no time to visit a place of pilgrimage to me, the Barbara Hepworth Sculpture Garden, which also, I had visited before. I will need to wait until I return to Cornwall to pay homage to this beautiful, meditative and tranquil venue.

On our final day in this amazing country, we journeyed north and visited Rick Steins Seafood Restaurant in Padstow, while stretching our stomach linings and filling them to full capacity with sumptuous food, we reminisced on our week and no sooner had we exited, realization dawned that our tour was drawing to an end.
We wandered down Padstows streets and sweetened our goodbye with a spot of retail therapy. Hidden in a back street, I discovered the one contemporary gallery (Padstow Fine Art)on my whole trip which contained some precious jewels of landscape and narrative paintings by the artists David Pearce. I found myself embroiled in lengthy conversations with the gallery manager about acrylic v oil; the struggles to find a decent yet inexpensive frame maker; the work life balance of artists and artist parents; and at what point does popularism and commercial success metamorphosize the artist into a factory instead of a creative free spirit. To any observer of me in a gallery, key indicators that I am engaged with an art work are: that I take my time looking, I peer closely to analyze the techniques and materials used, I move back to absorb its entirety and I revisit to allow myself one ‘last look’. Mostly all of the paintings captured me this way (apart from a few token tourist paintings of ‘arty boats’); turning my ‘I’m just going to nip in here’ into a rather lengthy stay.

Our final steps took in place in Lynmouth and Lynton in North Devon and then ending in Glastonbury. Enjoyable in themselves, but not providing creative fuel. After two weeks at home, we were off again, this time to Bristol, where I was to be transfixed by a collection of work. This collection was that of my father David Davies who was exhibiting his final work completed on his MA Printmaking Course.
I don’t see my father that often, perhaps a couple of times a year, but when we are together, it causes my step mum much amusement because our mannerisms syncopate and our mutual demeanor is that of twins. This natural synergy of personalities instantly mirrored in his work, on three levels; aesthetically, intellectually and the information it contained. Our preferred mediums are different – I feel more at home when I have a physical relationship with the media i.e. charcoal. Father tends to err towards graphic mediums and techniques. However, it was the presentation, the aesthetics that seemed to pertain towards a family or ‘group’ style. This may alarm him, or both of us, as we both strive to be individuals in an increasingly homogenized art world. Or, it may serve to have the opposite effect, providing us with a team mate in the battle for individual thought. Secondly, the works were autobiographically based exploring personal histories and our reflections and relationship with our pasts. Dad is exploring his scant memories he has of his childhood and early adulthood. I explore my memories, dreams and analyze my present by using symbolism with objects and landscape to represent my inner self.
Lastly, all of the works struck a deep emotional chord because fathers past, is my heritage. For the first time I saw photographs of my grandfather whom I have never met (he left my Nain, welsh for Grandmother, for someone else, when my father was just eighteen months old). I saw pictures of Nain wearing a silver bracelet that she gave to me a few years before she died, which I treasure and wore on my wedding day and a picture of father as a nine year old, which when looking at it I saw my daughter smiling back at me.
This emotional connection was not just reserved for me, two Malcolm’s, my husband and one of my fathers closest friends were both independently but profoundly affected. My husband too was left by his father, at the age of seven, I know not the reason for friend Malcolm’s reaction, but it touched him so much, he cried. Although both of our work can be deeply personal, I like to think that it has the ability to resonate with others and represent their lives and experiences.
There was a distinct moment of creative and emotional synergy when reading his statement. Last year I submitted work for an exhibition called ‘1984’. I created a black and white cartoon strip of my transitional year between middle and upper school. In one year, I was bullied, changed schools and began my first long term relationship. I was fourteen. In his statement my father wrote that 1984 was a year of crucial importance to him because it was the year in which his long term memory returned– he has no recollection of his own childhood and in many respects, mine.

I have not produced any art work these last four months, but I have crammed the weeks with experiences and discoveries that will engage with my creative soul and drive me to translate my memories and perceptions of these to you.

Ps. I Haven't quite figured how to create hyperlinks yet (or it is not letting me) so please find all links to places like St Ives Tate, or artist David Davies etc in my links section.

‘Commerciality V Individuality; Horizons and Hidden Dips’

It’s a very arduous process deciding what rules you must submit adhere to, which are set by the gallery; and then you have to make decisions regarding your own preferences of work that best reflect your practice. I want to sell my work, so the question is does my ‘sellable’ work best reflect my artistic identity, truthfully represents my practice. These opposing aims are often in conflict. Things to think about: Gallery Rule No 1. (for ‘The Garden Show’): No work for sale less must be than £60.00. This eliminates a couple of pieces. Gallery Rule No 2. Unframed work may not be hung due to space. That’s the canvases out then. Rule No 3. No work must be more than 100cms in length; another few off the list. My Rules: I am on a mission (no doubt I have mentioned all of this before). I need my work to be immediately recognizable as an ‘Emma Davies’. As well as this, I now only want to go ‘public’ with work that strongly reflects my practice. My arts practice, for the most part, isn’t commercial; therefore not usually sellable. Yet, I need to retain a certain level of commerciality at particular venues and exhibitions, where the primary aim is to sell work; as I need to earn a living. So, with all this in mind, I sit here, deliberating between two pieces. I have decided on four, but the fifth is proving elusive. (Gallery Rule No4, only five pieces can be submitted).
A Few Days Later………………………I have succeeded in resolving the matter (to a degree). Two are NFS (not for sale), which best promote my creative identity and three are for sale; which are a combination of my two aims – commerciality and individuality.
This exhibition will take place at Luton Hoo Walled Gardens http://www.lutonhoo-walledgarden.co.uk/ , May 21st to May 23rd. I am looking forward to showing my work outside of Northamptonshire and gaining a new audience.
This show is the third stage of my recent renewed quest to expand the horizons in my artistic career – geographically and intellectually.The first stage began with my participation in the ‘Invisible Threads’ exhibition; a group show organized by the artist Carole Miles. The exhibition was part of a larger project including workshops with community groups and a residency by the author Kathy Page. The overriding theme was to explore ancestry, in particular female ancestors whose lives we admired or were fascinated by. The images inspired by this theme were printed or embroidered onto T Towels. I decided to monoprint mine. A risky venture, as I was without the luxury of a printing press. However, the process wasn’t a complete leap of faith as I had re-engaged with the monoprinting process (or monotype… if I am to be technically correct) with the print ‘Dorset Moon’ (Autumn Edition Geddington Village Newsletter, 2009, later renamed ‘Moon Rings and Ripples on the Sea’.)
I needed to construct a make shift print room; so I strung up a washing line between my easel and the coat hooks in the downstairs toilet (to become my drying racks). I banned the family (cat included) from entering the hall way as the floor was now the printing press. I then spent much of the following forty eight hours, painting and drawing onto a perspex plate, spraying the towel with water so that the ink would adhere to the material, carefully registering when applying t towel to plate so that the image would not be out of sync and then delicately but firmly applying pressure to achieve the print. I would then tentatively lift up a corner to reveal the image underneath… was the ink too think/ thin, too wet or two dry? Did the print bare any resemblance to the image on the plate? I needed to repeat this process about four times per print, gradually building up the image.
After my T Towels had dried I fixed them together with PVA and stitch as I wanted it to be a double sided T Towel; two stories and two separate lives, but which merged together when my parents met about seventeen years later.

The ancestors portrayed were my two grandmothers. I wanted to portray them in a ‘Freeze Frame’. It was March 1940 about 8.30am; Nan was seventeen and on her way to work, she worked for the Royal Army Pay Corp at Finsbury Circus, London. Nain was fifteen and on her way to school at Cardigan County Grammar School. I had no direct source material, so the research process took considerably longer than the production. Emails were relayed back and forth; hours of searching online for specific images, i.e. the actual school that Nain attended circa the 1940’s; the actual building that the RAPC was stationed in and photographs of the real characters stationed there. Conversations took place between me and the Imperial War Museum http://london.iwm.org.uk/ and the Adjutant General's Corps Museum http://www.armymuseums.org.uk/museums/0000000008-Adjutant-General-s-Corps-Museum-Collection.htm in Winchester. Ian, the curator there, after hours of sifting through boxes, found a DVD of an old film shot around the time that Nan was there.. it was filmed early morning when everyone was going to work. He is going to post it, how wonderful if Nan is in the film and my depiction of her was correct. A long bob, curled up at the ends, lipstick, a glamorous winter coat and a clutch bag.
My grandmothers could not be further apart in terms of lifestyle and image. Nan was a girl about London Town, all lipstick and handbags going on regular trips to Brighton with her girlfriends. Nain was a country girl with wild black hair, taking the school bus to her small town school. Both however, seemed carefree and game for adventures. This project was a voyage of discovery, tracing back my ‘Invisible Threads’ that binded us together; the umbilical chord that united us all. I saw myself in both of them, I am a hybrid – a country girl for the most part but, as I state in my profile (on my website) ‘I sometimes miss the push of the city, especially in cultural terms.’ By day, I wear tops with holes in and muddy boots, by night I may totter around in high heals and a pashmina about my shoulders, visiting theatres. My ‘herstory’ was displayed amongst hundreds of other ‘herstories’ – our mutual explorations were displayed at Sudborough Cottages, which is run by Fermyn Woods Contemporary Arts. The cottages are tucked away in some woods two miles from the nearest tarmacked road. A beautiful venue which gave so much added meaning to the exhibition. A myriad of life stories fluttering away on washing lines and hung up in the kitchens and bathrooms as if the families who had once loved there had just hung up their washing.

The second installment of the horizon quest features the new drawings in charcoal; ‘Hidden Dip’, ‘Army of Me’ and ‘Erosion’. Much of my work has centered on the human figure, particularly my own to convey narratives; but I am now branching away from this with some projects and using symbols and metaphors instead. With these drawings I am focusing on the notion of security/ insecurity; how sometimes it seems like we are all, as a society, reaching out and clinging to anything that provides us with some sense of stability and that at any moment the slightest thing could take it all away. For these works, there were many diverse influences and inspirations, some deliberate and some perhaps unconconcious, but included the film 'Cast Away' and the long hilly road to Oakham from Uppingham.
These pictures are now hanging up in the jgallery, http://www.jgallery.org.uk/ in Moulton, Northampton until the 30th April as part of the ‘In the Mix’ internationally selected group show. This is the gallery for which I won ‘Artist of the Month’ (an online competition) a year ago. I was determined to submit work for ‘In The Mix’. As an artist, it is important to find venues or galleries that suit your work - the work and the gallery, have a symbiotic
relationship. Gallery owners are particular about what graces their walls as the work reflects their identity as a gallery. Therefore I am proud to have been chosen.

So, what now? I strive on. Luton Hoo is in May and then: I plan to create a new work to submit for a selected show at The University of Glamorgan entitled ‘Female Wales’; I have submitted for a show in Omskirk centering around domesticity and close relationships, luckily I have already completed work for this. Lastly and more locally (and a return to my landscapes), I will be submitting work to show in the Cavell Centre, Peterborough in the Autumn. For this, no doubt I will find myself returning to the fields and woods of Geddington Chase. But, before any of this, in the coming weeks I will be painting some watercolours of the Cornish Coastline. I sketched down there a few weeks ago, sitting perilously on the edge of cliffs, amongst fighting seagulls in the bitter cold and then gazing at a calm and wondrous sunset. There will be a commissioned set of printed cards to accompany my handmade ones for sale in ‘Four Seasons Wholefoods’, Camborne, Cornwall (http://www.fourseasonswholefoods.com/). These watercolours may also be seen on a certain wedding invite soon. Surely now, I have expanded my horizons.

‘Billowing Groundsheets Reminding me of Distant Boats, Alone on the Sea’

The groundsheet is bellowing in the gentle wind as it hangs to dry on our washing line. Shreds of grass, straw and grains of sand cling to it as I do to my memories of a blissful week away.
The suns rays create ripples of shimmering light on its surface like the glistening waves on the sea.
I ache to paint; I yearn to begin a sequel to ‘Sea Moon’. ‘Sea Moon’ was inspired from my week in St David’s last year; the desire to be free, the dream to immerse myself in deep pools of love and creativity. This story of my annual week away now continues and I need to express these amazing, rich emotions in a new seascape; this time of the Dorset Coastline.
The geography stretching from Boscombe to Lyme Regis and up to Sherbourne, Sailsbury and back down to Ringwood, Wimborne and Poole is ingrained into my soul and is as much a part of me as is Geddington; and the trees and soft rolling hills that surround it.

The week was so crammed with delightful runs over hills, swims in the sea and improvised banquets of fish and chips, in a tent in which the packed sketch book never saw the light of day.
‘Sea Moon’ was devised from: a combination of memories, assorted photos, pictures in leaflets and books and a single sketch which provided the basis for the composition.
I battle with my purist notions, wanting to draw on my direct visual account of the scenery – my drawn interpretation of the land and sea and sky that surrounded me. But I made a decision that the rushing of a drawing would be detrimental to my experience and ultimately impinge on the journey and creative processes that are required in creating a new piece of work.

Therefore, I will relent and utilize my adventurous spirit and create this next painting from memory and mobile phone photographs alone – oh, and the odd collected leaflet and postcard. In terms of subject, I have yet to decide, all I can do at this point is to list some of the images that I have absorbed into my body and mind; a dusk sky rich in cobalt blue and pink grapefruit clouds; the rolling Purbeck hills curving down to form either secluded or sweeping bays; an expansive night sky filled with distant suns, shooting stars and the milky way; distant boats alone on the sea, only identifiable by their twinkling lights in the distant darkness of the night; the near black forms of the trees, cows and cottages silhouetted against a backdrop of a moonlight sky; and the moon reflection on the gentle sea.

Postscript:
Inspired by writing this diary entry, I hot - footed to the studio and created this near finished piece. I was brave in my approach, tearing off the apron strings that have tied me for to long to physical source material. This mono-print/ mixed media work was drawn directly from my imagination. I am very pleased with it and I hope that the spirit of the Dorset Sea will stay with me for long enough to feed my creative soul and to produce a small series of mono-prints. A painting may well then result from these explorations.

For Blog Readers: Postcript on the Postcript:


I have now finished this piece. It engaged me for quite a few days and a stream of mono print babies are now in full flow. I have been energised by this immediate medium and its unpredictability. It is called:




'Moon Rings and Ripples on the Sea'

Open Studios Northamptonshire 2009, Followers and Feejit

Firstly, WOW! 16 Followers!

I know some people have 200 or so, but I feel immensly proud that I have 16. Thankyou to those who have recently joined.

I also think WOW when I look at my feedjit stats. Now not everyone will be searching for ME, as there are quite a few artists called Emma Davies in the world. BUT someone from Vienna searched for Maria Lassnig Emma........ now I know that that MUST be me..... and..... someone from India was searching for me and then I can spot which websites people have found me on and whereabouts in the world people are logging on directly!

I haven't checked in for a while, so all of this was a lovely suprise.

There will be a proper LONGER posting soon as it is nearing the time to write for my village newsletter, but it won't be as LONNNGGG as it usually is as I have agreed with the editor to cut it down... just a bit... for this issue.

The main reason for writing is that I am in the middle of this years Open Studios stint. http://www.openstudios.org.uk/

I am a bit disheartened as I have had few visitors. I am hoping that my recent web campaign... for which this is the last stop will do the trick. As I live in a village and there are no other artists within a 5 mile radius.... I tend to get left off the rounds by visitors. I braved a more challenging image in the brochure (Want Wish) but this does not attract the visitors. Oh, the dilemmas of living in a rural environment and wanting to produce work that challenges and promotes discussion.

I thank the artist who visited me yesterday and who stayed for a good hour. He WAS attracted by my image, it was the reason for his visit. We talked about artists and relationships, artists and mental health, working in a rural environment, communicating with the viewer, being open and honest about ones self and ones art. We talked about not wanting to conform but feeling the ever present pull to conform.

What to do. What to do? I never had the answer when I co ordinated this event and I don't have the answer now.

So: WOULD YOU LIKE TO COME AND SEE ME?

I won't display my address here as I am showing from home.

But, you can either: log on to http://www.openstudios.org.uk/ and look for me on the online brochure - I am NO 15, or you can email me direct and I can send you an invite.

I am open on the following dates and times:

Sunday 13th September 10.30am to 6.30pm

Friday 18th September 10am to 2.30pm, 7pm to 9pm

Saturday 19th September 10.30am to 6.30pm

Sunday 20th September 10.30am to 6.30pm

My studio and downstairs toliet is packed full to the brim with drawings and paintings in progress, sketches and scribbles and notes.

My living room, hall and stairway is chocca with paintings and cards for sale.

It would be lovely to see you!

June 2009, Languishing in the Freedom of Acceptance (Geddington Village Newsletter)

I am buzzing with ideas, it is a task to know where to start/ stop/ take breath and conclude a piece of work.

I will free flow through the wades of colour and line and describe to you a random mass of creative electrical charges.

(A Glass of Perry Aids a Merry Brain)

An idea came to me on the night of 20th June around about 8.50pm, which is about one hour and five minutes before I knew that I was free. It was an idea for a painting. I was sipping Perry from a plastic glass, listening to a folk festival band singing about long ago battles in a wet muddy field; when the answer arrived as to how to approach a sequel to ‘Want Wish Waste Wane’.
‘Want Wish Waste Wane’ is to become the first installment of a trypditch. While trying to enjoy my drink I realized I wanted the trypditch to relate an intense emotional journey that I have been on this last year. A story about how we can feel trapped within ourselves, how we feel that our value is being wasted; balancing existences, running from one life away to another; and then finally languishing in the freedom of acceptance and mutual respect.

The idea for the third part of the story came with the wish to experience it, but then an hour and 5 minutes later, fate fulfilled that wish and I can now paint from reality rather than hope.

So, now, I am all set to go: but I must be patient and understand that these sequels will take a good year to do. I want them to be my grand statement. I must not rush them.

‘Similar but Different’ (The story of Commission No 2a and 2b)

I sit here under the Barrel Oak with sore knees and a rumbly tummy. I have been sketching this tree from under the ‘last tree on the right’. The nettles have grown higher since I was last here and it was perhaps the effect of their stings that has made my knees somewhat sore.

I am finding it hard to ‘fit in’ the tree as it is so vast. To fully appreciate its majestic quality one needs to walk quite near. However this renders it quite a challenge to fit it into the picture frame – with the inclusion of the sky.

I have been asked to paint two watercolours ‘similar but different’ of this tree that is so important to all that know it. There are touching reasons as to the nature of the commission and so it is paramount that these reasons are respected and translated fully in the finished piece.


An Adapting Spirit

As I sit here at the dining room table I am trying to picture the painting shelf on the other side of this wall. It is cluttered with drawings and unfinished paintings. My life has changed quite rapidly over the last few months, particularly these last 10 days and my creative spirit is trying to adapt.


I need a repetitive rhythm of life in order to have a mind that can easily retract from the day to day and focus into a Zen like manner into and onto my work. But what with busy weeks, broken cameras and a new found soul my work has become rather disparate.
(Disparate is a rather negative word, but my mental thesaurus isn’t really on full alert today)
So – let me try and explain why the ‘disparate’ state of the painting shelf is in reality full of life and buzzing with ideas.

I had organized in a very business like fashion a painting schedule in my diary for the forthcoming months. However, a dropped camera put paid to these plans for a while. Not knowing when the situation would resolve, I embarked on a series of drawings. Quick, half hour drawings.
Quick does not describe the drawing style – the lines are not frenetic nor a tangled mass; but are controlled, considered and calm. The narrative being described by these calm lines was perhaps a prediction of a kind of calmness I would soon feel.





The content however told a different story. My head had been throbbing for a few days, the resulting effect from a combination of thundery weather and an angered heart. So, the drawings describe my physicality – how I physically felt rather than looked. I closed my eyes and centered my mind onto the throb of my temples, the weight of my palm against my brow, the furrowed lines on my forehead.
The images are not anatomically correct, but are homage to an artist called Maria Lassnig (born Austria in 1919). http://www.guardian.co.uk/arts/gallery/2008/apr/24/marialassnig?picture=333704538

“… and found that the body I inhabit to be by far the most real of all realities” (Maria Lassnig)

Maria is a very recent discovery and one that has had a profound effect. The discovery was made – or given to me in the loveliest of ways. I had received a package one day from my dear artist friend BM. That was a joy in itself, but what was inside was to send shockwaves of delight, awe, realization and an intense connection with an artist 50 years my senior, whom I have never met.
BM had been on holiday and had visited this exhibition. He collected the associated leaflets and sent them to me. Certain things happen in your life that will prove to be monumental in deciding the direction in which your life will take.

As an artist, these moments are just as crucial, these meetings of minds, these enlightened discoveries, all impact greatly on your artistic identity; your ‘raison detre’ and the route that that your work will take.

Maria Lassnig was one of these moments. In the 1940’s she developed a style of painting called ‘Body Awareness’. Here is an extract from the exhibition leaflet:
‘For Maria Lassnig, every painting springs from the conviction that the only thing she knows for sure, are the feelings that evolve inside the shell of her body……. “Once I wearied of depicting nature analytically, I began looking for a reality which would quintessentially be mine than was the outside world, and found the body I inhabit to be by far the most real of all realities; I had only to become aware of it to be able to project its’ impression in fixed centers of gravity onto the image plane”.
This was precisely what I was trying to do with ‘Want Wish’, six months previously; to portray what I was feeling emotionally and physically rather than a portrait based on the anatomical cloak.

‘There is Nothing Left to be Said, we are Spent’

Some may say that there is no originality in art. But we creatives; musicians, artists, actors, writers, refuse to believe this sentiment. For how would life be without art in it, if we all downed tools and cried unanimously ‘There is nothing left to be said, we are spent’.
There would be no new music in the John Peel Tent, no ‘Mr. Hopkinsons’ Computer’ http://www.myspace.com/computersings no Schindlers List or Slumdog Millionaire (thank you MB), no Angel of the North. Therefore I refuse to down my tools in protest that an artist has beaten me to it nearly 70 years ago.

This has happened to me twice before. During the final year of my fine art degree, I was creating an installation of photographic works; slides, collages, prints and the written word. I had set up a photographic studio in my bedroom and for three months photographed myself in various positions and outfits; all to create a strong narrative exploring the notion of identity, how we come to be and who we hope to be. Some of the issues explored were body image and self confidence. At the culmination of this project, after all the work had been hung, a tutor mentioned in passing, ‘Emma, were you inspired by Cindy Sherman?’ ‘No’ was my reply. ‘Who is she?’ ‘You must go and find her work Emma’.
An hour later, stepping out from the university library, I felt a mixture of utter despondency that my work wasn’t entirely ‘original’ and sheer elation that I was not alone in this method of creating.



http://www.arthistoryarchive.com/arthistory/photography/Cindy-Sherman.html





Two years later, I was painting furiously in my studio in Knighton Lane, Leicester. More self portraits, this time in paint and experimenting with Body Language and how to communicate particular emotions with the viewer. Once again, many paintings later a dear friend of mine (TS) said to me ‘Have you been looking at Paula Rego then?’
‘No, who is she?’ So, once again, I set off on a quest to find out about an artist.

The specific piece of work by Paula that TS was referring to was a portrait commissioned by the National Portrait Gallery of Germaine Greer, completed in 1995. Although the sentiment behind the work wasn’t necessarily setting out to communicate a particular emotion (in relation to my own work) , the way Paula Rego had placed Germaine's body centrally within the frame and the body language which Germaine was subconsciously exhibiting gives the work a strong and determined presence.
Germaine was sat on a low leather sofa, with a red dress on, black tights and black lace up shoes. She is leaning forward , her knees up, but spread wide apart, creating a strong triangle down towards her feet, which are together – sole to sole. Germaine’s head is cocked to one side, her eyes distant and her hair languid and free. To achieve this informal result, Paula asked Germaine to recount the story from Wagner’s’ Ring. Germaine was instantly relaxed.

http://www.npg.org.uk/collections/search/portrait.php?locid=56&rNo=1

Back to My Drawing

Intermittently on the same pages on my ‘Body Awareness’ drawings, I am sketching my body from life – parts of the body that are the hardest to draw. When I am working on my narratives, which are primarily drawn from memory, I always struggle with hands, feet and noses, or, for example, the foreshortening of an arm as it is outstretched. So it is a mission now to observe, scrutinize, analyse and then draw, draw and draw again.
In some way, the reasoning for this is to prove myself that I can actually ‘draw’, because the quality of the line is an essential component in all of my work.

In the 1970’s after a period of abstract works, Maria Lassnig returned to painting using observation as her key motivation. This, in her own admission was a definitive reaction to criticisms voiced in America in response to her Body Awareness paintings. She resorted to realism in an effort to prove her skills as a draughtswoman; that she could actually paint and draw accurately and skillfully.

My observational drawings are in some way there to appease my self criticisms.

Mentor Morag (or Katie Morag: especially for those children’s book lovers)

For the last few months I have been visited by a lovely lady from Creative Northants. I was so pleased to be accepted on to this mentoring scheme; and what a Godsend it has been.
Morag drove for miles from the south of the county, three times, to sit with me all day; eat cake, drink too much coffee and listen to me. She listened and listened and wrote and wrote. The whole of my artistic career to this point came pouring out in a stream of consciousness and then, all of my many and often contradictory dreams and visions for my creative future. She was always there to give advice and emailed back at ridiculous hours in the morning when we were both up late working.
She has helped me so much. I now have specific goals, I have a map of plans; I have the determination, confidence and positivity to follow through with all of my ideas.
I have made a good friend.
Thank you MV

‘Girls On Film’

A few weeks ago I was very brave and accepted an offer that had the potential to go disastrously wrong. Oh Ye of Little Faith.

A dear musician friend of mine, (SR) had rather naughtily but flatteringly ‘taken’ some lines from my last An Artists Diary entry on my blog and composed a song from it.
After a diva strop, some amusing email exchanges and a tutorial session on copyright and crediting, I came around wholeheartedly to the idea and now publicly say sorry to Mr Rigsby (but don’t forget the credits!)

(Photo Credit: Matthew Hobson)

As a result of this, Stevie then wanted to use this song as a showcase for his wondrous talents (my words, not his) and wanted to make a video.
He enlisted his good friend Matthew and off we trundled up to Barrel Oak. This place is becoming quite a centre piece in my life. The plot for the video was hatched behind my self and my daughter as we stepped over puddles and kept watch for fairies.
I was to be filmed drawing the view from sitting in front of this fantastic tree looking down the Brigstock track. Stevie was filmed walking up the track, singing his song. He then sat on the log under the wide boughs and continued singing. I was to then include him in my drawing. He was my long lost love and I missed him. The trouble is, Stevie got bored of singing the same song so decided to cover Girls Aloud. This didn’t do much for my Mojo.
I loved the whole experience, but unfortunately was not impressed with my artistic efforts. So I have asked very nicely, to have another diva strop, and start from scratch the drawing of my lost love sitting under the Barrel Oak.

It may be that in the next episode of An Artists Diary, I can confirm the completion of both the drawing and the video.

This is diary entry is dedicated to Mr MB.

“Patience, Thought and a Steady Hand”

March 2009 - Geddington Village Newsletter

(With added images especially for blog readers)

Six months have gone by and I am trying to relate back to September. What has happened to my artistic self since then? From those six months I have to discount the first three or four as various life/ work situations impacted on all creative processes. I tell a lie. For those four months it works out as an approximate percentage of 98% life and 2% creative activities.

The 2% in the first four months
Cheap Camera Phones
The 2% of time available for creative purposes was mainly utilized exploring all of the photographic opportunities on my cheap camera phone – moody lamp lit self portraits that looked like stills from a French Art House film; sepia portraits of family members enjoying New Years Eve celebrations; and cool blue seascapes taken in Holes Bay, Poole Harbour. I am intrigued as to how these photographs turn out in print; whether they are good photographs and posses a quirky charm, or quite the opposite. My father bought a cheap Japanese camera that all the photographers were raving about – the poor quality of the camera produced idiosyncratic images with strange colours; I am not so sure that mine will have quite the same effect.

Holes Bay, Poole Harbour. Taken with a cheap camera phone

Mail Art
The drawing morphed into something quite different, far more complicated than originally intended. It remains unfinished, balancing precariously in pieces on top a pile of books in the studio. To be finished it requires a craft knife, wood glue, patience, thought and a steady hand. And so I wait for the day when these are all present together in my mind, body and tool box.

Out of the four months and 2% and into the two months and let’s say 50%.
50% is a good figure. 50% art and 50% life. But as
Eileen Agar said: “Art or Life; it is never either/ or it is always both”, which is a lovely way to look at it. So my 98% was really 49% life and 49% creative nourishment.

The Seascape
The seascape has changed its identity, its spirit, three times now. At first it was too ‘jolly’ – far too bright in colours and tone. Then it became too dark, too ominous. There is now a balance between these two extremes. It is dark in tone but is spiritual and mystical rather than mysterious and oppressive. I had battled with the composition, fazed by the large expanses of surface area. My fellow artist RM said that this is where the lovely glorious act of Painting (with a capital P) comes in; these large areas scream out for the artist to dive in and feel the push and pull of the brushstrokes and experience, truly experience the physical act of Painting. I am not there yet. I am not yet able to let myself go and immerse myself in a sea of greens, greys and blues. I am not yet secure enough to leap into its depths and explore its expanse, not knowing where its edges are, where the rocks, seaweed and driftwood are to cling on to. So, I invented them. A foreground, with a cliff top full of coastline flowers reaching tall into the nights sky; a mid-ground, with a cave and tumbling boulders; a background with its moon and its reflections dancing across the sea. I felt safe with these devices to cling to; I had clearly defined shapes to draw around, my eye was not lost but could follow a logical route and could stop at designated points along the way.

The Seascape...... nearly there now

The Three Paintings on the Painting Shelf.
The Other Two
The readers of my blog will know that the figurative painting ‘Want, Wish, Waste, Wane’ is finished (bar a softening of the jaw line) and became a great ambassador for my art practice. I submitted this painting to the jgallery website (www.jgallery.org.uk) along with a few other artists and I was voted to be the jgallery Featured Artist for March 2009. What a great start to 2009. Ironically, this same painting wasn’t selected for the City Gallery Open 08 exhibition. Hey Ho, such is life and the vagaries of subjectivity.

The Commission (it’s a long title: "...... and all the time, the light is changing..... curving and sweeping, rising and reaching...."*
"...... and the leaves are dancing in the dappled evening light, the landscape suffused and resonating their warmth *The first part of this title is from 'Architects Dream' by Kate Bush.)
is now hanging proudly on the clients’ living room wall. They were so pleased with it; what a relief and a delight. I value so much the appreciation that people have for my work. Thank you for asking me.

Artists Statements
In my last entry I was discussing my continual struggle with my artists’ statement. I had arrived at one simple phrase with the help of a friend. Since then I sought additional advice and my statement has now developed further. Here it is:
‘I create in response to life; life and its emotional reactions are in a permanent state of flux; so too is my work. The simplest way to describe it is that I tell stories. It may be a story of a memory (painted from my imagination); a story of emotion told through self portraiture; or it may be a story of a landscape - where the trees, the hills or the rooftops are doing the speaking. I hope to be able to communicate with the viewer, that they can relate in some way to my experience and then to make it their own. It is as if we are having a conversation and relating our stories with one and other; but this is being done in silence through imagery and thought’.

The Written Word has been a great help to me recently. I have always been an avid reader, but have resurrected my interest in amassing quotes which assist in assessing ones existence and also creative purpose and practice. I have come to realize that the way in which I live my life has to be in balance with my creativity. My approach to life is a holistic one; therefore it is also with my art. Through reading and discussion, I now understand that my creative practice and other existences must be symbiotic. Through this research and analysis I have reached a greater understanding of who I am and how my holistic and philosophical approach to life has a direct bearing on my creative practice; I hope to convey all of this through the painting of my stories.

Words and Charts upon the studio wall

I have so many more things to say……… I shall try and run through them.

1. A recent success was being accepted onto the Sketchbooks for Schools Website (http://www.accessart.org.uk/sketchbook/?page_id=429). This is a fabulous new rescource for teachers, students, artists and anybody who is interested in the use of sketchbooks. I was very proud to have been the 2nd featured artist on there.

Some sketches for a submission exhibition '1984'. The sketches were far better than the finished product. I doubt very much that I will get in.

I think I noted that I looked like my father

2. I have been accepted onto the mentoring programme with Creative Northants (http://www.creative-northants.org.uk/) . My mentor has been fantastic. She has stayed with me for hours listening, nodding and writing as I circumnavigate the world inside my head. Questions and many answers. What has been the journey to this point and where do I now want my journey to lead? What has blocked my path? How do I approach my work? What would I want to have achieved in 10 years time? Probing questions like these helped me to understand what it is I need/ want to do. It has heightened my awareness of the passing of time and the urgent need to focus.

3. I visited the Imperial War Museum a couple of weeks ago in London. (http://london.iwm.org.uk/server/show/conEvent.22920) I saw two exhibitions; ‘Breakthrough’ which showed some amazing paintings by established war artists such as Paul Nash, CRW Nevinson, John Piper and Eric Ravilious. How wonderful to see them in the flesh after so long seeing them only in books; then, ‘Unspeakable’: The Artist as Witness to the Holocaust’(http://london.iwm.org.uk/server/show/conEvent.2496)
– quite simply, harrowing. Beautiful, sensitive paintings and drawings, but the eyes refusing to believe that what the artists were seeing was real.
Then last week I discovered a gem – just down from Waterloo Station. The Topolski ‘Century’ Gallery (http://www.topolskicentury.org.uk/). Topolski was an Artist and a Chronicler. He witnessed so much. The gallery was his studio and in it he painted murals; a vast visual journey from the pre war era to the drug induced 60’s and 70’s. This is what made an impact on me: the similarities of facial expressions between the people suffering immense pain and emotional torment in the holocaust with those involved in those hedonistic and drug fuelled times, except the eyes… eyes of abject fear next to eyes of psychotic delight… just 20 years apart.

4. Now that I am less of an arts coordinator and more of an artist, it is pleasure to be able to talk art: making, imagining, theorizing… rather than the complexities and politics of arts admin. I am lucky to have fantastic art chums who are supportive but honest in their appraisals. RM wants me to loose myself in a sea of paint and dispose of my need to reach for the security blanket of my drawing and pictorial devices. I am listening, I am listening! BM pays me surprise visits and keeps an eye on me from afar. NF shows me his latest wooden incarnations. M can read my work with such clarity that I am shocked each time, but simultaneously, I have a great satisfaction in knowing that I communicating my thoughts and emotions succinctly. LJ has enabled me to expand my emotions and to dream of show to end all shows. We may, or we may not… but the dreams are there.